The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The triplets who had gone to work for Ellen so many years ago— who had worked with her, now, for more than half of their lives, and would stay with her for the remainder of them. They had come to be so defined by her, by their connection with her— that to their own minds— to Ellen’s mind— to Erika’s mind, and to the minds of all of Erika’s concubines, their daughters; it seemed that the triplets had had no life before going to Ellen. It seemed that they had simply appeared in the world at the age of eighteen, gone to the Institute, and then arrived at Ellen’s office.

But the truth was, the triplets did have a history from before that time— from before being slaves. Before starting at the Institute, each of them had been a normal woman, an individual, and they had arrived at the point of being adult individuals the way anyone else did; they had been born, in their case of the same parents, progressed through their lifestages until they were fully grown.

Anyone might have assumed that the triplets were the only children of their parents. But this assumption would be wrong. The fact was, though the triplets had always been close, and though, once they had become adults, they went out into the world as a unit, the triplets had not been the only children their parents Bore. Because the triplets, in fact, had two brothers who were older than they were.

The lives of their brothers had not followed the same path as their own— their brothers had never attended the Institute, had never become concubines of a more powerful person. They had lived, and did still live, as free men, making their own choices, navigating the world— actualizing their own desires.

The triplets were in sometime contact with them— but as their lives revolved so completely around the needs and desires of another person, and had for many years, none of them truly had the time to endless visit or converse with their brothers, through telephone or in person. This had been the pattern of their communication for many years, because the same truth of their lives had been true for many years; their brothers were used to it, by this point.

The triplets did still love their brothers, though. And they had, now and then, taken the six sistercousins to visit their uncles throughout the years, during holidays and granted time off— so the six sistercousins had known their uncles, and their uncles families. But their visits had essentially been a once-a-year thing, and no more; and their uncles had never come to see them, they had always gone to visit at their uncles’ places.

The two brothers were named Alex and Alan; and they were older than the triplets by three years— so they were well into their middleage, by the current point. Still living their lives freely and as they wished— thinking fondly of extended family, often not seeing them, but accepting that was the way things had always been, and the way things always would be.

The triplets rarely thought of their brothers. They certainly didn’t think of Alex and Alan as often as Alex and Alan thought of them— they had too much going on. While the six of their daughters had been growing up, that had been the focus of their thoughts, split with their duties at work, and their devotion to Ellen and her satisfaction.

But even now that the six of their daughters were in their twenties and off with Erika, there was still a lot to think about— even now that Ellen had retired, and she could be their sole focus— even now there were no more legal things to think about, work things to think about— they thought mostly of Ellen, and only of their brothers when their brothers reached out to them for contact. Otherwise, they hardly remembered that they even had any brothers at all.

But whether they were remembering or not— whether the memories unlocked themselves with the re-entry to present that Alex and Alan’s sporadic communication presented, they still had brothers.

And Alex and Alan were twins, the way the triplets were triplets— they were identical, just as the triplets were, and they had been fairly good looking in their youth.

However, now each of them looked more or less average. They did not have the primary benefit to help them, which the triplets did. They, unlike their sisters, were not deeply brainwashed and conditioned— hypnosis did not force them to hypnotically exercise themselves, running and driving their bodies, and simultaneously running and driving their minds down into submission with each physical move.

They also lacked the same conditioning which would have impelled them to only eat the ideal diet— so their bodies had not stayed so attractive as the bodies of their sisters. Their sisters, who had no choice but to maintain themselves, because their brains were controlled into doing it, still looked incredibly youthful and athletic. But Alan and Alex looked like their age: they truly looked like two middleaged men, and in no way better than that.

The Institute had, it was true, at one time considered recruiting these brothers as well. But it had been decided that to recruit all five siblings at once would raise suspicion. So for discretion’s sake, they had not done it. And as the triplets had been found more favorable candidates, they had been selected over their brothers.

Sally and Sarah, who eventually became Alan and Alex’s wives through Institute design, had also been considered as candidates. But out of similar concerns— that they were watched too closely, were too wellknown, that it would be too suspicious, would draw excessive attention— they were similarly given a pass.

However, the Institute had not become so successful as it was by blindly avoiding to plan for the future. And if they had to accept missing the opportunity to recruit four recruits they had hoped for, they could accept that— but they could then shore that loss up by marrying the four amongst each other, and hope on their progeny for new recruits a generation down.

So the Institute had arranged for Alex, Alan and Sally and Sarah all to meet for a kind of doubledate. None of them had known the full details of what the Institute did; or the full reality of the kind of training that went on there (no recruit did until they attended, and by then it was too late). But they had still known that they were promised as attendees, and when their recruitment had fallen through, they’d all accepted that the Institute had some say over their lives, so they had willingly gone along with meeting up.

None of them had been incredibly in love or all that attracted at first meeting; Alex and Alan were blonde like their sisters— and Sally and Sarah were blonde too; the four of them actually all looked pretty similar, despite the fact they weren’t related.

But, though there had not been impressive sparks, each one had understood that this was what the Institute wanted them to do— and that they could refuse that wish, but that, since they had not been able to rise to the Institute’s standards of acceptance, and provide them with four more enrolments, that they did owe it, and should do as it wished them too.

None of them had been truly reluctant to go forward with their couplings. So Alex and Sally had paired off, and so had Alan and Sarah. There hadn’t been much of a desire to date, or otherwise delay marriage, since there had not been a great amount of true love as an underlying basis to their relationships.

So, that fall, at eighteen, each set of twins had married into the other set. Alex had married Sally, Allan had married Sarah; all four of them had gone out into the world to work.

They had not technically worked for the Institute, no. But the Institute was a wellrun company; as well as running their own affairs, they also served as a holding company for several other operations which directly benefited their primary business. It was not public knowledge that the Institute held these companies, either. Enough legal loopholes had been tied to obscure this; only people actually working within these organizations knew the truth— it was not public information.

One of these held companies was a career guidance community. Sure; the Institute received many direct applicants and sorted them, but for people who had never heard of the Institute, or were wary of it for some reason, the career guidance company functioned as a good feeder source. Desirable candidates were evaluated and just so conveniently given Institute information, and then encouraged to apply, never knowing that they had come to an Institute owned company for guidance.

It was at this company that Alan and Alex were employed; working as career counsellors, both of them. They were technically on the Institute payroll, albeit in a more roundabout manner.

Their jobs provided them steady pay, gave them the means to support their families and live in relative comfort— of course, they never came anywhere close to accessing the kind of wealth which was commonplace to their sisters. They lived quiet, uneventful lives of little notice and little merit, and were contented in them.

And though Alex and Alan were the older brothers, their children, in the end, were a few years younger than the triplets’ kids.

The brothers were in their mid-thirties when they started trying with their wives— by which point the six sistercousins were toddlers.

It didn’t take much trying for the brothers, either— they got their wives pregnant at about the same time, and nine months later, each brother was delivered a set of twins, only a few days apart from each other.

For Alan and Sarah, this single set of twins were the only children they would go on to have. For Alex and Sally this had been the plan too, but shortly after their twins were born, and they went back to having sex, their method of birthcontrol failed on them, and three months later, Sarah was pregnant again, so in the end Alex and Sally ended up with two sets of twins, the second set only just over a year younger than the first set.

This made money very tight for Alex and Sally, because each couple had only planned for one set of twins. Ideally, each couple had hoped for an only child— but knowing the makeup of their genetics, that each parent in each couple was themself a twin, they’d known realistically twins were more likely, so they had waited until they knew they could provide for two children each, and only then, when sure of that security, had they started trying.

And yet Alex and Sally had ended up needing double the amount.

Because they were so tight on money, and because they had an unexpected set of twins, Alan and Sarah tried to help them out. They were close by, so this wasn’t hard— at times when the money was truly tight, which seemed to happen somewhat cyclically once or twice a year— at those times, either Alex or Sally or both would take on second, part-time jobs— and while they worked late, worked every available hour to get back ahead financially, Alan and Sarah took care of their four twins.

Sometimes, too, when Alan and Sarah had extra money to spare they gave the money to their siblings instead, to help out. So through mutual effort, the four of them and their six children navigated life, even if on occasion second jobs needed to be taken up for some definite period— the money was stretched far enough to provide decent life for the kids, and still pay all necessary bills, mortgages included. It was a challenge, but not impossible.

Because the six twins were raised in this way— in and out of each house, constantly running between them both, around their uncles and aunts all the time, and always around their cousins or siblings and cousins— the twins really all felt more like they part of one common family. The way financial decisions were made between the top couples underscored this— though the kids were too young to understand finances, their parents’ approach of “we’re all handling this together,” trickled down to them and influenced their understanding.

And so when it came time for two of the sets of twins to start school, their parents discussed it, and chose to hold them back a year. After entire childhoods of running around in a group of six, it seemed cruel to send four on a year ahead and leave two behind, when the six children really all viewed each other as equals— it seemed more fair for all six of them to start school the same year, in the same grade, and hopefully in the same class, so they could enjoy their common bond at school as they enjoyed it at home.

The school had ultimately agreed with this— though it would mean that the two older sets of twins would always be the oldest in their classes by a year, it was agreed that not breaking up the unit of six was more important. So it was when the youngest pair of twins was ready to start kindergarten that all the rest did too— and then year after year, as they advanced through their educations, growing up, they were always all in the same year at school. And basically every year they were put into the same class.

This was good news for their parents— it meant there was no real friendship drama, because every year, each child had five bestfriends guaranteed.

It was also good news for their parents because they were all still working. And even if Alan and Sarah never had to take on parttime work in addition to their fulltime jobs the way Alex and Sarah sometimes did, they were still very busy with their fulltime roles. And Alex and Sarah were busy even more so, and especially during those one or two periods of time each year when they each worked two jobs.

So even if they, as parents, would have liked to help their kids with their homework through the years, they just weren’t around enough, with free focus enough to do it.

This would have been a problem if there had only been one kid between the four of them— but since there were six kids, who were always in the same class, they could all collaborate on their homework and help each other through it. The shared motto between the two families showed itself here too: “we’re all handling this together,” this was adhered to even by the kids. When there was homework, they were all handling it together.

And there were household chores. Their parents assigned these partly for the sake of instilling discipline and partly because they had such full plates themselves they couldn’t manage them themselves. And when there were household chores, then the kids were managing those together. The six of them shared everything, attacked everything as one group— one task given to one of them was a task shared by all, and so, just as their parents made everything work financially through mutual dependence, the kids made everything work, scholastically and practically, through mutual dependence. The two families were living functional lives; everything necessary was managed, and the quality of life provided was decent— they were getting through.

This was how the kids’ youth went. From kindergarten to twelfth grade, everybody managed to make everything work— and it taught them all a good work ethic, as well as strengthening the bonds they shared as, essentially, six siblings who had been raised in the same environment always working together.

And then they graduated highschool.

Their parents were in a better place financially— their mortgages almost paid off, and then some money put away in savings, and for retirement. In a few years, they would be secure for the first times in their lives— so none of the six young women really had to worry about leaving their parents behind.

They had graduated— four of them were nineteen, and two of them were eighteen— but they were each ready to move into the next chapter of their lives. All six of them felt this way: Amanda and Amelia, Alison and Alyssa, Alicia and Alice.

And the six of them loved their parents— viewed all four adults as their parents, even though that was only biologically true for two of the four in each case. And they appreciated the discipline their upbringing had brought them— and the wisdom, and the work ethic.

But all six knew they didn’t want a life like their parents’ lives. They didn’t want to struggle for money, they didn’t want to work so hard only to come out in the middle. And they knew their extended family well enough to know the path the other side of the family had taken— their aunts had gone to the institute, and so had their six cousins— and they knew the kind of security and luxury that side of the family lived in.

So the six of them had decided they wanted that path for themselves instead— and though their parents had never said anything about the Institute to them, they did their own research.

Probably, the six agreed, their parents had assumed they would follow a similar path to the one they’d gone down. Or maybe they’d just assumed their daughters would be refused as they had been.

But assuming that meant they’d underestimated just how resourceful their daughters had grown up to be as young women— meant they’d overlooked the way their upbringing had instilled this in them. And without their parents help at all, the six of them had applied to the Institute at the appropriate time for their postsecondary— and almost as soon as they had applied, the six of them had been accepted.

So now they had the summer to look forward to— they would be starting at the Institute in the fall. And the plan was, agreed on by the whole family, extended too— that Amanda, Amelia, Alison, Alyssa, Alicia and Alice would all go and spend their summer staying with their cousins.

Their cousins were all twenty-one compared to their own nineteens and eighteens, respectively— and they had been working for a successful up and coming businesswoman, Erika Wu, for the last two years since they’d graduated the institute at nineteen. They sounded like they were living in a good situation too— so Amanda, Amelia, Alison, Alyssa, Alicia and Alice were all looking forward to seeing their cousins.

Because of the age difference growing up, and because of the sporadic visits they had never known their cousins incredibly well— but had known them well enough to be fond of them and to enjoy being around them.

The weekend after their graduation was when they were slotted to go over for the beginning of their visit. That Saturday morning their parents woke them to tell them there was a limo outside waiting for them; and when all six young women got dressed and went out, they were sure that their cousins had sent it for them.

The six took turns hugging their four parents goodbye, promising to call often enough— though their parents wistfully seemed not to believe them— and then got into the limo.

It was quick to pull away from the two houses that had been an entire world to the six women for all of their lives to date.

But they were excited to see their cousins, so they didn’t mind.

They pulled up to a mansion, sometime later, and Anne, Anna, Anya, Arya, Audrey and Aubrey were all waiting for them.

“So good to see you”s and “it’s been so long”s were passed around as the twelve women hugged between each other. From the perspective of the six younger unofficial sextuplets, they were looking forward to a summer of some cousinly bonding— but they were also thinking they were pretty clever. Their resourcefulness had not stopped at applying to the Institute and getting accepted.

No, they had none of them wanted a completely idle summer— so they had decided to leverage existing connections— that was how the plan for this visit had even started. They had made a call to their cousins, as a group of course, on speakerphone, and asked them to put in a good word with Erika, so that they could score a summer internship. They had led with the news that they were enrolled in the Institute for that fall, proving they had prospects and were going somewhere with their futures.

The cousins had asked a few days to think about it— and when they had called back three days later, it had been to tell them that they were wanted for that summer’s internship— all six of them, and that, while they were completing it, they could come and stay at their house so they would be closer to the building Erika’s company ran out of— since it was only about a five minute drive away.

Otherwise they would have had to be coming from the lowerclass side of town each morning, which was quite a far ways away, and would have made for long commutes.

The younger set of unofficial sextuplets had been excited— they had, after all, scored the internships they wanted and as a bonus they would get to spend time with their cousins who they didn’t see much— and would get to stay in a much nicer part of town.

That was all they were really expecting out of the summer. But there was a plan that they didn’t know about.

The expectations of Anne, Anna, Arya, Anya, Audrey and Aubrey were much higher. They were not just expecting their sextuplet cousins to complete their summer internships, were not just expecting their cousins to hang around spend time with them. As they knew the young women were enrolled for fall attendance at the Institute, and that ultimately they would be broken into assistant-concubines just like themselves, what the older set of sextuplet truly expected was that the younger set begin their training ahead of schedule.

And they wanted to be personally responsible for this— they themselves had been very deeply conditioned, just by going to the Institute without any pre-conceptions, and they knew the same had been done to their mothers.

But this was a family thing— that their family had a legacy with the Institute now, since their mothers, them, and now their cousins had all attended or would be attending shortly— and so the older set of sextuplets really wanted to be a part of their cousins’ postsecondary success.

The Institute had a very powerful brainwashing program, it could not be doubted. But the older set of sextuplets wondered how much more deeply brainwashed a person could become if they arrived on Institute steps having already been brainwashed once over. If, after initial brainwashing, a person was subjected to structured, forceful brainwashing of the kind the Institute specialized in— would the person who came through it be doublybrainwashed? Would their subservience be twice as devoted? Would their outcomes be twice as successful?

So the older sextuplets wanted to ensure the legacy of their young adult cousins, and the legacy of their family with the Institute overall. But it was also kind of a test. If going through the brainwashing process twice turned out to improve outcomes, then the older sextuplets would tell the Institute immediately so they could streamline the brainwashing process and add a pre-brainwashing phase for all their new students.

They were loyal to the Institute and wanted to help in this way.

But of course, the younger set of sextuplets knew nothing about this secret plan.

That Saturday morning, when they arrived at the mansion, each one was feeling great excitement. Amanda was thinking that the internship at Erika Wu’s company would set her up for the kind of career she had always wished for. Amelia was thinking it would be a good opportunity to build more of a professional network for herself. Sure, people who attended the Institute were almost always guaranteed good work placements right after their postsecondary graduation, but surely that was just a coincidence. Amelia took nothing for granted after growing up the way she had— she wanted professional contacts to fall back on if she failed to get the kind of placement other Institute grads did.

Alison was thinking that she was excited to be in a new environment— not just staying with her cousins, but to be in a real workplace. All of the young women had worked jobs through their teenage years— they’d had to, since their parents couldn’t afford to give them an allowance, and they’d wanted and needed their own money for things by then.

But none of them had worked professional jobs— they’d worked at gas stations or movie theaters or fastfood places, but never at any kind of office, and certainly never at an office that did such important and prestigious things as Erika Wu’s company did. So Alison was looking forward to this new experience of the summer internship. She was viewing it as an adventure that was waiting to happen in all of their lives.

Alyssa was mostly just looking forward to spending time with her cousins from the other side of the family, as she thought of them. They were all technically on the same side, since they were related to their mothers, but having grown up as one of sex in two houses side by side, the older six cousins had seemed very removed from her own family on their side of town. So Alyssa was hoping to get to know her own family better.

As for Alicia, she was most excited to stay with her older cousins— she never begrudged the upbringing she had, but there was no debating that it was modest. She wanted to see the evidences of success up close— wanted to witness and experience luxuries, even if none of them knew much about where their cousins lived— clearly, now, they could all see they lived in a mansion— but until this arrival, they had not known; visits in the past few years had either been made to their own small houses, or on occasion to their three grandmothers where they lived with Ellen Wu.

This was the first time any of them had seen where the older sextuplets lived— and Alicia, who had not had much exposure to luxury, was most looking forward to experiencing a corner of it for herself.

Alice was generally happy about the whole experience that was ahead of them all— but she was pretty levelheaded, and there wasn’t any one aspect of the experience that stood out for her above all the others. She was just happy to be here, just happy that she was getting to experience all of this. She wouldn’t take this opportunity for granted, not even for one single second.

So the six sextuplets were all feeling excited, though for slightly different reasons. And they were all of them very glad to have arrived.

“So,” Alicia said, once all the hugging and greeting had died down— once all of them were standing on the lawn in silence, the limo having pulled away. “You really live here?”

The older sextuplets all smiled. “We really do. We live here with Erika.”

“So you’re her personal assistants too, outside of business hours?” Alice picked up, and questioned.

The older sextuplets all shared a look. “Something like that.”

Amelia wondered if she’d ever be lucky enough to get a job placement just like that.

“Why don’t we start by showing you all around the mansion?” Anya asked, surveying the faces of her and her sisters’ visitors.

The six younger sextuplets all shared a communing look.

“That would be great,” Amanda finally spoke for all of them. She was the oldest— she and Amelia had been born two days before Alison and Alyssa, who in turn had been born a year before Alicia and Alice. Amanda had been born one minute before Amelia— so this was pretty in character for her; Amanda, Amelia, Alicia and Alice were the technically biological sisters— all of them daughters to Alex and Sally, but in the minds of each of the six, Alyssa and Alison were just as much sisters to the other four as the other four were to each other. Even Alyssa and Alison thought this way.

“Just follow us, then!” Anna encouraged— then she and her sisters turned and started walking up the path to the mansion from the gate down by the street.

It didn’t take very long to walk up the path, but as they did, the younger sextuplets appreciated their surroundings. This was a very rich part of town, so most of the houses were mansions— which meant the street they had rode up had long expanses between one gate and the next, as no mansion was close to another— it was a very spacious area— and the mansions were not only spaced out from each other, but spaced out from the street as well— each one had a gate and then a long road which eventually led to the mansions entrance, each one which usually had a small cul-de-sac before it, some of those cul-de-sacs with fountains in the center of them, so that anyone who drove up from the gate could just follow the cul-de-sac around by the entrance and then go back out the same way.

The road from gate to mansion had looked long, but in walking it, it was proven shorter than expected. Still, each younger sextuplet couldn’t believe how it felt to be in a place where the houses were not literally immediately beside each other, as the houses they had grown up moving between had been.

The group of twelve reached the mansion steps. It was an impressive four story things with huge plateglass window on either side of a huge door that was as tall as the second story. And impressively, the whole place was built out of marble.

Aubrey opened the front door— they entered the brownpink marble house into a foyer with ceilings that seemed to go up all the way to the roof— four stories over head. There was an impressive staircase that went up to the second floor which overhung the foyer, then from the second floor to the third, and from the third to the fourth— each floor, it seemed, had a balcony section in the middle that crossed the foyer before the floor went off to the various wings of the house. It was very impressive architecture— the staircase went up on two sides, so there was one set of stairs on the left, and another parallel on the right— it repeated this way for each story of the house— the room felt very spacious and yet also very connected to the rest of the house— like it really was in the center of things— and of course, the plateglass windows which bracketed the huge front door provided astounding lighting.

None of the younger sextuplets had ever seen a place like this— something so elegant, so architecturally advanced and beautiful. Each one of them was speechless for a moment.

In the foyer, the floors were of the same marble as the exterior walls— but the walls had been panelled, and then painted white so it looked like one blank canvas enwrapping the room.

The older sextuplets started just by walking them through the hallways on the first floor, getting them used to the house’s different wings.

Some people opted to leave their hallways bare and undecorated— not Erika. Here and there, there were statues; always of beautiful nude women— some of them bore a striking resemblance to their older cousins— but surely no employer would ever ask their employees to pose nude for a sculptor, so each younger sextuplet concluded it was a coincidence.

Some of the sculptures were more suggestive than others— two women together, for example, seeming as if they were about to kiss, or sometimes about to touch— but they never quite did.

Sometimes they were only looking at each other— but the looks seemed loaded. Amazing that nonliving sculpture could convey so much subtext— but they could— each sculpture was made of some kind of goldenbrown stone— so they stood out from the floor and from the white walls.

There were not only sculptures in the halls— there were also, in places sculptures were not, and there was some visible wallspace, paintings now and then. And sometimes photos.

The paintings were like the sculptures.

Women who seemed a moment away from doing… something together, even if it was never clear what that something was going to be. The photos were of women with their faces away— as if the photographer had found them beautiful even in the moment they had been partially obscured.

It was leaving the sextuplets in a bit of a strange mood— it felt like there was a heavy mystery present, something obscured it was impossible to decipher. But the mystery seemed everywhere around them, and not being able to understand its significance was unsettling.

One thing was clear, though— and each sextuplet thought so. There was definitely a sapphic sensibility to the decorating choices that had been made— all the decor highlighting women’s beauty, highlighting the beauty of women together— highlighting the beauty of shared moments between women, especially the shared moments that came before some momentous decision. Each piece of art lovingly rendered— so much intimacy between the stylized women on display, though none of them ever quite touched.

The younger set of sextuplets were fairly confident, at this point, that Erika Wu had to be a lesbian, to have decorated her mansion like this. A lover of women for sure, but there was no appreciation of men similarly displayed in art, as there might have been in the mansion of a bisexual woman who knew something about decor.

They went a little farther down the hall— and this time, for once, the photograph placed in the next stretch of empty wallspace was not of a woman turning away— there were faces. Alison was the first to realize it, and she stopped to look at them, her sisters soon doing the same.

They all realized at the same time that the photo was of their own cousins: Anne, Anna, Anya, Arya, Audrey, Aubrey: standing in line for the group picture to be taken— standing on an exotic beach, each one of them completely naked.

“You guys!” Alicia exclaimed to their cousinly guides who had not yet noticed their visitors had stopped following for a second. “This is a picture of you!”

The older six noticed they had not been followed, and turned back to their cousins. “Yes, that was taken while we were on a getaway vacation. The beaches there were beautiful,” Audrey commented.

Alyssa looked to her cousins. “But you’re all naked in this photo!”

And judging by their faces in the photo, the younger sextuplets were all thinking in variation, they had no shame about that fact.

In fact, they didn’t seem to have any about being naked in the photo even as they stood here.

“Yes, we are,” Anna agreed. “We were only following the local custom of that vacation destination.”

There was no one else in the picture to judge against, but the younger sextuplets all decided to believe what their cousin had told them.

“Come on,” Anne laughed. The tour resumed, taking them down further hallways, past other art.

Eventually, after showing them around past a lot of the decor, the older six decided that enough time had been spent showing the second set of sextuplets through the halls.

“Are you all ready to take a break and sit down for a while?” Anya asked her cousins.

“That would be great,” Alison exhaled.

“And if you guys maybe had a snack you could serve us, that would be really nice too,” Alice said.

Arya smiled. “That’s exactly the plan.”

It seemed almost like the tour had been strategized, because it just happened to be the case that the room the older sextuplets intended for them to rest in was the room they were already standing beside. Two of them held open the doubledoors to it; Audrey and Arya, and the set of younger sextuplets went in and sat down on the very comfortable looking couches.

After that there was no doubt this had been planned. A tray of food had been left in the room, and once their cousins entered, Anne picked up the tray, and passed it around between the six visiting sisters.

It was only a tray of hors d’oeuvres; fancy pieces of bread with expensive cheeses on them— olives with toothpicks through them, fancy cured meats.

But the younger set of sextuplets all felt they had been walking so long they scarfed the snacks up, only realizing after having eaten them how salty all the food had been.

Luckily, just as each sister was starting to thirst, another cousin came around with a tray of drinks— this time, Aubrey held the tray.

Amanda couldn’t help but think how naturally their cousins seemed to serve— as if they were used to doing it— and they did it with a lot of grace too.

The drink, when each visitor drank it, seemed to be some kind of punch. It tasted more like a berry punch than anything else— there was a bit of sparkle in it, but the flavor overall was a flavor of coolness.

Each sextuplet drank deeply, as their cousins smiled down at them. The drinks were a relief as the food had been, and it was a relief, too, to be off their feet, each one was thinking— they really had walked a long way to come here. It was nice to sit down for a minute and rest.

The older sextuplets knew what the youngers did not: each drink had been spiked— and very quickly they would be losing consciousness.

Around the same time, the six visiting sisters were noticing a heaviness coming into their bodies. There were all thinking the same thing: how nice it was to sit down on such soft, plush couches. Thinking, too, that maybe it would be even nicer to squirm around a bit and get more comfortable. The heaviness each one felt made them eager to seek greater comfort.

So each young woman shifted around, to sink deeper into cushions or to drape over couch arms. And then each one found that felt so good that… maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea just to close their eyes— the room was bright after all, and the most comforting thing possible would be to dim it slightly.

Six young women closed their eyes. Each one found their thoughts becoming confused and meandering— each one felt like they were half-asleep in illness; the kind of illness where one’s body needs sleep and their mind can’t ever fully wake up until episode has passed. Or like they were trying to wake up in the morning, only to be constantly pulled back under by sleep. Each twin was fighting a losing battle with consciousness— getting dragged under— fighting back up— getting sucked under again.

It was getting too hard to fight— too hard to be half-asleep or half-awake or whichever one it was. Their eyes were all already closed— it was the easiest thing in the world to just let go of the struggle, and simply stop fighting sleep.

The six older cousins watched. From the way that the breathing of the other young women had evened out, it was clear that each one was now deeply enslumbered— completely unable to rouse themselves until the enslumbering substance had worked its way out of their bodies.

Those six sisters shared looks of pride. So far the plan was going perfectly— but now they could prepare for the next stage of it.

Each sister moved to a different cousin. Anna was in front of Amanda, Arya was in front of Amelia, Anne was in front of Alison, Aubrey was in front of Alyssa, Anya was in front of Alice and Audrey was in front of Alicia. They moved like the mechanisms of a clock— perfectly synchronized, perfectly completing their task as time advanced forwards— each sextuplet stripped a younger sextuplet— first removing her shirt, then removing her bra— then removing her shoes, then removing her pants, then removing her underwear.

It was slow work, even given their skill at efficiency, because each sister was trying to be gentle with her slumbering cousin, gently coaxing clothing from bodies. It was not possible for the cousins to be disturbed— they had been sent too deep down, but each sister felt tender toward their cousin, and still did not want to physically disturb them, even if their mind would be unable to wake from it.

Finally, the sisters had gotten them fully undressed, and they left their cousins naked and sleeping strewn over couches in that receiving room— just long enough for each sister to gather each divested outfit, and fold up its component parts.

Then, still very mechanized and in time with each other, the six sisters each carried their pile of clothes of the room down the hall two doors— the room there was a storage room, and it featured a large standing wardrobe, among a lot of boxes which at various times the sisters themselves had packed up and put in there— but they had sought the room specifically for the wardrobe.

Once inside, Anya was the first one to the wardrobe— she opened it, and left it open for the others once she had placed the folded pile of clothes she had carried on one of the wardrobe shelves. It may once have been used to hang things, but it had since been broken up into eight interior shelves which broke up the space something might otherwise have hung in.

Anya placed her pile of clothes, which had come off of Alice, on the top shelf, the first of those interior eight. Then she stepped out of the way.

One by one, the sisters placed the clothes they had carried into the wardrobe, one pile on each shelf— and by doing so, placing each pile of clothes into storage. The pre-brainwashing brainwash they would do to the cousins would last the summer— and for its duration, their cousins would not be requiring clothes.

As they thought with one mind, the sisters thought exactly the same thing, at exactly the same time, and as a result, smiled simultaneously.

It had been easier planning this whole thing, since they did share that one mind— easy to work things out silently, without having to speak, to consider angles and alternatives, to refine to the perfect option. There were sure that they had it. Their cousins wouldn’t be able to withstand, let alone disobey or struggle— and so the next twelve weeks of their cousins’ lives would be simple. They would be brainwashed through the summer, and ready for the intensive core brainwashing of the Institute to double the effect in the fall, when they enrolled. They would enrol already enslaved.

Each sister felt a swell of pride. And a little impatience. They were already eager to see if the pre-brainwashing was going to turn out to be useful, eager to know if the Institute would adopt it as part of their own process— only a little longer before finding out.

Amanda’s head was spinning when she opened her eyes— she felt incredibly disoriented— as if something heavy had struck her on the head. Was she concussed? What had happened to her?

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to light, to surveil her surroundings.

She fuzzily remembered being in a receiving room with couches— sitting— eating— drinking— sleeping— but this was not the same room, she could tell that just by looking around.

This room had a floor lined in white linoleum— it had white tile walls and bright fluorescent lights— she couldn’t see the door, so it must be behind her— she tried to turn and couldn’t— why couldn’t she?

She became aware of a pressure being present in several places on her body— it was around her wrists— it was around her upperarms— it was around her ankles— it was around her knees.

And why were her hips hurting?

She looked down— she was sitting in what looked like a black medical chair— she’d only ever been in one like this when receiving a pelvic exam— her vagina was wide open, because her legs had been splayed apart, wide enough to make her hips ache— why was she set up like she was going to receive a gynaecological examination? And why was she restrained? She had been bound to the chair— her arms to the armrests, her legs to the legsupports— she tried to twist in place and didn’t succeed in even moving an inch.

Amelia’s mind was sharp when she regained consciousness. She spent no time swimming through confusion. Immediately, she inventoried: different room, gynaecological chair— bound to it. She didn’t try fighting it— she could feel the force the bindings held her with, and judging off of that, she didn’t think any amount of struggling would loosen her. Whoever had put her in this position intended for her to be trapped in it, and it seemed that they had succeeded in their goal.

Amelia was the one of all her sisters who most kept her cool. But underneath that calm, she was distressed— of course she was. She was a free woman. She didn’t want to be bound to a chair anymore than anyone else would.

Alyssa, when she realized the situation was in, felt great shame. Anyone could just walk in here and see right into her pussy— she had been displayed so it was ideally accessible— she hated to think that someone might do more than just look at it. She tried to shift to cover it from view, but she couldn’t move in the chair at all.

Alison felt a bit resigned about the whole thing. Of course she should have assumed something would go wrong. In life, wasn’t that what things did? Growing up, there had always been something that broke and which was too expensive to fix right away— something whose absence had to be lived around for a while— there always had to be struggle and misfortune. Alison cursed herself for thinking she had put it behind her— that she really had been about to enter a new chapter— something had gone wrong— someone had kidnapped them, or something, right out of Erika’s house— and now, who knew what was going to happen to them?

Alicia just felt a completely panicked terror. She didn’t care what a humiliating position she was in now. What was going to happen in the next two minutes? Or the two minutes after that? Whoever had put them in these restraints was going to come in and do something. What were they going to do?

Every time she asked herself that it made her panic more.

Alice simply fought. She didn’t care if it was fruitless. She pulled and pulled her body against what held her down: got nowhere, exhausted herself, made herself sore from constantly hitting into metal, but she promised herself she wouldn’t stop for anything. Eventually, the bolts had to loosen… eventually it had to make a difference.

In the haze of waking up, and considering their bound position to each gynaecological chair, each sextuplet had missed the obvious. The six chairs were placed in a circle, and the ones responsible for their current predicament were standing in the midst of the circle— though none of the restrained twins knew that yet.

It was only after a moment or two of acclimating to their unexpected surroundings that they even noticed anyone else was in the room, let alone that anyone was standing in the middle of circle made by their chairs of restraint.

Each sextuplet bound to a chair realized that they were looking at their older cousins.

But at the same time, each one realized that the cousins they could see were naked.

Anne— naked, Anna— naked, Arya— naked, Anya— naked, Audrey—naked, Aubrey— naked. They could see breasts, they could see pussies— and this was what made the bound sisters fully realize their own nakedness. It hadn’t sunk in before, but now, Amanda could feel the air on her breasts— and so could Amelia, and Alyssa— and Alison could feel the air on her pussy, and so could Alicia, and so could Alice.

Each woman instinctively tried to cover herself but was just as trapped as before— then when this was useless, they looked back to their cousins— the older set of sextuplets— still as naked as ever, but they had lacked the response that each bound sister had just went through.

Unlike the women in the chairs, the women who stood in the center of the circle did not panic at realizing their nakedness. They seemed perfectly aware it was the state they were in, but even though they were free, and they could have crossed arms over chests, or twisted hips sideways, they did nothing to shield themselves— and they certainly did not panickedly attempt to shield themselves.

Amanda couldn’t understand just standing there naked, letting oneself be stared at. Neither could Amelia understand it, nor Alyssa, nor Alison, nor Alicia, nor Alice. Each sister stared at her cousins from out of a sense of complete confusion, thinking along similar lines. How could a person be okay with just standing naked in front of anyone, other than people they were intimate with— and especially how could anyone be okay with standing naked in front of their own sisters— and cousins?

Yet the sextuplets at the heart of the circle were clearly shameless— in fact, they seemed to read confusion in their cousins’ faces— and then there was a look of confusion on the faces of those inward sextuplets— but it seemed to be confusion about the reaction of the outward sextuplets— as if those inward sextuplets were thinking, how could anyone be ashamed of their nakedness? How could anyone be confused that another person would want to be naked?

It was clear to the sisters in the chairs that their cousins were not suddenly going to become shameful— and each sister was starting to feel more uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable than if they had been left alone in the room, and bound up. None of them wanted to see the naked bodies of their cousins— none of them wanted to know the things this violation of privacy was revealing to them. Nor did they want their cousins to look at them in return, and see similar things on them. Cousins shouldn’t know these kinds of carnal things about each other, the sisters thought.

And since their cousins weren’t doing anything to protect decency— to help things be the way they should have been, then each sister would just have to look away— or close their eyes— so they wouldn’t have to see the nakedness of their cousins anymore.

That was what each sister did: Amanda looked down to the side, Amelia closed her eyes, Alyssa looked up toward the ceiling, Alison looked down at her own lap— Alicia focused hard on the back of her hand, Alice stared at her foot.

“We’re sure you must be wondering what’s going on,” Arya said— and then it was like there had been no point in looking away, because as soon as one of their cousins talked, all the young women immediately looked back to them, to watch them as they spoke.

“We were the ones who bound you to these chairs,” Aubrey chimed in.

“We drugged you with the drinks we gave,” Anne said.

“Stripped you,” Anna contributed.

“And brought you here,” Anya concluded.

The levels of betrayal each sister went through amazed them in turn. Alison had never thought her own cousins would ever do something like this to her— she would have feared complete strangers before ever fearing her own cousins— she had had implicit trust for them— as a younger cousin to them, she had always actually kind of looked up to them. She never would have believed them capable of this.

Amelia was filled with rage. How could they ever have justified this to themselves? How could they have done this?

Alice was just in shock, unable to process what had just been dropped on them all. Amanda was deeply sad, Alyssa was afraid of what their cousins would do next now that they had already proved they were capable of doing this and Alicia was just wishing their cousins would undo what had already been done. Wished, however foolishly, that she and her sisters would be let up from their chairs— that they would be let free. Although how any of them would ever be able to trust their cousins again, she had no idea.

“Yes, we did all those things,” Audrey admitted— the only one who had not spoken before. “But we did them for a very good reason, and we think that eventually, you’ll agree with us.”

“We belong to Erika Wu,” said Anne, and each cousin seemed to melt at hearing the name. “We’re her harem.”

That explained a few things, at least, the sisters were thinking— explained the sapphic art, the naked picture, the sense of established carnal intimacy between their cousins— explained why they lived in Erika’s mansion with her too— but each girl felt some mixture of shock and disgust. They’d thought their family was better than this— sure, they’d each vaguely had a sense that their aunts were involved with Ellen Wu in some way, but they had never really known the full details— and they had never suspected incest.

That was clearly what was happening here now.

“And there’s good news for all of you,” Aubrey preened. “Erika has chosen you, each one of you, and so you will be given the honor of joining our harem.”

“We have a loving mistress,” Arya simpered. “She has bestowed on you the honor of joining us, and she has bestowed on us the honor of starting your harem training.”

Anna nodded. “We’ll be overseeing everything that happens to you— we’ll be directly training you ourselves. Our mistress is so generous— generous to let you all experience the pleasure of being enslaved, and generous to let all of us experience the pleasure of enslaving.”

“We’re going to pre-brainwash you,” Anne said— whatever that meant, the sisters had never heard that word before. “We’re going to pre-brainwash you, and you’ll be done just in time to go to the Institute, where you will be brainwashed a second time— we think that will bind it that more impressively to each of your souls.”

“Brainwash?!” Alyssa snapped. “That’s what goes on at the Institute?”

“Yes,” Anya smiled. “The Institute is state of the art at brainwashing. We can’t really compare, but we’ll do our very best. And if we do a good enough job, the Institute might add a pre-brainwashing step to their process, just because of us!”

She sounded genuinely excited at the prospect.

“And it doesn’t matter that we’ve told you all of this,” Audrey said. “Your knowing won’t stop it from happening to you.”

It did all sound very final.

“Soon you’ll be just like us,” Anya crooned to them. “Not cousins anymore, but sisters— we’ll all twelve of us be sisters together, consumed by the driving need to belong to our mistress, the driving need to be possessed by her will, to not think or act but to carry it out; to become the thing made flesh. And we will all be one brain directed by it; one communal mind.”

Each older sextuplet was shifting a little where they stood— there was some barely contained excitement inside each one which was impossible for them to hold inside, it seemed.

“Sisterconcubines,” Arya echoed— since she was Anya’s literal twin, this made the effect of her saying it more frightening. And when she said it, it was less of a statement, and more of a moan. Her hand had found its way between her legs— and now she stirred wetness around her clit, for all her cousins to see. The thought of what was going to happen to them— of what had already happened to her, how she existed in her life in the present day— those things all together were turning her on, and she clearly had no inhibiting shame or shyness. She was perfectly comfortable masturbating herself where they all could see.

Amanda, Amelia, Alyssa, Alison, Alicia and Alice all tried to look away. They did not want to watch their own cousin masturbate— but looking away only shielded them from so much. They could still hear the wet slapping of Arya’s fingers even with their eyes averted from her and what she was doing.

“Sisterconcubines,” other voices echoed— the chairbound girls looked up, taking care to avoid seeing Arya.

“Just like we are,” Aubrey breathed— the six boundsisters watched in disquiet as Aubrey entwined herself with Audrey and the two began sharing a very sloppy kiss.

Alyssa stared at her cousins kissing, feeling her stomach drop. It couldn’t be true, could it? Nothing, no amount of brainwashing could make her want to do that to any of her sisters— and especially not with her own twin, Alison. And yet— the six who were all now in various states of making out and touching themselves or each other hadn’t always been like this— they had all just been regular sisters once, sisters who were never inappropriate with each other. And now they called themselves sisterconcubines— and they carried on like this— if some form of brainwashing had been done to them, then it had been successful— then if that same form of brainwashing was done to all of them…

Alyssa shuddered and told herself it couldn’t be true.

Alice was feeling the same way— but was more accepting of the reality in front of her eyes.

The lustfulness of their cousins— they were acting like this because they were thinking of what was going to happen to Alice and her sisters. They were thinking of it, and getting turned on, and pouring that lust into the heavy kissing and petting they were doing to each other. They were excited— they expected Alice and all her sisters to be like this one day— that cold feeling in the pit of her stomach was horror.

Amanda was feeling horrified too. There was no escape— she couldn’t get out of her chair, she couldn’t help her sisters get out of theirs. It was truly starting to dawn on her that this was her future— this was what was going to happen, this was what had been intended for all of them— to be sisterconcubines in exactly the same way they were watching their cousins be.

Amelia wanted to get out— she tried pulling at her restraints. She had been calmer before, and more resigned, but now, faced with what seemed unnatural acts to her, she was desperate to escape the future which seemed inevitable.

Alison was simply sitting in her chair, morosely— having already given up.

Alicia had defiantly closed her eyes, and was keeping them shut. She might still be able to hear mouths slurping over each other. That didn’t mean she had to watch it happen.

The six centered sextuplets enjoyed the moment— their cousins about to start— eventually stopped.

The six seated sextuplets watched as their cousins finally separated at the mouths, and broke off into being individuals. Each one came to stand infront of an individual chair— Arya had ended up in front of Amanda, where she was forced in her recline— Audrey infront of Amelia, Anya infront of Alyssa, Audrey infront of Alison, Anne infront of Alicia and Anna infront of Alice.

Then each cousin bent to the side, reaching low to each chair— each sister bound in her chair heard the unmistakable clicking sound of a compartment opening— six compartments, each on the side of each chairbase were reached into.

Then six clicks were heard as each one was resealed— and each cousin came to stand infront of each sister again— each one now held an electric razor in her hand.

As one, the cousins pressed the buttons of the razors, sending each one buzzing to life. And they leaned over the restrained sisters, brandishing the razors which buzzed in their hands.

Amelia knew what was happening. She still tried to twist in her restraints to cover her pussy, to get it out of reach— but her legs were stuckfast, and Audrey had leaned far enough to reach. Amelia felt the razor connect with the first of the curls of her pussy hair— and Amelia let out a grunt of discomfort— there was a little bit of a bite to the razor, it irritated her skin as it scraped along, shearing her of her pubic hair— and it was a strange sensation because the razor buzzed too, and she could feel that buzzing in her nerves, and she could feel that buzzing in her skin— she couldn’t squirm, she couldn’t move— she had to hold in place, and just let that razor strip her of hair.

Alicia was blushing, as Anne worked the razor over her. Why did it have to buzz just like that? And why was Alicia so sensitive down there? There was nothing about what her cousins had said or done which had pleased her— and yet, because of that mechanical buzzing, which vibrated through her skin and seemed to get all the way to her pussy— now Alicia was feeling some measure of arousal. And she hated that. She was blushing with her whole body; everywhere the razor passed, it sent those electric vibrations into her. She didn’t want to feel it.

Amanda stared up at the ceiling and waited for the shaving to be over. Everything happening here was so humiliating— so upsetting— so disturbing. It was better to try not to think about it.

Alyssa shook her head. “No, please! I like my pubic hair the way that it is, don’t change it!”

“You’ll be bare between your thighs just like we are,” Anya said, a gleam of joy in her eyes.

Then she hesitated, holding the razor in her hand, leaning just back from Alyssa, who was only half-shaved. “Do you want to know a secret?”

“No!” Alyssa shouted.

“Our mothers are bare between the thighs too,” Anya smilingly said, not apparently having heard Alyssa’s protestation at all.

Then Anya went back to shaving her, and Alyssa shuddered. Surely not— their cousins were incestuous with each other— but not with their own mothers— Alyssa’s and her sisters’ aunts.

But how else would Anya have firsthand knowledge of what her mothers’ pussies looked like?

Alison was looking at Audrey’s pussy with a frown as her own was shaved. It was true that there was no hair there— but when she compared her pussy to Audrey’s, there was a marked difference. Yes, Alison’s own pussy was in the process of being shaved, but the places it had been rendered hairless showed traces of razor burns— obvious hairfollicles, places the hair would regrow.

There was nothing like this on Audrey— no visible places for pubic-hair to emerge, no sign of a recent shaving down. And yet there was no hair. She was smooth there— and too smooth, Alison thought.

Alison knew she should hate her cousin. She should hate all of her cousins, because what they were doing to her and her sisters— what they planned to still further do— all of it was unthinkable, and unforgivable.

And still. Though she had never known her older cousins exceedingly well, she had still known them— they were familiar to her. It felt like an easy habit to speak her mind, to share, to expect sharing in return. She was looking at Audrey’s pubeless pubes, and the question came from her mouth naturally, even as Audrey kept shaving her, as Alison felt the razor buzz.

“Audrey,” she said. Her cousin glanced briefly up at her, and then back to where she was shaving, obviously doing a concentrated job of it. “Do you shave?”

“It is no longer necessary for me to shave,” Audrey answered without looking up again. “It is not necessary for any of my sisters. Nor for our mothers. We are shaving you, but it is only a temporary measure taken to signal the beginning of your training. Brainwashed slaves retain nothing— not even the hair on their bodies. They may keep nothing.”

Alison shuddered at the same time as Audrey, but they had shuddered differently. Alison had shuddered in fear at the unnatural things Audrey had just said, the full belief with which she’d said them, though they sounded almost nonsensical to a sane person. Audrey, had, however, shuddered in a small orgasm. Her voice had been husky around the shudderinducing words she had spoken.

“But doesn’t your hair grow back?” Alison asked in surprise. She couldn’t wrap her head around and understand what Audrey had said. Audrey was still a woman— her body should be producing bodyhair.

“It does not.” Audrey remained committed to her task. “My body has been—” she drew in a breath, and shimmied with her whole body in a way that may not have been conscious. “altered,” she breathed, as if the thought alone were orgasmic. “I have been subjected to state of the art laser treatment— lasers have been on my body, and when they were there, they taught all the hair follicles below my neck to seal in and live healthily as regular cells— incapable of growing hair anymore. My hair follicles effectively absorbed the lesson.”

Alison swallowed, feelings of discomfort inside. Why did Audrey— all of the cousins— why did they have to say everything like it was the greatest turn-on they had ever thought of?

Alison couldn’t help but picture it, though. In her mind, it was a white chamber like a showerstall— she pictured Audrey stepping into it, completely naked— and smiling— or perhaps the brainwashing had told her not to smile and she had stood there naked, as lasers beamed into her from all sides, searing the memory of how to grow hair out of her follicles— maybe Audrey had stood there and dripped her pussy wet from the brainwashed non-thought that her body was being perfected in the way her brainwashers wanted it to be.

Alison hated all of it. Hated that anyone had been powerful enough to play in the minds of her cousins and change them forever— hated it even more that apparently just mentally altering them hadn’t been enough. They had needed to change their bodies too, to make the six of them even more their sick brainwashed creations.

“Don’t worry, Alison,” Audrey encouraged, as she shaved off the last strip of Alison’s pubic hair. Alison could feel the bite of the razor, and vibration of its force. “As I said, this is a temporary measure. When your brains have been more deeply conditioned, you will be ready to stand for the lasers too— and they will teach the follicles on your body what they taught mine. You will be Treated, and then you will not have to be shaved anymore.”

Alison pictured herself in that white chamber showerstall— brainwashed blank eyes… dripping wet at the brainwashed nonthought. Being lasered.

Each sister was now bare between her thighs— each pussy in the room was now bald— the pussies of the centered sextuplets smoothly bald because of their educated flesh, the pussies of the bound sextuplets shorn-bald, because they had received their baldness by razor.

Six clicking noises— six razors were returned to their compartments within the chairs.

But then there were six new sounds of clicking— each standing sextuplet had bent low to each chairbase again, but instead of reaching around to the leftside, this time they reached around to the right— released the compartments there, and reemerged with a pair of black overear headphones in hand, those compartments resealed.

The headphones were unreasonably big. Each restrained woman looking at them knew they would completely enfold each ear, and make them impossible to visually retrieve form underneath them.

Six cousins leaned forward again, and settled six headphone pairs over ears.

Each sister found the headphones were plush— but they sealed tight to their skulls. Both headphone pads could be felt, suctioning to bone— each ear had been swallowed in that plushness, each ear had been cocooned in padding, which seemed to conform to every contour. No sound from the outside environment could enter— the headphones had perfectly cancelled all noise— anything the sisters heard now would come through the headphones, be given to them by the headphones or not at all.

The rudimentary interactions, such as they’d been, that some of the sisters had had with their cousins, were finished.

Slowly, each woman became aware of a low whining drone. It felt as if it entered through their ears, labyrinthine— sinuously winding like a snake, vibrating in through the flesh of the ear, the drum of the ear as sensation— but then entering as pure tone in that sinuous snakelike way— passing the earcanal, the sound feeling like a sensation even from the interior outwards— through the inner eartube— and finally winding its way to the brain.

Two snakes on two sides, one for each ear— happening in each woman— then once the connection had been open, it was like a constant flow, snake after snake, or one endless snake that never had a tail and kept getting longer.

Each woman imagined she could feel that tone in its snaky line, winding through her brain— making a labyrinth of it too, going around every corner, twisting, turning, always discovering a new path. It never stopped. It was skull sensation, rattling through skullbones— it was earsensation, vibrating through eardrums, and it was sound, entering through the earcanal, and then sound in the brain. There was nothing but the sound.

It whined and it lowed— it whined and it lowed that made each woman feel there was a sympathetic pleasure in her lower back, something that needed to collapse, to sag— something each woman would have crossed her legs to hide— the whine hissed there, it spoke right there, it seemed to control the feeling— each woman struggled to think above the syrupy invading din. But the sound seemed to have words, words which massaged, words which soothed.

Alicia realized they were all already being brainwashed— whatever happened to her happened also to her sisters. They were all hearing the same simultaneous brainwashing tone— hearing it hum in their heads. Alicia gave up trying to think— trying to listen instead, and pick out any given words from the stream of noise— she had the irritating feeling of listening to someone speak just below audible volume— but she could make out no distinct phrases.

None of the women could. And all Alice knew was a descending fuzzy feeling— a feeling which told her it was alright, she could just listen, she shouldn’t try to understand.

Amanda was similarly soothed, and Amelia, and Alison too. All women settled a little more heavily within their restraints. Not quite at the point of sighing relief, not so obedient yet— but certainly more docile before, as they were left to await their first instance of brainwashing.

Their ears were covered but their eyes were open. Each cousin moved so they were standing to the side of each chair and no longer in front— and a holographic screen projected itself from the floor into the middle of the circle— it was transparent; the women behind it could see through and see everything in reverse— the women in front could see it see and see everything frontways— but all sisters could see their other sisters through the prism of their screen, see five faces looking and watching the same central image— watching with confusion, watching with reluctance, watching with fear.

The screen was showing them familiar figures. They could see, clearly displayed, that their cousins and their aunts were being presented. There was Aunt Alana, there was Aunt Alexa, there was Aunt Alena; and cousin Anne, cousin Anna, cousin Arya, cousin Anya, cousin Audrey and cousin Aubrey.

For now, the nine figures were merely standing resolute. Each one was fully dressed— Alana, Alena and Alexa each wore a different colored dressed in a bold initial color— Alana’s was solid white, Alena’s solid blue, and Alexa’s solid red.

Then Alana’s twins wore two solid white dresses— Alena’s two solid blue, Alexa’s two solid red.

It was clear to each of the women in the chairs just how brainwashed the nine of them were— they stood as if they could stand for ever and never tire, stood as if they could stand for ever and never get bored. It was as if their minds had been shutdown— or as if they had no minds remaining, and if those who controlled them told them to stand in one particular spot for their rest of their lives, unblinking, unmoving, until they died from wasting away— it really looked like they could do it. They seemed to have been locked into their stances.

Alison had told herself that Audrey was still human before while she’d been shaved. But the way that screen Audrey was standing seemed to directly defy Alison’s self-soothing. Audrey did not stand like she was human, Audrey stood like she was automated— all nine of the women did— as if some central system operated her— one system running Alena, Alana and Alexa— one system running Audrey, Aubrey, Anne, Anna, Arya, Anya— and for now the system was dormant, so for now all its components stood idle.

Amanda watched and understood why she was watching. Something in her mind was saying things she could understand. She was observing the effects of brainwashing. She was staring into the faces of its true converts— seeing irrefutable evidence, written into the way they stood, into the way they held their bodies, inhabited themselves and the space around them.

They were Brainwashed. That was good.

After not being able to make out any words, now that words were becoming clear to her, Alicia’s mind latched onto what was now intelligible. She was looking at subjects of Brainwashing. They were so Brainwashed that as they stood their doing nothing their minds were being washed cleaner. Every time they breathed, their minds were washed cleaner.

Amelia found she could not filter the ideas in her head out. Her mind seemed somehow so primed for them— she could not stop them from immersing her, it was not possible to be detached.

Alyssa felt more dazed than before— dizzy— it made her eyes focus harder on the holographic screenimage.

Alice’s brain told her— it was Sexy to be Brainwashed. Incredibly sexy.

All six women considered their cousins as their minds buzzed with ideas they could not reject. It was the constant stream that was defeating them— one idea may be discarded, but another one immediately replaced it— and another after that— and after that— the programming was indefatigable, and they were only human women, trying ineffectually to bat it away from themselves. They watched their cousins and aunts stand on screen, wearing their dresses. Unmoving, unthinking, entirely Brainwashed. Only waiting to be activated, and then used.

Now they moved. Alena chastely hugged her daughters— Alana did the same— Alexa did the same. It was a loose hug but it got tighter. It became an embrace.

Each group of three women stepped back from each other— then each one undid the zipper on the back of her dress, so a frontshoulder of it could slip off, and leave a shoulder bare.

They embraced again— the daughters, with their back to the camera, showed bareskin— the zipper had been opened all the way to its base, and the curve of their spines were obvious— the mother’s front shoulder showed from where it had slipped out of place— and part of her collarbone and neck too— which would have been covered, had the dress been sealed right to its highneck, which had initially run in equilibrium to the dress’ shoulders.

Now the embrace was even tighter still— three bodies molding together, three times over.

This embrace broken too, the top of each dress was rolled down, exposing each woman’s breasts. The breasts of their cousins were already familiar to them, and matched what the sisters had seen outside of the video. The breasts of their aunts were new to them— but were somehow just as perky and youthful looking as the breasts of their cousins.

The embrace happened again. This time, all breasts were crushed centrally between the three embracing bodies— smushing together, and the main image was overlaid with further seethrough image which flickered over it— closeups of the breasts pressing together, folding around each other, flesh intertwining with flesh— as the main image of zoomed-out embracing remained clear underneath.

This embrace ended too, and the dresses were disposed of entirely. Nine pussies now visible— when the embrace happened again, closeup shots of pussies pressing together, hips pressing together, pussylips dragging juice against other pussylips as breasts reunited. The embrace was a shifting, twisting thing now— there was touching. Mother stroked daughters, and daughters stroked mother, and daughters stroked each other, and mother stroked herself— this happened in each replicated unit of three.

The sisters in the chairs stared with gaping mouths. Their minds were being silenced out by the tones which controled them, so now they could only simply stare as the touching progressively became more and more lecherous. Hands kneading breasts, hands tweaking clit, fingers invading pussies, then hands stroking along labias. Sister to sister, daughter to mother, mother to daughter— they all kept touching, kept stroking, kept twisting, kept embracing.

It was a confusing blare of images, and no sister could stand up to it— and then the images were changing again, not just hands, but now mouths too, mouths forming seals, a mouth forming a seal around a clit— another mouth forming a seal around a nipple— the more expanded view— Alena was sucked at both her breasts by her daughters— though they could draw no more nourishment there, they still sucked as if they were truly drinking something.

And there were pussies smushing, dragging against pussies, both becoming a sticky mess from the slick lubrication that they shared— and hands stroking, hands tweaking— it was sometimes hard to tell who they belonged to— because the images flickered through quickly, sometimes, and in closeup— but it was all daughters touching mothers or mothers touching daughters— or daughters touching each other— all of it was sapphic sex, woman loving to other woman— now mother loving to daughter, daughter loving to mother.

The tones in the sisters’ heads told them this was normal. Mothers should show love to their daughters. Daughters should show love to their mothers. They could not fight the idea, not one of them— but the acceptance of such a taboo could not be done in one moment of thinking, and besides, all of them were beyond thinking anyway. There was nothing in their minds but that buzzing, and they didn’t even know they were listening to it, that it was whispering, murmuring alluring, beautiful things to them. They watched.

The standing sextuplets, the cousins; they could see the openness on the faces of each bound sister. But that openness could only do so much— it was only half of the brainwashing. They could stand and receive into their minds what they were being presented with— already it was positive that they did not repulse at the sight of such taboo incest.

But their minds could take such things in, and fail to hold them— accept such things while they were presented with them, and when the presentation was over, forget them completely. The cousins had done their research— knowing they could never be quite as good as the Institute, but still wanting to know enough to do a remarkable job.

And that could happen with brainwashing sometimes— some victims’ minds were so badly broken they could not hold anything after— or hold anything long term— they would remain susceptible and obey any order in the moment, but would otherwise be without intelligence, and without the capacity for their minds to retain— the most important part of establishing a controled pattern of future behavior. And the cousins would not see the six sisters reduced to uselessness before they even made it to training. To both protect their minds— for too long with the images, too long with the buzzing, would destroy them— to protect their minds, as well as to more deeply brainwash them and bind them to their conditioning, each cousin got on her knees in front of a sister.

They had stood to the side, and watched, waiting for sisterfaces to go slack— but now, each cousin knelt.

Amanda felt she was in the most wonderful dream— her mind had been asleep, shut away from her, shoved into a box and the box into a closet, but now it was in her head again. She could not form words even mentally, not now, but she was feeling things— what she felt was a flattongue pressed against her clit— the bud was completely covered by it, hid under it as if under blanketing; and then the tongue writhed, and Amanda’s hips started.

It felt like her mind had been dying for something, crawling through a wasteland, something it had just been given. The pleasure electrified, seared everything— it seemed to burn the images of Amanda’s cousins and aunts making love directly into her brain— then the images seemed to be sympathetic to words that were already there— and then the tongue was moving again, as if all of it was a perfectly orchestrated cycle.

More than once Amanda was just aback of her orgasm by about an inch— but the cousin which licked her, which was Anya now— she knew how to lick, and she always seemed to sense Amanda’s orgasm, and ensure it stayed elusive from her.

Amanda squirmed— the bonds not letting her go far— she lost count of how many times she had been denied climax.

In her mind it was whispered— once you’ve made things easier for yourself by giving in, and the orgasm was denied to her again.

Amelia was panting as she was licked— her cousin— it was Audrey doing it to her— and Audrey licked all over her slit, while simultaneously putting thick fingers in her where they needed to go— where she ached so much— two, three, spreading her, thrusting in time with petting licks— but every time just as she tensed up to gush out— Audrey maddeningly relented her tempo, making it impossible to achieve relief.

It was the same thing for Alyssa, who had fingers twisting inside her as lips suckled— the same for Alison, who felt two fingers inside, and a fourth finger teasing her asshole but never venturing in. The same, for Alicia, who felt a tongue inside of her instead, reaching further into her than she’d thought a tongue would be able to go.

And the same for Alice, whose clit was petted with fingers as her pussyhole was sucked for its juices.

Alice’s mind felt like it was splitting apart. There was a drone in her head. Make it easy, make it easy, don’t fight anymore, give in now, give in completely, but somehow her mind didn’t know how to do that. Her eyes latched onto the wrong, depraved images as if they were thing she had been seeking for, and something told her with authority that they had been, they had been what she’d wanted, what she’d needed when she’d gone seeking for something.

The pleasure made it impossible to look away— the words made it impossible to disbelieve, even as she was simultaneously being reassured that she could hear nothing, she was being told nothing— her mind could not fight that paradox of logic, even slightly— it was too hazedout— the pleasure kept doing that. It put her mind to sleep but made her pussy wake up— made her think only from that craving place— Alice tried to flush in shame, wanted to be more than a thinking vagina, but the images played for her eyes again, and her mind was soothed to sleep.

The pleasure happened, the orgasm maddeningly close— if only it would leave her— one orgasm, that was all she needed, then she would be thinking properly again— thinking properly again, the whispers told her she was properly thinking, to think this way— to think only from her libido and nowhere else. She did not need a brain, until she was commanded to think— she might not even need one then— if the things she would otherwise need to think for were trained effectively enough into both her body and her subconscious.

The images played, her mind was put to sleep— then she heard the hissing tone in her head, the ideas it made her understand offended her, forcing her mind to wake up— but then the images immediately captured her. It was disorienting to constantly feel the sensation of waking up and being forced back asleep— and all through that the licking— the touching.

She had been told that Brainwashing would be Sexy. They had fairly warned her— it was true, that was what it was— it was nothing else than that— she was having lengthy prolonged sex which fucked her in the brain, and fucked her in the soul— the images into her eyes were the penetration of a tongue— the words, the ideas they carried to her were the penetration of a tongue— something more powerful and capable thrusting into her soft receiving wetness and making her melt.

And how her mind wanted to sleep— more than before— each time the ideas of the tone woke her up— each time, more and more from a sense of obligation than anything else— it just made her wish, privately, that her mind could stay sleeping— that she could be allowed to only think with her pussy, to be perfectly Brainwashed, and awaiting orders on how she should obey.

The room was full of the sounds of moans now— each sister was having a similar experience as they each of them were hopelessly trapped inside of the brainwashing— and still not one of them had been allowed to cum— though each one’s face was bathed in tears from the constant denial. Hours had passed like this, there had been no reprieve from the exquisite suffering— and their cousins were tireless, licking them out, fucking them with fingers in either of their holes, or fucking them with tongues and stroking.

Tongues and fingers used in all the best ways, across each between-thigh pleasure landscape— each sister was panting, desperate.

And they each understood, suddenly, how to get it. Together they spoke the same words in one chorus. Their souls shattered as they said them.

“We give in!” They shrieked together. “We are nothing but our mistress’ desire on legs, in bodies, we must be that, we must be that physically in the world, please, oh please let us— make that be our truth— crush out everything in us that stands in the way of that— please—”

And that was enough— each sister wracked with orgasm, and each orgasm, finally, coaxing each sister’s brain back into peaceful slumber.

That more earnestly marked the beginning of them being brainwashed. For each sextuplet, it felt like being held in cloying honeyed warmth they could never quite wake from or be certain of— all that they knew for certain was to obey, and to do as they were told.

They had understood, because they’d been told, what their futures were going to be— that they would be more helplessly possessed than even their cousins, for going through the brainwashing process twice, but it was different to understand that when one’s mind was still free, and different to understand that once one’s mind was in the possession of something else.

The older sextuplets knew they only had so much time— they only had the twelve weeks of summer, which were, by that point already well underway— and so it was important to make every moment count.

The routine went the same way every day. After all, the most important part of brainwashing was to wear ruts in the victim’s mind, and only keep driving them deeper. Each of the cousins already suspected that, perhaps, the sisters they had tasked themselves to brainwash were already as brainwashed as they— small things gave this impression— the distantness in their eyes, their quickness to acquiesce— but it didn’t matter how brainwashed they were, as long as they were here they needed to be brainwashed more. That was a compulsion in the cousins’ minds that even they could not question.

So, the repeating routine repeated like this.

In the morning the sisters were awakened by their brainwashers entering the communal room they slept in on the floor, awakening in a pile of bodies huddled together. The second their eyes opened, their cousins turned the lights on overhead, which strobed— colors rippling in colorpatterns the brainwashees’ minds had already been taught to understand as deeply hypnotic— then once colors strobed, another switch was flipped so that tones sounded.

Then the sisters were immediately impelled to make love to each other. They would be kept doing this, usually until lunch, and their cousins would supervise, moving throughout the room, putting hands on pairs to show them how better perform a love act— sometimes cousin would choose a cousin and make a demonstration. But it was important the sisters be kept fucking almost constantly— as long as their minds were being conditioned, they needed to be fucking— their minds needed the conditioning ground that deeply in. Both brainwashers and brainwashees believed this fully.

The conditioning would end just in time for lunch— the sisters would eat, supervised by their cousins, and then they would be taken to the gym.

To begin with, the sisters’ bodies had been alright. They had always taken proper care of themselves, so they were more or less fit. But their cousins were still superior to them— as their cousins had always been designated as future Institute recruits, from even before their birth— the lifepath which was leading the sisters to the Institute was one which had only recently sprung up, and so they needed to catch up.

They needed to take bodies that were fit and sculpt them to perfection; they needed to become perfectlybodied concubines, as their cousins were— needed to reach their full concubinepotential.

This sculpting of their bodies was easily done, given the sisters’ brainwashic fervor— they would as mindlessly and continuously exercise as they mindlessly and continuously fucked— running treadmills, lifting only moderate weights, so they would be sculpted specifically. The lights strobed in the gym too, and tones sounded— they were so associated to sexconditioning in the sisters’ minds that had nearly constant ongoing orgasms the entire time they worked their bodies.

Then when it was time to sleep they would be led to their room once more— and they were put to sleep, with the touch of a cousin’s hand to their forehead. But there was a special nighttone for them to listen to— and they had been so well trained, even down to the depths of their sleeping minds, that they understood they must fuck and touch even while they slept— and they were left rutting, cumming, rutting again somnambually through the night.

Then when the morning came there were allowed to fuck awake.

Their cousins were always there, directing them, helping them— it warmed each of their hearts to see how the sisters were being driven so deeply into it, into the place where their minds were completely held and completely owned. Each day they rededicated themselves. The sisters were brainwashed unrelentingly.

As this whole process was happening, Erika was not taking an active role. She had trusted her six current concubines in everything— in her career— in her home— in her heart— so when they had told her they could do this, they could convert their cousins, she had trusted them, and had been well right to trust them, for how magnificently they brainwashed their own blood— like they were true experts on how it should be done.

Erika was happier not interfering actually, happier in observing the skill of her concubines at doing what they’d promised, and doing what they’d promised to her. She saw their love for her in every action— she was the reason they were so brutally unceasingly breaking the minds of their kin.

It was fun to watch the brainwashing as an observer— as the audience it was all intended for. She had cameras in all rooms of her mansion, and they recorded everything— she could watch the livefeed of where the sisters were— if they were being forced to fuck all night long in their sleep— if they were being forced to fuck all morning long in their wakefulness— if they were being forced to cum all afternoon and evening long as they exercised, just by association to the symbols of their conditioning— the lights that strobed, the tones that played.

Or she could watch them as they ate, so regally, so neatly— or observe them as they showered after exercise, before going back to bed and being put asleep to fuck more as their minds dreamed of further submission.

But she did not have to watch the livefeed. Each camera also recorded and uploaded archived records— so when Erika had to leave the mansion to go see to the responsibilities of her life, such as they were in a quiet summer, when she returned home, she could watch all the footage she’d missed— by the end of this, she would have the programming of everything that had ever been done to the sextuplets, and she would be able to watch it for years forward from this point, as much as she liked.

The only pang of regret was that, since her first set of sextuplets had been a gift, she had no such footage of their destruction— that was a shame, but could no longer be helped— at least she would always have the complete footage showing the patheticness of her second set. She could even make them use it as their own personal porn someday.

But today, the routine was unfolding as usual. She hadn’t had to go anywhere, and unlike some other days, when she genuinely had more she wanted to do, she’d been happy just to sit watching. And now she had been sitting here watching this same thing happening for several hours, watching this, knowing it was happening in the world at the same moment as she was sitting here in her chair— but the sextuplets had gone from sleepfucking to wakefucking to eating, to exercisecumming, and now, at last, they were preparing to return to sleepfucking— but first they must shower themselves clean.

Erika had cameras even in the showerroom, so now she could watch as Amanda and Amelia stood below one showerhead— as Alyssa and Alison stood below another— and as Alicia and Alice stood below a third.

Six hands each reached for the same tap to turn three showers on— six beautiful naked female bodies stood waiting— the hands turned, the taps activated the pipes, and hot steamy water descended from each showerhead, falling on two naked women beneath it.

Both those women jumped three times over, their breasts surging with each hop, then trembling as all their bodies trembled under the onslaught of so much hot sensation. They were primed to stay in state of nearorgasm all the time and the slightest sensation was enough to begin them cumming— for a moment each woman was caught in a paroxysm of pleasure until adapting.

It was not that they should ever truly cease to orgasm— the first set of sextuplets responsible for all this would agree, and it was what Erika thought too. They should not cease to orgasm, because the continuous orgasm they were forced to stay in kept their minds in the most effective chains. It was only that they must learn sometimes to let the orgasm take them over— and other times they must forget it was happening to them— let their body carry it out as it was relegated to back of mind.

In the moment the hotwater had hit them they had been unable to resist— that was as it should be— they must not cease to orgasm— but after a few moments of the water beating down on them, of feeling their each climax, each sister managed it better— forgetting what their bodies were doing, able to focus on what they must actively do themselves now.

Still it pleased Erika— she had cameras in many places that could fetch for her multiple angles. The central feed showed her the women at a distance, but there were feeds below that, showing her closeups of each pussy— and it pleased her— each pussy continued climaxing without its owner’s knowledge, as its owner obeyed other tasks.

Now each set of twins was washing each other. They had each taken the bar of soap— they lathered their hands, and then spread their hands over their twin’s body— Amelia’s hands over Amanda’s breasts, Alison’s hands over Alyssa’s ass, Alice’s hands on Alicia’s still clenching pussy. Both their minds were not allowed to know it clenched— Erika enjoyed knowing that too.

Each set of twins washed each other perfectly, as they had been trained, worked synchronously; each one was in reach of the other’s body in such a way that they presented themselves in the ideal position to be washed in the specific necessary spots at the specific necessary times— and they worked as a team, scrubbing, lathering taut skin, perky assets— getting everything, clean, clean, under the hot water.

Erika enjoyed seeing each woman naked. They had all been submitted to the hair-removal treatment after three weeks, because the older sextuplets had correctly pronounced them ready— Erika still had the footage of that too— in each hair-removing chamber, a closet of white tile and lined lasers— each twin had stepped in, and immediately begun climaxing when the strobing lights had hit their eyes— they had been held hypnotically still by their brainwashing, and the lasers had bathed their flesh everywhere below the neck, retraining it as their minds had already been retrained— teaching follicles to dissolve, teaching skin to forget how hair grew.

Erika could still remember the blank look on each brainwashed face. There had been no reaction, no movement— only submission to being altered— in that moment it had felt they were directly submitting to her— and they had each come out hairless— and now they still were, and always would be.

They washed, but now the movements of their hands became more meandering— the most important work was done— now they were just mindlessly spreading the lather— twin stimulating twin— it was the kind of footage that had captured them once— hands on nipples, hands in pussies, hands over breasts, mouths sucking around clits, mouths sucking around areolas, both twins under each showerhead endlessly shifting themselves in a dance where they were perfectly in relation to the part of their twin’s body— so they could touch or suck where they intended as they were touched and sucked where it was intended for them. One mind shared between them orchestrating everything— but perhaps only one mind per pair, not quite perhaps one mind shared between six as was the case with the older set of sextuplets.

One mind for two bodies was still a treasure to behold. Erika drank in each shifting dance of the erotic— the hands, the lips, the breasts, the pussies. Beautiful to behold. Delicious to think.

They were silent as they attended to each other’s mutual pleasure, and mutual cleanliness. In unmindbound women, such pleasure might have been shouts— shouts of joy, declaiming ‘that’s so good, that’s so good,’ which might have echoed off the tiles.

And there might have been a thrill in other observers at seeing that kind of joy, that kind of glad rapture— but Erika would not have enjoyed such vocal expressions of enjoyment as she enjoyed this, what was happening directly in front of her.

In unmindbound women— but these six sextuplets were mindbound women, and so they worked, to the task of their pleasure, to the task of their cleanliness in utter silence. Only if a voice spoke to them to tell them they should shout rapturously, as if their whole hearts were in it, overjoyed— only then would they do it, feel it, embody it on command. And Erika had no desire to see them doing it.

For her, their silence was proof of how owned they already were. If she had wanted their vocal sounds, she could have called the set of sextuplets already owned, and instructed them to pass instructions on her behalf. But she had no such desire— the only longing in her was for the day on which she officially owned the six being currently trained.

On that day, if there was anything she wanted to see, she could press the button that would let her speak into any room they were— her voice would immediately puncture their minds and they would enact. She had all such buttons now, she could do that— but she believed in respecting proper workflows. It would be doing things out of order to skip to a future step now— more important that things follow the agreed-upon plan.

She let herself focus more on what they were doing— now each sister knelt for her other sister to climb on her— reaching the shower head, bringing it off the wall and down, connected by its linking tube— and the twin holding the nozzle, now standing next to her sister again, aimed it at her pussy and blasted her with water there— making her twin convulse as she was rinsed, as she felt it in her pussy, down her legs— this had been done with such careful skill and patience.

And each sister directing the spray stared the wideeyed stare of the brainwashed as she watched the twin under the spray struggle and fail under the impossible pleasure.

Then roles were reversed with no words spoken. The one who had aimed the showerhead now had it aimed at her in return, now felt it bathing and baptizing all her intimate places— then each set of twins took turns directing the nozzle over everywhere else on their bodies, rinsing all the remaining lather off of themselves— until both were only wet— thoroughly cleaned and thoroughly pleasured, and ready to have their minds set into sleepfucking.

The same twin who had kneeled before kneeled again— the same twin who had ascended, ascended again. Each showerhead was replaced on the wall— each shower was turned off— and Erika considered each set of twins as they helped each other towel off.

They each of them moved with such effortless class— with such inherent grace— and yet it was still an unpracticed class, an unlearned grace— Erika was used to watching the older set of sextuplets— in them grace and class were both perfected— she was reminded that, though the younger set of sextuplets were definitely excelling at their training, they were still in fairly early stages of it— they could not truly be expected to compete with those who had been seen in it.

And while they may have lacked the synchronization of their cousins, it could not be denied that the six sisters no longer resembled in any way, other than appearance, the six sisters who had arrived on the first day of summer. They had come quite a distance in the interim.

As Erika watched them for the next few weeks, this impression which she had of them grew. They were making such progress, getting so far— every day they left a little further behind them the women who had entered her home on the first day of their visit.

And when the end of the twelfth week came, Erika was convinced. There had been a call from the Institute just days before, advising her that if necessary the sextuplets could start the program a few weeks late if they needed more time— but Erika was satisfied by all she’d seen, and satisfied with the impressions she’d been left with as a result of her viewings. She’d told the Institute a delay was not necessary.

And so at the end of the twelfth week, the sextuplets were sent off to the Institute as planned— and everyone was curious to know if being pre-brainwashed had made a difference— but Erika knew the set of sextuplets that she retained in her company were missing their cousins— and so she tried hard to pay them extra attention, pass extra time with them, to help make up for that.

At the Institute, the sisters were coming out ahead of everyone else. One might have assumed that being conditioned as deeply as they already had been, once, would have meant all the new conditioning simply sunk in and did not change them.

But that was not the way it went at all— when they were brainwashed on their first day of orientation at the Institute, this was what happened: the act of renewed brainwashing seemed to form a frozen capture of their brain as it was at that the moment of first conquer. That stayed as a foundational layer.

But above this, it was as if an entirely different, second brain was built on the foundation of the first— occupying the same physical space, but psychically forming a mind that was very much a twoleveled thing.

This meant the sextuplets were always deeper than the rest of their classmates— and they often solved tasks and problems quicker, acquired knowledge quicker— and the split-level psyche was forming a kind of locked in insurance. If someone had ever wanted to kidnap a trained concubine and deprogram her, it would have been difficult— but if they took one of the Institute’s regular graduates, they might, in the end, be able to manage it.

Not so if they took any one of the women who had been pre-brainwashed— because of their splitlevel psyches, a deprogramming of the first brain would only send the deprogrammer plummeting in the second brain— and with additional brainwashing as the years of training progressed, the splitlevel in each mind remained, but became a dynamic point— going down the stairs through one mind led to the next but then it was possible to keep going down the stairs from there and end up in the first— endless stairs, all the way down, a recursive circle, with no ‘under,’ no ‘before,’ no ‘rudimentary,’ to find— each woman had a mind that had been brainwashed— and built above that, brainwashing that had been assembled into the form of a second mind— there was no escaping that.

The sextuplets excelled all through their training— and the Institute paid attention. The hypothesis of their former graduates had been right— pre-brainwashing had made a difference.

They would try with some more new recruits maybe, observe what happened there— but if all went well, they were inclined to recommend it in future. After all, it seemed with pre-brainwashing there were two guarantees: that training concubines would learn faster and work harder— and that even if anyone ever captured them and tried to strip the programming, there was a one hundred percent chance they would fail, because a pre-brainwashed mind was a mind that could just keep falling down a set of stairs forever without ever arriving anywhere tangible or real.

The whole effort had, in the end, been a resounding success.

But some time passed this way— the sextuplets completed their training at the Institute, and graduated as young women now twenty-one and twenty years old. They’d returned to Erika’s as concubines who were properly her concubines now— concubines she could speak into rooms for, bidding their obedience— she was glad every day that she had been patient and not ruined the fun for herself by directly commanding them while they had still been in training.

There had been a practical consideration behind that, two— those years earlier, when the second set had been going through their pre-brainwashing at the hands of the first, Erika’s business had only been big enough to justify six concubineassistants. She had still intended to have the second set; but as a pragmatist, had recognized that if, upon their Institute graduation, she had not grown her operation, she would not have room for them; and the conditioning that made them long for her would have to be stripped out of their minds.

She had been prepared to respond pragmatically. But she had hoped— and her hope came through, as it turned out. By the time of the second set’s graduation, Erika’s business had grown; and with that accompanying workload, Erika not only had room for twelve concubineassistants, she actually needed all twelve of them.

Thus, the first set of sextuplets and the second set of sextuplets were equals now. During the pre-brainwash, there had been two separate communal minds; but once the second set had come home to Erika, fully destined to be her slaves forever, all twelve women had been reconditioned together, and one new communal mind had been born; it existed in each of their bodies, and it was all of them.

For this to happen, all twelve had had to reenter the Institute for a special twelveweek “refresher” course— during which they had been forcibly synced up. The mansion had felt empty for those twelve weeks; and Erika had missed her women. She’d felt their absence daily, but now that all twelve were perfectly joined mentally, she knew that aching of separation had been worth it.

So each of the twelve were equally devoted, equally skilled— as though Erika had twelve of the same thing, twelve things up to the same standard of quality, twelve things that were good enough.

None of them thought unless she asked them to— they all always waited for her direction, for her to want something from them. And what she wanted from them every day was the same routine, repeating itself over again.

Gone were the days of the second set passing the night in fucksleep, then doing trainingfucks all morning— that was the kind of schedule one could have while they were being pre-brainwashed, but those days of training and education were over for all of her women now— they could not constantly be in a erotic dream, could not be in a constant state of getting fucked physically. Arguably speaking they were in a constant state of getting fucked mentally, but that never interfered with anything else they did, so Erika didn’t care about it.

Each morning the twelve sextuplets would wake up— from a night in which they had legitimately slept, not fuckslept. Then they would immediately go to the homegym in the mansion, while the hours were still early.

This helped to further burrow in their servility— to maintain it just as the physical movement maintained their bodies in a state of absolutely peak beauty. Erika liked watching the twelve of them march to the gym as a unit on her livefeed, sometimes. But once they were there, she would often go stand in the room and watch them in person instead.

She still liked using the livefeeds sometimes— but it was no longer a forced necessity. During pre-brainwashing days, she’d had to stay out of the way, stay out of sight. But now all were hers— she could go be among them if she liked, or watch from afar if she preferred. She enjoyed both options at different times, and chose either one depending on her preference.

Today she had preferred to go and see them in person— to stand in the gym as twelve blondes worked themselves to sweating— and worked their minds to dripping too, as they took in their reinforcement.

Eventually the workout would end. And the workouts now also had to be shorter than workouts had been in pre-brainwashing days, because eventually everyone had to make it into work and carry on with the tasks for this day. Then once over, every single morning, once over— twelve women would go in and shower themselves clean— pleasured in their minds, but not pleasuring each other because there was a schedule to stick to, and every mind knew it— because there was one collective mind holding all twelve of them each, at a time.

Erika’s favorite part always happened after the twelve of them finished their shower. It was happening right now— each shower was turned off, and each concubine turned to face her. The twelve of them stood in a line, six pair of twins, one after the other, freshly exercised, freshly cleaned, perfectly nude and standing at attention for Erika to inspect. And oh, how she did enjoy taking her time to inspect.

Each mind expected it. She was their mistress, each one believed, and she must deem them acceptable for the day before they could continue on.

Erika delighted again at having her twelve person harem. They were a special privilege— yes, because they were ensuring she see greater success in her career than she would otherwise have seen— but more than that.

They satisfied a deep longing her, a longing from as distantly away as a childhood longing, in which the longing had just been an innocent one— and even in the form that it remained, Erika thought it was still innocent now.

As a child, she had loved to take her dolls and dress and redress them, sometimes multiple times during a game, just because she liked to see them wear their entire wardrobe when she wanted them to. She liked to see them display beautiful clothes.

That longing had persisted into her established age of adulthood. She still wished to dress and redress— to display clothing— to display beauty. Sometimes, at home on the weekends, she did make her concubines cycle through as many as four or five outfits in a day, sending them again and again to change, sometimes imploring them to dress even more beautifully, imploring them to astound her— they always came back and did it.

Sometimes they dressed so well she needed to take them out of their clothes and fuck them again, just because they looked so incredible. If they had not needed to go in and do work at the company she owned and ran, she probably would have had them change outfits multiple times a day, every single day.

But she restrained herself, because she knew it was not a practical longing, and knew that they should be able to carry out their work just as she should be able to carry out hers— it was important to delay that.

It didn’t change the fact that it made her happy, so very happy, that she was able, that she had a variety of outfits that her concubines could wear and she could cycle them between. The longing was better now it was an adult longing— she enjoyed have adult playthings— things she could dress up, things she could fuck— living sexdolls, breathing, warm, human— but still dolls, still just for her to have sex on, or to dress on— dolls she could play out her longings with. When those longings were as benign as the longing to adorn, and when they were not.

Because of all this, Erika always chose the clothes they were to wear with passion— she had racks strewn with beautiful clothes that sat on wheels, and she made her concubines push them around the mansion, those times when she wanted a quick wardrobe change in easy reach. It was better that than to send one of her women running crossmansion to retrieve something that had been left behind.

And ahead of exercising in the gym, when her women were all leaving their sleeping quarters, she made them push the racks ahead of them and place them in the showerroom first. The stream never seemed to damage the fabric— that way, once inspection was done, the clothes were right there at hand. Then she had them, once dressed, push the racks to the front foyer, so they would be waiting there, ready for use when they all got home again at the end of the day.

It was a perfect system— just like all her routines for them were perfect, just like all of them were always telling her so— she was just so grateful to have them, to have live beings to love and to rely on— and so many, so many, there was always so much company and so much comfort.

And she really did love them, as she knew they loved her— they made her life better in all ways, they would continue making it better with more time, as well.

But for now, there was a little time to play out this part of the routine. No need to rush off immediately to work, she could enjoy.

She took in their naked bodies. It made her think of how those bodies had been created— gave her appreciation for that process. It was over two decades in the past for each set of girls— the first set of sextuplets now firmly placed toward the end of their early-twenties, sitting at twenty-three, but the second set, still firmly twenty-one and twenty— still over two decades ago.

When she looked at her first set, she looked at what was familiar. After all she’d had them for five or six years now— she was used to seeing their bodies, to recognizing them, to finding them around her.

And when she looked at them, she saw the matching set of six— they had been a gift, she hadn’t had a complete say over their birth, the way in which they where formed. That had all been down to the Institute— but when her aunt Ellen had given her the first set, she had appreciated the way in which their bodies were uniform— the way they looked like they were one clone of the same woman, six times over, so it was impossible to tell who had ever been the original in the beginning.

That was part of the appeal of the first set— it had added to their appealingness as gifts received— that first set, through genetic engineering had had all differences erased from their bodies— the uniformity had been genetically enforced, created just as their life had been created— all of it planned, all of it arranged.

And they were things so perfect; she could and was as careless in her treatment of them as if they really had been sexdolls, and yet, though she treated them carelessly, tossing them to whatever whim she had whenever she had it, that didn’t change what was true.

And the truth was, despite her casual treatment of them, Erika thought that first set of six was a work of art. That was why she had taken so much pictures of them, taken them and hung them about her mansion. Also why she had so much art of them commissioned— why she had commissioned sculpture after sculpture, painting after painting— even a tapestry here or there.

They were art, and they needed to be transmitted as they were to a medium which could hold an eternal record of their perfection.

But their perfection was such that no matter how many times it was immortalized, it never seemed that the final comment on its facets had been made— there was always room to commission another piece— to again show their beauty— and they were so beautiful, and especially beautiful as a unit, that there was always some new light to cast it in.

They were beautiful for her now as they stood there. Anne, Anna, Anya, Arya, Audrey, Aubrey: she wondered if she shouldn’t think of commissioning another immortalization of them soon— they were striking her all over again as she looked at them, and they looked back at her, preening, pushing their chests out, holding their hands behind their backs, shifting their hips. They were three and four years older than their cousins, respective to the two different ages their cousins were at, but they were in such good shape— had such good genetics, they looked like they were exactly the same age— still twenty-one, as when they’d completed their studies at the Institute themselves.

It was silent in the showerroom. All were obedient to her— none of them would ever dare to make a sound when she was drinking them in as visions of beauty.

She felt settled— she always liked looking at her first set, well, first. Because they had been first— and it was not the fault of the second set they were several years younger, but she’d just had more time with the first six— so her attention always went to them first, her looking always went to them first, and she thought that was fair. In a small way it rewarded their loyalty at arriving for her then, four years ago, and staying with her all the time since that day.

Erika’s eyes now fell on her second set of sextuplets. They were different than the first set. With them, as well, she had not had the say in their formation, and their birth. But luck had worked out for here in this case as well— and though the second set had been more like a gift that chose to give itself to her, without a third-party giver required, she still felt the appealingness of the gift they represented.

Unlike their cousins, the first set, the second set of sextuplets were not all clones six times over. And this had been by design, but not hers. Though the parents of her second set had none of them been good enough to go to the Institute, as they had still felt more or less beholden to it, they had still been altered— surgeries done, the contents of their reproductive material altered within each body— each father’s body, each mother’s body, to result in exactly the result which had actualized.

As all of the second set had been born into marriages, there had been no need for artificial induction of pregnancy— but because the Institute had still wanted control, still wanted influence over how an Institute legacy family developed, the solution of altering reproductive material within adults who felt beholden to them— that had worked.

And how it had worked. The plan had been for any sets of twins (though only two had been initially been planned and the third set had been unexpected) to be clones of each other but distinct from all other sets of twins.

So Amanda and Amelia looked like exactly the same person— the same person twice over— but they had variations in their features— the same variations in duplicate across the two of them. But those variations did not exist in the faces of Alyssa and Alison. Alyssa and Alison were two physical clones also, but they had a quality or two, a shift here or there that made them clearly distinguishable from Amanda and Amelia.

And the same was true for Alicia and Alice. Perfect copies to one another, with clear distinctions from the other two twinsets.

It was most pleasing to look from Erika’s first set of sextuplets to her second. What appealed about the first set was their sameness— what appealed about the second set was their differentness. Each twinpair had their own individual facial characteristics— subtle, sometimes, but all their own.

Erika felt, when she had them all assembled like this, when she looked at them, all assembled like this, that her harem had been incomplete before. Her first six had been loyal to her— she’d absolutely needed— but they were perfected even beyond the bounds of their own potential with the addition of the second six. She’d had six to begin with, but she had ultimately, truly needed twelve in total.

They contrasted each other— sameness— variation— it never grew tiring to look at them all— to scan uniformity and then let her eyes take her to randomization— she was glad the Institute had engineered the second set this way. They had only done it since they’d been dealing with a legacy family— and they’d wanted to leave the possibility open that they may one day have recruits to draw from the family again— but it still felt like luck to Erika, that everything had worked out just exactly as she wanted it to be.

Especially since some of things had started working themselves through long before they had ever entered the picture of her life— and still it had all turned out ideally.

She didn’t know what she would do if she ever had her twelve bred— would she opt for uniform sameness? Or sameness only within each twinset, and variation otherwise? She pondered this every day and never came to an answer.

For now it was enough just to look at them. They were perfect as they were, different and the same— she sighed her contentment out.

The Institute had been wise, though— Erika was glad they had been overseeing things before she’d gotten to her concubines. While there was some variation, with the twins in the second set of sextuplets, there were still a lot of similarity between both sets. As she had already reflected on, the fact that the first set still resembled being the same age as the second set— because their genetics crossed with their frequent exercising ensured that.

But it wasn’t just that. The first six had all clearly come from the same mold, and the second six from a different one, and then even different molds from one another. And still, somehow, both sets were exactly the same height— when they were all standing in a line like this, it was easiest to appreciate— there was not an inch of variation between their heads— if Erika had taken a thin plank of wood, and set it across their scalps, the plank of wood would have been perfectly level, because each of its six headsupports were uniform in height.

That similarity made the twelve of them even more attractive to Erika— she did appreciate the variations in the second six, but she could also erase those variations immediately any time that she wanted to. All it ever took was telling the twelve of them to stand with their backs to her— and then suddenly it was twelve of the same woman.

Or else if she was with them in the dark— and could see only their silhouettes, from a light behind them— they had the exact same bodyshape, twelve times over.

And if she really wanted them anonymized interchangeably with each other— without them having to turn away— then she could simply provide them with masks— if the uniqueness in the faces of the second set was obscured, then they could be any one of the first set just as easily.

Erika found that hot— that she could make them the same, or let them retain their differences. It just made her feel like they were so much more hers— she could erase them and make them seem like twelve clones, or let them be two clearly different sets.

The reason this worked so well was that their bodies weren’t only the same in terms of height, or apparent age. Each of the twelve women in front of her had exactly the same bustsize, exactly the same dimensions in their hips. So really lucky then, more reason to be thankful to the Institute, because Erika loved their bodytype, and she got to be surrounded by it, to enjoy it in a dozen duplicates.

Maybe it would be a good idea, someday, to have the twelve of them bred— just as a thank you to Institute, if anything— so that when their progeny reached adulthood, there would be more enrolants to offer. She came back to this musing often but it still amazed her— that everything could have fallen so perfectly into place— that the organization overseeing it all, even over twenty years in the past, had made all the right decisions so that now she had exactly what she wanted in the present, and she hadn’t had any influence or sway over that— just luck— just a wise organization.

But yes, with a mask, even from the front— she would be looking at twelve pairs of the same breasts, twelve pairs of the same hips— especially since all of them had been Treated into hairlessness, from the neckdown, it was just the same body— that perfect, wonderful body.

And what it was that was in her, which loved to dress up playthings, was even more satisfied to have the exact same model to start from— it meant she could have the experience of essentially seeing the same model wear twelve different things at once— which in reality no model could do, and no other plaything could do either. But that made all of it so much more fun for her.

It also made life easier for Erika in a practical sense— since they were all the same size, literally the same size without even an inch’s variation one way or another— it made it very easy to buy clothes for them. When she was in the mood to have them all wear the exact same thing, at the store she could just grab twelve in the same size, be they shirts, skirts, dresses or pants— there was no need to look around and find a dozen different sizes. For her concubines, one size really did fit them all.

But she didn’t always make sure there wore duplicates. Sometimes she just bought two or three sizes of the same thing— and, when she was dressing them, they had a communal wardrobe— there wasn’t any one piece that only belonged to one concubine— what could be worn by one could be worn by them all, and one day she could have one of them in an article of clothing— another day she could have a different one in it next.

It was really just about giving herself variety. That was how Erika approached it, similarly to how she approached the photography shoots she did as a hobby: making sure all the elements were there to compose the composition. When shopping for their clothes, she also tried to grab unique things— beautiful things— not always the most expensive things, but whatever was the most stunning, the most eyecatching.

She also tried to grab things in multiple colors. And trips to buy clothes for her concubines were always easy— she only ever needed to take one of them along with her to show her how any article would fit for each of the eleven other bodies. Everything about it just made her life easier— just made everything so much the more simple. She couldn’t imagine how she would have managed if they’d all been different heights with different measurements. She didn’t like even to think about it.

All of it had worked out anyway, so she didn’t have to. And the racks of hanging clothes were behind her now— the product of all those shopping trips, each article the ideal size to fit each body perfectly, to fit each body in the same way— pulling in the same places, loose in the same others— she had her wardrobe for her models, she could make them look like anything.

But on workdays, she had to stick to things that were more normal. Even amid the business-casual wear that she had accumulated for them, there were a lot of stunning and unique pieces— the only difference was, no one balked at seeing them worn around an office. Some of the other pieces she had for them, which they only wore after work or on the weekends, were definitely the kind of thing people would have stopped at in shock— things that would definitely have seemed out of place.

Sadly, in just the same way that workouts had to be shorter, and all day every day could not be a revel of constant sex, the clothes had to be acceptable. Erika recognized this as a consequence of her choice— she could have chosen to retire and live alone with her concubines, and then she would never have needed to make any concessions to outside expectations or demands. She knew her aunt Ellen wouldn’t have liked it— but maybe it would have been a more enjoyable life to live.

But she hadn’t chosen that direction. She had still had some ambition left, even after her early career success. She’d pursued starting her own company instead. And so the path she’d committed to meant keeping schedules, meant putting off what was enjoyable until after work hours, meant keeping more toned-down clothes that would be seen as clothes that belonged in their environment.

It was alright. With the help of her harem she was excelling— and it was never that long until it was after workhours again.

Erika shook her head— she’d been standing looking at all of them a long time, now. And she’d been letting her mind wander to her life at large— thinking around it in circles. They did have some time built into the morning schedule for dawdling— but not much of it. If she wasted much more, they’d be late getting into work.

She’d better start preparing them each for the day.

She turned behind her to the clothing racks which had been wheeled in when all of them had first entered. She was not looking for clothes yet. Just as there was an order in which things happened from the time the harem woke up to the time they all went off to work, there was an order to follow in which they must be dressed.

There was what she had searched for— a blue meshbag whose straps had been threaded around the neck of a hanger.

Erika took the hanger off the rack, unwound the straps, and opened the bag.

Inside were the pussyplugs. She had several bags of them— because just as in the clothes, she liked to keep multiple varieties of the same thing. But the pussyplugs were something she always made sure to have twelve of— unlike certain outfits, which she didn’t care if all twelve could wear at once, Erika very much did care that each concubine was able to hold inside her a pussyplug concurrently.

This was the size she’d been hoping for, so she’d been lucky. She had five meshbags of them, each colorcoded to show which size was inside— she liked to keep them hanging on the rack this way because it meant they were always accessible when she was dressing or redressing the two sets of sextuplets.

The five meshbags were these colors: gray, black, blue, white, and red.

The pussyplugs in the gray bags were the smallest ones. More like thin cylinders, really— ideal for maddening understimulation— there but not quite, almost not even noticeable, but too present to ever fully ignore. Stimulation on the side of understimulation— designed to be frustrating on purpose.

The pussyplugs in the black meshbag could be fairly called dildos— but still on the smaller side.

The pussyplugs in the blue meshbag were dildos of a more expected size— a comfortable fit, but nothing beyond that. These were the ones she would put in each of them today.

In the white meshbag, the plugs were thicker. So thick they started to hurt— they started to stretch too far— a discomfort all day long.

The red meshbag held the dildos that were, simply put, cruel— not just a discomfort but painful, stretching basically as far as a pussy could be stretched and then a little farther. She hardly ever made them wear those during the day— she just liked having the option.

But today felt like a day to use the medium size of plug— and she could start putting them in right away. As with all the other chores, her concubines always made sure these were perfectly clean and sanitary before they went back in the bag, so she could now reintroduce them to each of their bodies without any kind of laborious cleaning process. Important, since they were on a schedule this morning.

The other thing Erika liked about her bag system was that the plugs inside matched the colors of the mesh— so the plugs in this bag were all made of blue silicone— she had a photographer’s eyes, she liked things to match, liked different parts of the overall composition to be the same as the things they were nearest to so they could stand in contrast to other parts of the composition.

She quickly scanned the bag, counting to make sure none were missing. One, two, three… yes, there were twelve there. She hadn’t doubted— her concubines never failed her. But she was a thorough woman, and she believed that it never hurt to check something first.

She did take a moment to appreciate the red plugs, though she hadn’t crossed paths with them yet today. She still had fond memories of the time she’d made each woman take them— and then sent them out to clean the entire mansion, keeping them clenched inside the whole time.

It had taken them considerably longer than usual to clean the place spot for spot, but even having taken added time, by the end the place was still spotless, and when each plug had come out, their pussies had gaped for days— a tangible, physical reminder several days long, and all of it was still fun to think about now.

But the blue silicone plugs— they were right for today. There would be no gaping after them, but they also wouldn’t slow down the productivity of her women. And the whole point of them working with her, being there to assist her, was that they should be as productive, as efficient as they could possibly be. It was fine while they were maintaining the mansion if some day here or there they took several hours more than usual— that basically did only ever happen if they were wearing the red plugs.

But it was not fine for them to be slowed down and hindered while they were at work, supporting her. She only did her best work when they were sharpest. She needed them at topspeed.

Luckily, all plugs besides the largest ones seemed to actually improve their performance. Something about the pleasure gave them a sharper edge— so Erika felt completely justified in putting them in today.

It wasn’t something she did every day. It wasn’t even something she did every week. More often than not, she skipped this step in dressing them and didn’t give them any plug at all. It was all about her moods— what she felt like, what she wanted to do— she went through phases where she didn’t care about having them plugged, and phases where she wanted them plugged all the time. She’d been in the middle of one of her phases where she didn’t care if they were plugged or not— but even in a phase like that, every so often, she would wake up one day and just want them like that.

Sometimes it was more utilitarian— when she needed them to be making breakthroughs at work— or helping her have some of her own, when the pressure was on and she needed to meet the occasion, she would sometimes use the plugs strategically to bring out that noted sharp edge— but this wasn’t one of those times.

This was just one of those days on which she had woken up and wanted them plugged. And now she held the means to do it in her hands.

Each plugday was a day a little special— a day that seemed to have a little shimmer about it. And while it was useful to use them strategically, it was honestly more enjoyable sometimes to simply make them happen for the sake of it— it was a more honest way of appreciating them— was more enjoyable when it was a treat, and the day was just shimmering with no means driving them to arrive at why it had to.

And still, even on the days which were not plugdays, there was always room in the process, always a memory at the beginning of it that this was the time for the plugs, if they were going to be used— that it could be skipped, and often was, but the time was still there for the day on which that time would be utilized as intended. Erika liked having her processes, liked having them always laid out the same way, even if parts of them could be skipped on some days and not others— even if this part was skipped on one day, and this different part skipped on another. There was some flexibility built in, but always following the same line.

Erika stepped up to her line of concubines at last, holding the blue meshbag in one hand. She had arrived at the first in line: Anne. It was just her preference they always line up in order of set— the first set left of the right set; and they tended to line up according to their parentage.

So that meant Anne and Anna first— and she was at Anne.

They had all stood so still for her while she’d watched. Even now she’d approached, they didn’t move, didn’t break their pose of standing close at attention.

Erika drew a blue plug from out of her bag. She reached down, and nudged Anne’s innerthigh.

Anne didn’t look at her— only stayed staring straight ahead with her arms clasped behind her back, but she immediately widened her stance into a splayed position that granted full access to her pussy and was really almost a halfsquat.

Erika licked her lowerlip, and shifted the bulbous plug towards Anne’s opening. Then she began nudging it inside— at first, just to get the tip of it in, and then once it was, she started pushing, thrusting, working it up— Anne couldn’t totally fight or ignore the penetration of her body. She stayed still, stayed looking, but couldn’t stop herself from grunting, from breathing around the intrusion laboredly.

Erika was filled with joy as it happened, enjoying every second of the experience as she kept plugging her first concubine more and more— getting it up, getting it in, splitting, stretching Anne inside, making her take it. She could have made them each penetrate themselves, but she opted to do it herself just so she could experience doing this, feel it going in because of the force of her hand.

At last, the plug was completely up inside of her— there was no trace that it was even there, apart from the fact that, when Anne stood with her legs together again, she was now trembling as she stood, unlike before.

Erika moved on to Anna next— it was as slow with each one of them because it was essentially like putting the same thing into the same body over and over again— just like Anne, Anna held perfectly still, but couldn’t control her grunting or labored breathing. Erika liked it that way, seeing her body struggle to take the girth of the plug until finally it was tucked all the way inside.

She was only using a mediumsized plug, but her concubines’ cunts were always so tight and clenching, from their perpetual nearorgasmic state, that Erika might as well have been working in a plug that was much larger.

She thought of her earlier thought again, as she was now plugging Arya— working the plug inside, watching Arya stand in her halfsquat, breathing through it— she was glad again of the duplication between her concubines.

The experience of putting a plug into her favorite body was a treasured experience— if she had had only one unique body facing her, only one concubine, or only one concubine with a certain form to her, than she could only ever have had the experience of putting a plug into that favored body once.

But she had eleven other duplicates— as she inserted the plugs, one after another, she could keep re-experiencing the same thing, her favorite thing— hips apart, legs halfsquatting, essentially the same pussy exposed, the same depth and width and fit for every plug— and she could just lose herself, abandon herself to the task, to the feeling of the plug going in and settling. It was the same for each concubine she did it to— the same putting it in Arya as it was putting it in Anya. The same putting it in Audrey as in Aubrey, the same putting it in Amanda as Amelia, the same putting it in Alyssa as Alison, the same putting it in Alicia as Alice.

When she had at last gotten it in to Alice, she stood back from her row of concubines again. Each one of the twelve was trembling in the same way— it usually took them a few minutes to adjust, especially when they hadn’t been plugged in a while.

It was pleasing to survey them. Again she thought of draping each face in a veil. Then it really would look like twelve clones standing next to each other— trembling in just the same way.

They were effectively plugged, and that felt like an achievement. She could steal a few more seconds to think about that.

Each plug did more than just sit in a pussy. They each had a chip inside them that could receive and transmit signals over a great distant— and each chip was synchronized to Erika’s phone. She could take it out, navigate into the application, and control each plug remotely.

She didn’t want to do anything to them just now, since they still had to carry on being dressed, but she’d take a moment just to look.

She slipped her phone out of her blazer pocket, and unlocked it. Inside the application, she looked at the state of things.

She had categorized plugs by color— there was a ‘gray’ dropdown, and a ‘black’ dropdown, a ‘blue’ one, and a ‘white’ one— and a ‘red’ one.

Sometimes when Erika was looking for a meshbag of plugs quickly, she’d navigate into her phone, activate a set of plugs, and then the buzzing in the bag would lead her to exactly where they were hanging, and from which rack they were suspended.

Once she clicked on a dropdown, it took her to a numbered list of twelve. She had installed plugs in order of correspondence to the list— so Anne was one, and Alice was twelve— once on the page with the list, she could access settings. There was always the choice to do the same thing globally to all twelve plugs at once— but she could also go plug by plug and give each one a different setting.

She could make the plugs pulse or throb according to any tempo— very fast, very slow, anything between those two points. She could make the plugs vibrate constantly, also at any speed.

She could also make the plugs move, so they would drag themselves back— just far enough that their bases were sitting in a pussy’s entrance hole, but never actually leaving— and then she could make them drive all the way forward again, to the furthestmost point, all the way in.

She could also combine all settings at once, at any speed. It was quite a sophisticated little system.

On plugdays, which settings she used tended to depend on her mood. Somedays she wanted the pleasure to go to them in pulses, other days in throbs— somedays in vibrations, somedays in thrusts, somedays she wanted the stimulation slow, other days fast; just as in dressing them, she adored having the endless variety, being able to mix and match and alter.

But she also knew which setting triggered an orgasm— in just one cycle it would force her concubines to cum. If she paired the throb with the vibration and then the penetration, one just shy of the highest possible speed— then one throbbing, vibrating pulse into each pussy at quickspeed, and immediately an orgasm would trigger. It’d taken her time to figure out the mechanics of that, but now she knew, it was infallible.

She could also set the number of penetrations, so if she set it to one, there was only one— but the thing about how consistently that particular combination triggered orgasm was that, if set to throbbingly vibrate upon penetration, an orgasm would happen every time, even if the last one hadn’t quite finished. With those settings, if there were five thrusts, there would be five orgasms— and so on. On days she was feeling a little bit cruel it was fun to play with that.

But mostly she liked to just trigger one orgasm at a time— and her favorite context was a reward. At work, on a plugday, if one of them excelled, she would immediately trigger them to orgasm as their reward. It conditioned them to need success.

Erika looked over her twelve concubines again. They just looked so sexy, standing their completely nude, so welltrained, so completely possessed and obedient they would not even allow themselves to tremble their arousal anymore— one mind thinking the same thing, thinking to wait, to attend— one mind thinking the same thing in twelve bodies.

She couldn’t resist— she had to trigger their bodies now, had to watch them respond the same way twelve times over.

Erika got out her phone, navigated into the plugapp, and tapped the dropdown for the blue plugs. Each number was cheerfully there, one through twelve, for each concubine.

She dragged her thumb around the touchscreen to configure the settings as she wanted them, and then tapped the screen to make it start. Then she turned greedy eyes back on her concubines.

She could see it in their bodies. She had the pussyplugs giving out a constant, maddening hum— and she had the pussyplugs thrusting arrhythmically— after three beats of pause, then after two, then after four, then after seven, then after one— she knew what effect this would produce— in each perfectly toned, perfectly controled body, there would be a wave of arousal that surged evercoaxingly up; her harem as a whole was being aroused— and as they were perfect in their obedience, now that they were being given pleasure, they had to perfectly obey it— where they had been stoically still before, now they did tremble their arousal; each one shuddering in exactly the same way, breasts trembling, pussies twitching; sweat beading— breaths shallowing.

And the communal mind recognized what the surging pleasure meant: when pleasure surged, when it constantly aroused slowly upwards— those were the cases where orgasm was not permitted until it had been verbally indicated— Erika could leave them like this for hours, constantly becoming hornier, working them up into insensibility and rabid desperation— she licked her lips—

But they did still have to make it to work this morning.

Erika looked over the pleasing erotic tableau before her one more time, and then clicked her tongue. “Cum,” she bid.

Twelve bodies were thrown into twelve climaxes— it was one mind experiencing climax twelve times over. Each face wore the same expression of painful, twisted rapture; each set of hips twisted in the same direction, each cunt thrust outward the same way, each back arched, each set of perfect breasts surged upwards— the same stream of forcedout lubrication made it out around each pussyplug.

Just as they had needed permission to cum, they now needed permission to stop cumming. They would stay frozen in this same orgasm endlessly if Erika left them like this. She had done that sometimes— that drove them to an entirely different kind of rabid desperation. She enjoyed the fantasy of that for a minute too.

But. She reminded herself again as she watched them be raptured by bliss. They had to make it to work this morning. “Cease,” she said.

Each body relaxed. Each face glowed a postcoital glow. God, but they looked even sexier now.

Erika navigated the app once more— made all twelve pussyplugs return to sitting static.

Erika then turned back to the racks which were behind her— the next thing each sextuplet needed to be put into was their underwear. Just like with the plugs, she kept the underwear hanging on the racks so that it too was always accessible whenever those racks were near— again, just as with the other hanging clothes, increasing convenience and eliminating the need for running all over the house in search of missing articles of clothing.

However, it was hard to make underwear hang on a hanger— it could be done, but not on a rack that was constantly in motion— one push to the rack, and each bit of underclothing would immediately fall off the lower hangerbar onto the floor. Transport would not have been very efficient.

So, like the plugs, Erika had some hanging meshbags which would never fall, and which meant the racks could be easily wheeled here and there without any additional care taken. To make sure they did not interfere with the colorcoding system Erika had for the various sizes of plugs, all meshbags containing underwear were green— but unlike with the plugs, Erika did nothing to sort the articles of underwear by type— she only made sure that all twelve copies of each underwear article stayed in the same bags as each other— but the bags could fit multiple styles, even when there were twelve copies of each. And she had things in all different fabrics, all different looks, and all different designs.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted them in today. When she got the underwear selection just right, it was a treat for her the entire day through. Just knowing exactly what each concubine had underneath, what it looked like, and how it fit her body gave her thrills of enjoyment anytime she thought about it— or looking over at one of her concubines anywhere around the office, and being able to picture them stripped down to their underwear, exactly what that would look like— because she always saw the true images of such a thing each morning.

It made the plugs a little more fun on plugday, too. If she triggered any one of her women to orgasm, then while she watched them coming, she could again easily picture them doing so as they wore only their underwear and nothing else.

Picturing them this way also thrilled her because when she did it, sometimes even when other colleagues or subordinates were in the same room, she always knew that her concubines would actually be willing to strip down and show what she knew they wore underneath— would be willing to stand there and visibly orgasm when triggered, with no shame. She knew she owned each of their minds that much, and it was tantalizing to taste that idea, feel that knowledge.

Of course, she also knew the importance of discretion. No one, apart from her and them, her aunt, and the mothers of her first sextuplet set, could actually know— keeping the Institute’s secret for them was the most important thing— but it was still a pleasing concept to think about.

And just because she could never make it play out didn’t mean that it was any less true.

But for all these reasons, it mattered that she picked the right underwear— it would be referred to in her imagination throughout this day.

And out of habit, a chosen process she kept repeating, she would make sure all of their underwear matched, because that was what she always did— the same underwear for each duplicated body.

Because that was just her pattern. She turned from the side-by-side racks to look over at her harem again.

If any one sextuple wore a particular piece of underclothing, or a certain pairing of underclothing, then whatever bra, and whatever panties, she had on— it had to also be worn by her sisterconcubine.

And whatever that sisterconcubine wore must be worn by the next sisterconcubine, and the next, all the way through the entire set of six sextuplets. And whatever the sixth sextuplet wore must then be worn by her cousinconcubine in the second set— and what was worn by that, worn by her sisterconcubine, and all through the second set of sisterconcubines, also.

So in the end the twelve of them always had to be in the same underwear, without variation.

Erika frowned at them again, trying to compose the idea in her head.

She turned back to the racks, this time, and approached the nearest green meshbag. She unwound the straps it hung from which were twined around the hangerneck, and opened it.

Then she was rifling through it— silk, satin— but today she though cotton would be better. It was a plugday after all, if she used the plugs as much as she usually did, she would be forcing each pussy to put out a lot of lubrication, thereby soaking the underwear that was closest to it— and silk and satin were both more of a chore to wash when they became unclean.

Not that she would be the one to wash them, no. But it would take her concubines longer to do the task when they were doing their next allotment of cleaning, and that would keep them away from her, would delay her time spent together with them.

So today she thought cotton. She rifled some more— there were the twelve pairs the same; a dark gray soft cotton— twelve panties and twelve bras— a gray that had a kind of grain to it, where there were darker and lighter flecks of gray within the overall shade— and there was a bit of a light gray lacetrim along the base of each bra cup. Yes, these would be nice to see on her concubines right now— and nice to picture within the bounds of her mind throughout the day.

She piled all twelve sets of underwear into her arms, and stepped up to the line.

She clicked her tongue once, in front of Anne, who, like all her concubines, knew the habit. She extended both arms, providing to Erika a surface, and she spilled all held pairs of underwear into Anne’s arms, so her own hands were free— all available pairs, save one.

Then she got down on her knees, and nudged Anne’s rightleg. Anne lifted it, and Erika got one side of the panties around her.

She nudged the other leg the same, and so the panties were around both her legs. Still holding the bra, Erika pulled the panties up as she simultaneously raised herself back to standing.

When she had pulled the panties flush against Anne’s pussy, she clicked her tongue again, and Anne leaned forward so her breasts jutted out, and what her arms held was in no way interfering with the space near her chest.

This made it easy for Erika to slip both breastcups over breasts. She kept hold of each side of the fasteningband, and stepped around behind Anne, clicking her tongue again to make Anne stand erect. She easily hooked the fasteners together, and then the bra was snug to Anne’s body, perfectly sized for her, just as the panties had been.

She took the pile of underwear from Anne’s arms, and Anne clasped her hands behind her back again without having to be triggered into doing it.

Erika’s eyes skimmed her quickly— appreciating her momentarily, but then she had to focus, repeat and do the same thing to Anna.

She went down the line as she had when installing plugs, getting each concubine into underwear.

She took a moment, though there were fewer and fewer to spare. Just one moment to look at each of them— firm breasts held in breastcups, so tight and perfectly fitted the breastflesh was almost on the point of spilling over— but it never quite did— it made each of their breasts look plumper.

She looked at their panties, too, fitted neatly between their things. Again, so tight and snugly fitted that they almost showed the pussylips behind them line for line— but not quite.

They looked so fuckable this way. It made Erika happy to know she was already fucking them— the plugs inside each one of them may as well have been her own intention reaching out and taking them— for she had been the one to put them there, and she could determine how she wanted them touched inside, and make it happen by her own intention too.

But this sight would definitely be stuck in her head through the next several hours— she couldn’t wait to make them orgasm with the physical orgasmtrigger— imagining those breasts jiggling within cups, those pussies twinging and nearly showing themselves through fabric— that would be an even better treat than what she usually enjoyed on plugday.

That moment had been spared for such musings, one moment. It had been enough. She looked back to her wardrobe-racks.

Some days she liked to dress all twelve women identically. But today didn’t feel like one of those days. Days on which she wanted a perfect match across both sets were about as rare as plugdays— most days she preferred to give them clothes that closely resembled each other. Each pair of twins would match, but between pair and pair, the outfits would be almost matching— and yet still not identical.

She began moving hangers aside. She was lucky that she had all her clothes co-ordinated by color. She skipped the first rack, from which hung the strange unique pieces her women could never have worn around the office. She wouldn’t be choosing from them today.

The second rack was where she hung all the business attire. As she moved to it, she allowed her eyes to scan over her lined-up harem once again. They were being as still and obedient as ever, just as they had been through this whole inspection to date.

Back to the second rack, now. She navigated past greens, and yellows, reds and browns. She was wishing for more of a blue palette today— and there were many outfits which had twelve of themselves, but she had already decided against that for the day.

She also could have chosen skirts and blouses, or skirts, then blouses with jackets over them. It didn’t feel like that kind of day either. Erika wanted to see dresses— it was a plugday after all, that made her a little more excited than normal, made her want to see her women’s bodies held a little more tightly in fabric than otherwise— wanted them looking just a little bit chic-er.

She pulled her bottom lip slightly over her bottom teeth with her topset, as she thought— as she looked them over one last time, the photographer composing the visual composition in her mind.

Then she was back around and facing the rack, grabbing hangers— she took one dress, then its duplicate— then a different dress, and its duplicate, and so on, until she had twelve dresses folded over her arm, the hangers flipped over the side and pointing out from her body.

She went back to Anne because she always started with Anne. Then she flipped the entire pile of dresses the other way over, so the first dress she had taken was the dress that had been ontop. She sidestepped to Anna, beside, and clicked her tongue— Anna’s arms were out, Erika deposited the pile of dresses on them, taking only the top dress and stepping back to Anne. She took it off the hanger, and unzipped the back of it down.

Then, with another sound cue, Anne raised her arms above her head, and Erika pulled the dress down over them. When it was fully hanging on her, Erika started the zipper at the bottom and worked it all the way up to the top, closing the dress tightly.

When she stood in front of Anne again, checking to make sure every piece of the composition was in place, she silently applauded herself. She’d chosen wisely, selecting this style today. Anne looked classy— completely at home in an office, but at the same time, her breasts were highlighted wonderfully, and so was her waist.

Anne’s dress was a dress that had capsleeves around each shoulder— and a small, modest slit up each leg. The color of it was sky blue— and the neckline was a pleasant scooping curve— but it never scooped too low.

Nodding to herself, Erika stepped aside. She took what had been in Anna’s arms, and passed those contents onto Arya— retrieving the dress which matched to Anne’s from the top of the pile. She pulled it onto Anna, and then she and Anne were a perfectly matching set.

She passed the pile down to Anya, and retrieved the dress that was intended for Arya. This dress was navy— the sleeves of it extended just to the elbow, and the neck of it was much shallower than the neckline on both Anne and Anna’s dresses. This dress was still the same length on the leg, though, and still with modest slits up the sides to show off her concubine’s wonderful legs.

Once the dress was on Arya, she quickly zipped it, and then dressed Anya the same way.

Reaching Audrey, she retrieved the dress meant for her. This was a light fairyblue, like a periwinkle— but more blue than purple. The neckline of this dress was square, but the sleeves were in exactly the same style as the dresses of Anne and Anna, with capped sleeves forming at the dress’s shoulders. Aubrey was given the same kind of dress— then Erika had moved onto Amanda and Amelia. They were given dresses more similar to Arya and Anya’s— with the sleeves that extended to the elbow, and necklines that dipped shallower. Their dresses, however, were midnight color— not like the earlier navy, but instead a more indigo hue, only taken very dark, to suggest the fall of the night— and the lateness of it— the dresses still had the slit up either leg.

Alyssa and Alison were given dresses that had sleeves right to their wrists— and necklines that lay in a straight line along their collarbone— their dresses were a cheery skyblue.

And Alicia and Alice were put into dresses that had no sleeves— that simply ended at the shoulder. Their dresses still had a dipping neckline, however— and the color was a faint seablue, which suggested hints of green in itself, but was still predominantly recognizable as a blue. For every other concubine she had dressed, she had passed on the pile of clothing to the concubine on their right, for the sake of her own convenience.

But for Alice and only Alice, as she was the last in the line, when she took the dress from Alice’s arms, she simply began to dress Alice in it immediately, instead of having to pass it off to someone else first.

She moved back to the rack— each rack had a platform on the base of it, with a built in border to its back. That was where Erika kept the shoes and the tights— they never slid off because that vertical border was there, stopping them.

She took matching pairs of low blackheels, and matching pairs of blue tights— and went down the line, passing a pair of each to each concubine.

And each concubine had been left holding her hanger, so Erika exchanged them for it, and at the end of the line, had twelve hangers she took back to the racks and hung.

Erika watched as each concubine dropped her heels to the floor, and began rolling her tights on, one leg at a time. She had really chosen to style them well today— each dress was the same length, with the same modest slips up each leg— and each dress was a varying shade of blue— but the composition looked so satisfying together. Enough repeating elements, enough dresses that shared similarity in common for all the pieces to look connected— but enough variation so no aspect of the visual ever became boring— enough contrast to keep interesting.

And yet still with that overarching theme of blue— and still with underlying base style: the leg-slit, the length. She’d chosen her theme well. And this was, once again, the fun of having twelve identical bodies at once— it was like she had one model displaying six different outfits simultaneously— as no model really could— and still it satisfied her that even amid all the variation, each set of twins was wearing a perfect match amongst themselves.

That passionate longing in her to dress, to decorate, to compose the shot— that was sitting sated inside of her. She felt like she was displaying both great variety today and great originality— not that anyone at work would know she had been the one to dress her concubine-assistants, thinking they were only assistants and nothing more.

But she would know— and what she’d put together today looked so good she just might have to try and get a picture of it for herself later. It was rare she assembled a tableau that she liked enough for immortalization, but today she had managed it— she was already imagining how she might arrange them for maximum visual interest. One set of twins might stay together— but the next she would break up, and the next after that, intermingling them— the next after that— the fifth set could stay together— the six set intermingled with the fourth. Her mind whirled with possibilities.

She had to acknowledge though, that the reason it had all come together so easily was that she’d had all of the necessary elements at hand. It was because of her dedication to dressing them, adorning them beautifully, that she had such stylish options to choose from, to put onto them— she spent the hours required combing through the stores with one of them along to model, in tow— carefully evaluating each piece, considering it, keeping in mind all the other pieces in the wardrobe that it would be joining.

It was a time consuming activity— just as it was then time consuming every morning to assemble outfits and then put them onto her concubines’ bodies. All the time she spent doing that could have been spent on other things. Many people in the same situation as her would have found it incredibly boring, possibly even irritating to do such things. Even those who might have shared her interest to one degree or another likely would have exhausted themselves with the constant effort of maintaining the habit— keeping up, carefully building the wardrobe— and dressing them from it every morning.

But for Erika it was not boring, nor was it irritating. And maybe it should have exhausted her, too, but it simply didn’t. For her, it gave her passion for beauty and an outlet— let it all release instead of twisting frustratedly inside her— and so, she found it a completely relaxing activity. In the mornings it cleared her mind for a new day— it helped her to feel calm and put together, as put together as the outfits themselves— and that feeling tended to linger through her days when she started them this way.

It was an added bonus that this whole habit of hers also served to take her mind off the practical necessities of her job. It provided her a mental escape, and when she was thinking of beauty, of visual composition, it was a nice change from thinking only of work.

Finally, each of her concubines had gotten their bluetights all the way on— it was nice to see the same uniform nylons, in that almost neon brightblue— the brightness of it was tempered by the skin that showed through.

Then each concubine was quick to step into her identical blackheel shoes— this was what the composition had been missing— just two more things that were uniform across each model— now it was perfect.

They were trained to know what to do next. They moved from where they had been standing on the tile, their heels clicking on it, over to the other side of the room, which had all the mirrors and counters.

They always left their brushes and make-up there, since this room was where they were always dressed first in the morning. Even on the weekends, when Erika dressed them, she always expected them to exercise first, the same as on the weekdays. When she made them dress and redress themselves throughout the day, the racks came with them, she let them change wherever they were, but she always made sure the first thing they put on was put on here, even though otherwise weekends were a little more lax than weekdays.

She could keep them fucking infinitely on weekends as she could not on weekdays— let them remember, let them live out what it had felt like in their training to be in a constant sexhaze that never stopped.

But today was a weekday, and they’d used up just about all the time they had. They needed to make it out of the mansion in about the next five minutes in order to be on time.

Luckily her concubines had been trained to be quick. They reached the mirrors and reached the counters, and each one was quickly pulling a comb through their lovely blonde tresses. The combs were set down, the makeup palettes were picked up.

The makeup was subtle when applied— business-appropriate, but nicely decorative at once.

They were completely assembled once they set their makeup brushes and makeup palettes down— wearing the same subtle makeup touches— a hint of blush, of eyeshadow, of mascara, in neutral colors— a touch of lipliner.

They looked the consummate professionals they had been indoctrinated into being.

Erika gave them one nod, and moved to the door out of the gym showerroom. She held it open, because if she walked in front of them, she could not appreciate them as they went by her.

They were a sight when they moved together as one group. They were doing that now: marching in a line, each footfall in perfect time with the next. The two sextuplet sets had one communal mind that expressed through them all— and the twelve of them had been together so long now, they could not remember now that they’d ever had two distinct communal minds, respective to each set. They were one mind now, all twelve of them linked together and synced up, one mind now, and each of its vessels effortlessly interfaced with each other one.

Once Alice had left the room, Erika was quick to follow after them. She followed the marching line of brainwashed women— the brainwashing the thing that kept their steps automated, that made their arms swing in time.

They were so controled they could not deviate from the programmed stepping pattern. Erika knew their minds had been locked into it, trapped inside of it, that with every step it further drove in their submission. Everything they did further drove in their submission, because the twelve of them were just that perfect, and she was luck to have them.

They made it down the hall, to the entrance. The gym was on the groundfloor, so there was no need to descend the massive staircase that was in the foyer.

Erika quickly rushed to the front of the group to get the door open— she didn’t want their marching disrupted for a second.

Outside, there were three SUVs parked.

The twelve broke into groups of four, each group entering an SUV. Erika followed the first group into their SUV. She sat in the front with the driver— one of the four that had broken off and gotten behind the wheel. The other three were in the back.

She knew the other SUVs would look similarly inside— except this was the only one that would have someone in the front passenger seat. All the other frontseats would only have their concubinedriver in them, and no one else.

She could have sat in the back— if she’d wanted to sprawl out and lay down. She had no desire to do that.

As one, the three SUVs started, and the concubines drove the three of them in a line, in the direction of the downtown office. They would not be early, but they would be perfectly on time. They had gotten out of the mansion within the fiveminute window that they had had, with a minute or two to spare, Erika thought.

The windows of each SUV were tinted, of course, for when Erika was feeling amorous after work. It could be quite comfortable in the back, if the middleseats were put down— there were compartments that stored all manner of comforts.

Truly, if Erika had wanted to be waited on, she could have sat back there and had the three concubines there tend to her.

It was true that during the day Erika did use the plugs at the office; to addict her concubines to success, she used them for reward; but she had done special conditioning on their shared mind. Once they left for work in the morning, their waking mind was shielded from the knowledge of the plugs sitting inside their twelve bodies— the pleasure was like a constant surprise for them throughout the day. This enabled them to keep their one mind on work, kept them performing respectably. When they left in the morning it was time to be in work mode.

And Erika respected that too— on the drive to work she left them be, left their plugs unactivated— she would find contexts in the day to use them briefly, and after each one, her concubines would immediately forget and remain in workmode.

But on the drive home— they’d be back to pleasuremode, having entered it the second they left the office. And the memories of what their bodies had been made to experience unaware throughout the day would return to them. And often, in ways that were safe, Erika liberally activated the plugs throughout the homebound drive.

Erika smiled. It was going to be a good day.