The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Layla entered the office the same way she did every morning: two large coffee cups in hand, and ennui in her stomach. One drink was for her. It was the tiny vice that helped her get through the day. The other was for Claire Cooper, Layla’s boss and the chief reason she hated her job.

Six months after starting at the company she still wasn’t sure what Claire actually did. Layla was the latest in a string of personal assistants that seemed to do everything for the department head. She answered emails, managed clients, and Googled her way through various responsibilities that had not been in her job description. One such duty was getting coffee for Claire — an order that required extensive research and memorization. Lest Layla incur a thorough chewing out for getting it wrong.

The fit, fair woman bustled past Layla just then. Her long red hair bounced with expensive care as she snagged a cup from her assistant without word or warning. Layla was prepared for that by now; she had to be. If Claire grabbed the wrong drink and took a sip, that was another reprimand, so Layla always positioned herself near a wall if she got in first. That way she the right coffee always faced away from it, no matter which direction Claire snuck up from.

Perfectly manicured white nails glinted in the overhead light as she took a draw from the drink. Her freckles caught the fluorescents while her head tilted back. They might have made her look childish, if the rest of her wasn’t peak Girl Boss professional in a white women’s suit.

Her heels clacked below dark stockings. Her ample chest pushed against a wine colored top, made modest by a suit jacket. Her face betrayed no humor. Claire was the exact opposite of Layla, in other words.

One of the only reasons she stayed on as a PA was because of the freedom it offered. She could dress more-or-less the way she wanted. People weren’t always accustomed to a Black woman in heavy metal T-shirts, canvas pants, and nose piercings. Her blunt, black bob was shorter and straighter than the hair of most girls she knew, too.

Layla was in what some might call a Goth phase, but mostly just dressed however she pleased. Working an office job afforded her some leeway to get at least close to her ideal — closer than the grocery store she worked at before. The manager there had a meltdown once when she wore eyeshadow.

Claire did admonish her for the “unprofessional” nose ring. Though there technically wasn’t a rule against it. Layla quickly realized some of the perks she enjoyed were just so Claire could dress her down about them — to periodically make her feel small. Layla eventually started leaving the jewelry at home.

Claire pushed past into her private office. Layla had her own little reception desk in front of it, separate from the dozen or so cubicles on the rest of the floor. She sank into it with relief. A silent Claire was generally better than the alternative.

It didn’t last. While the other employees filtered in, Layla got a buzz at her desk.

“Layla,” commanded Claire’s stern voice. “Come in here a minute.”

“Yes, Ms. Cooper.” It was always Ms. Cooper out loud. Never just Claire.

Layla rose back to her feet, walked five steps, and knocked. Whatever Claire needed, she could have asked on her way in, but she liked making people go through the song and dance.

“Come in,” came a very muffled voice. Layla sighed and entered.

Claire didn’t look up from the computer at her lavish desk as her assistant closed the door behind her. Natural sunlight framed them both from the only window on the entire floor.

“Layla, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Yes, Ms. Cooper?” She kept her voice even, but her teeth clenched. A “favor” for Claire always meant “something not in your job description, and no, you won’t be paid extra.”

“I’m just incredibly swamped today, but I’ve been thinking,” she continued. “You’re young. You know about computers, and going online, and all that… stuff.”

That was true, but only because Layla had been forced to teach herself to finish various projects for her boss. She wasn’t even that much younger than the 30-something executive.

“I’m so busy I haven’t had time for any fun lately,” Claire added. “I’d like you to set me up one of those online dating profiles. Something nice. I don’t want to waste time swiping left on desperate nobodies. I’m sure you know what I mean with the way you dress.”

Layla actually bit her lip. But, miraculously, she managed not to snarl at the bitch.

“Yes, Ms. Cooper. And when would you like that ready.”

“Today.”

“Wha- But!” That did catch Layla off-guard. She was already busy putting out a dozen professional fires for Claire. She didn’t have time to hook her up with some trust fund meathead, too. “I mean, um, I’m also pretty busy. I’m not sure I can get it all done before closing.”

“Mm,” Claire pondered. “You’ll just have to work through your lunch break. I’m staying late today anyway, so you can, too.”

“I… see.” The assistant’s teeth could have ground diamonds into powder. “Of course.”

After a beat, Claire finally did look up at Layla.

“That’s all. You better get started.”

“Actually,” she began. “I wanted to ask about that time off I requested again. I haven’t seen my sister in a while, and after this is all handled of course, I’d love to take a long weekend to see her.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Right! I forgot about that.”

It was the third time she had done so.

“I did just say I’m very busy right. I don’t think I can spare you. You’ll just have to tell your cousin to wait for another time. And you really better get to it, or that time may never come!”

Layla was flabbergasted. She couldn’t believe the rudeness, the dismissal, even for Claire. She turned on one boot heel and stiffly exited the room without a word.

When she sat back down, her teeth were still clenched. A few deep breaths… didn’t help much at all. She was livid. The absolute bitch. It was obvious that no rational person could put up with this kind of treatment, which was probably the point. Every assistant before Layla had quit. Claire clearly made sure of that — pushing them through one indignity after another until they bounced, and the department avoided paying for raises or time off.

Fine then. Layla could quit, too. She wasn’t so proud that she would put up with this any longer. But before she did, she would give Claire exactly what she asked for, signing away her personal info to the deepest, nastiest, loneliest parts of the internet. She wouldn’t waste any time swiping left that way. She’d be too busy changing her phone number and maybe even moving apartments. Someone like Claire could afford it.

“Jackass,” Layla muttered as she typed away. Her earlier research had brought her to unsavory places before. “Let’s change the way you think of other people.”

It didn’t take long for Layla to find something promising. The site offered to “make anyone your slut,” and “completely dominate their thoughts.”

The site was crawling with banner ads of naked women on their knees, happily sucking away at anonymous men, or bent over desks and tables to take it from the other end. They were dressed like teachers, cops, and even office workers. The footage wasn’t very professional. It looked like it had been shot on phones and seemed oddly grainy besides. But it got the point across: this was clearly a site for skeezy loners.

Anger gave way to curiosity as Layla read about the service. What first sounded like a simple dox site (which Layla quickly realized she didn’t have the heart to actually use) seemed stranger and stranger as she read.

“Looking to ruin somebody’s life? Need some help scoring a hot date? Tired of being rejected, bullied, ignored or stepped on? Take control of your life — or better yet, someone else’s. This site offers the best free subliminal reprogramming software you can download today. Just get someone to watch and listen to one of our cleverly camouflaged, mind melting apps. Use email, attachments, video chat, and many more methods of delivery.”

Layla couldn’t stifle a laugh. She had heard about these so-called “mind control” programs popping up lately. They were supposedly big on college campuses as party tricks (or party fouls). They could make anyone into your willing slave — which usually meant personal sex toy or bimbo arm candy. Layla obviously didn’t believe it was real, though.

That was until someone (George, his name was) dropped a stack of folders on his way back to a cubicle. The sound startled Layla. She blinked rapidly, realizing her mind had wandered, and… noticed she had typed much of her own personal information into the website. Five minutes had passed. She panicked quietly, but calmed down again when her eyes landed back on the flickering, grainy images of pornography at the edges of the site.

On instinct, she pinched herself awake, realizing the site itself was wormed up with subliminal software. It seemed subtler than the stuff described on the page, but had still nearly snared her.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Oh fuck.”

With her conscious mind returned, Layla realized how much effect just five minutes of subtle exposure could have. Her heart was racing, she felt sluggish and euphoric, and there was a light tingle between her legs. And she had almost told the people who made this thing exactly how to find her.

Despite the danger, it was too much to ignore. She downloaded a category that seemed close enough to what she needed: Personality Test. Then she closed her browser and searched the everloving hell out of the executable for viruses. There were none. Whoever made the site probably thought the secret subliminals were enough to control anyone that made the service — and control anyone they controlled, and so on.

She poked and prodded the file. She read the poorly worded instructions while being careful not to actually start the app.

It promised… a lot. Just a moment ago, Layla decided she didn’t have the stomach to dox someone, even if they truly deserved it. This was a whole other ball game. Yet it was exciting, too, in a different way than raw revenge had seemed. Her breathing was still heavy. It wasn’t just the subliminals that had tried to mind fuck her.

She wanted to use this thing. She wanted to use it on Claire. Because Claire was a jackass, and a bitch, and an acceptable target to explore this urge. Right? Right! Ignoring Layla’s own vendetta, everyone in the building hated the woman. She could only imagine what the other assistants had gone through. No jury in the world would convict her.

“Okay,” Layla breathed. “Let’s try it.”

It was 30 minutes after the rest of the employees left before Layla emailed the file to her boss. It came with a simple text message:

“Ms. Cooper,

I found what you were looking for, but the service is very exclusive. They require you to submit to an online personality test to make sure you’re a good fit for their community. I’ve attached the program to this email. Please take it at your earliest convenience, as they require time to program you into the system, and decide what’s best for you. There’s an audio portion as well. Make sure to wear your headphones!

I’m staying late today as well. I’ll be right outside when you need me.

Best,

Layla”

Claire closed what she was doing and clicked the attachment. Her antivirus didn’t recognize anything suspicious, so it seemed legitimate, if a bit tacky. A spinning, pink and purple circle flanked what must have been the dating app’s slogan: Find out what you’re good for.

“Hmph,” she muttered. “If they knew what was good for them they’d recognize my name. Layla could have just told them. Useless girl. I’m amazed she’s lasted this long. I can already tell I need someone more assertive.”

She plugged in a set of earbuds and clicked the section marked “begin.” The pink and purple spiral that seemed to be the company logo spun in the center of the screen to indicate the app was loading. Claire tapped her fingers and watched without patience. Finally, the first part of the personality quiz appeared before her.

“You’re a generally happy person.”

Beneath were two simple options to proceed: yes or no. There was no skip function.

Claire rolled her eyes. What a vapid question! She didn’t really think anybody was generally happy, or satisfied, or fulfilled. Those were things you had to work hard for, every day of your life — unless you were complacent. And Claire was anything but.

However… She didn’t want people thinking she was a stuck-up bore. So she told the computer a little white lie by clicking “yes.” It was followed by a soft, comforting chime in her headphones. Claire smirked at the sound. What a ridiculous little service.

The literal bells and whistles were all the program had going for it. It was slow and apparently needed to load between each question. She had time to reread the text (you are a generally happy person) twice while the logo spun beneath it, telling Claire to wait. Finally

“You’re a very happy person.”

Claire answered “yes” to the follow-up as well. There was another encouraging ding. Her smile widened. Hell, she did feel pretty good just then, so it wasn’t even really a lie. Not that she had anything to prove to some dating app.

“You’re a generally relaxed person,” the computer insisted. Claire agreed, keeping up her streak. “You’re very relaxed.” A fourth tone echoed in her ears as she answered yes yet again.

Claire actually chuckled at that point. This was so simple. No wonder so many people used these things; the questions seemed specifically designed to make idiots feel good about themselves. She doubted such a superficial questionnaire would be much use after all, but it was entertaining to click through, if only to see how frivolous the exercise truly got.

“You aren’t currently in a relationship.”

Claire clicked yes, momentarily tripped by the awkward phrasing. Another ding. Then the machine continued: “You are looking to have relations.”

She clicked yes again before her brain caught up with her fingertip. “Fuck,” the executive muttered. “Relations” were all well and good, but she hadn’t meant to be that… up front about it to some strange service.

“What the hell,” Claire continued. Confidence flowed back into her voice. She sat up a bit straighter, after realizing she had begun to slouch, and blinked as the next question loaded. Her eyes were drooping now instead of her shoulders while she watched the logo spin. “I didn’t sign up for this to be a prude.”

Claire chuckled again while waiting for the spinning circle to give her her next prompt. It turned to a frown, however, when she saw what was written.

“You are a generally submissive person,” it said.

“I don’t think so,” she replied. Her guard was up this time and she quickly pressed “no.” There was no pleasant ring this time, however. Rather an unpleasant “bong” sound went off just a little too loud in her headphones. Claire didn’t like that one bit. But it was hard to concentrate on why, exactly, as the pink and purple twirl overtook her focus again. She hadn’t bothered to close her mouth after speaking. Now her two perfectly professional painted lips hung slightly apart as she stared at the screen.

The next message read: “You’re a very submissive person.”

Claire hesitated, then blinked, recalling the unpleasant sound from before. That didn’t matter, though. She knew the correct answer.

Another negative “bong” went off in her head — loud enough to be uncomfortable.

“Uh,” she managed, her thoughts scattered by the soundwave. “What was I…”

Before she could finish, the loading icon disappeared, revealing a new prompt: “You are very happy and relaxed.”

Relief washed over Claire as she returned to firmer ground. She knew the answer to this one, too, and much preferred the positive reinforcement it brought. It was odd for the program to rephrase a question she already cleared, but when she clicked yes, the silly ding rinsed away the bad feeling from before. She was very happy and relaxed. So much so that she laughed a third time; it was almost a giggle.

“Mm,” she added. “Think I’m… getting the hang of this.”

“You want to have relations with men.” She confirmed the answer was yes. There was a happy sound in her ears and several seconds of twirling before her eyes.

“You want to have relations with women.”

The mouse cursor hovered over no for just a moment. Claire wasn’t often interested in other women. Oh, she had thought about it from time to time, but gravitated heavily toward men. She wasn’t sure she wanted her online profile weighted equally in both directions, but the options were still just “yes” and “no.”

“Oh, what the hell,” she murmured.

There was the ding. And then the twirl, twirl, twirl… Deep satisfaction lapped at her conscious mind. This time she really did giggle. Relations with other women. Why not?

“You want to have relations with anyone and everyone.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

This was so much fun!

“Relations mean sex.”

That was right. Having relations was another way of saying having sex. Duh. Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“That means you want sex.”

That… made perfect sense. She wasn’t currently in a relationship. She wanted to have relations — to have sex. Why else would she be on a dating site? It made perfect sense.

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“That means you want sex very, very badly.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“You’re hornier than you’ve ever been in your entire life. Sex is all you can think about. You need someone, anyone, to fuck you right this second.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“You want to touch yourself. You can’t help it. It doesn’t matter where you are, or who you’re with, so long as you relieve some of this aching pressure.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“Go ahead. Take out your tits. Play with yourself. Oh god, you can’t bear it. Play with yourself right now. Nobody will mind. You don’t care if they do. You want them to see. You want someone else to touch you, too.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“You would do or say anything to get fucked raw right now.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

Claire was furiously clicking the “yes” button by this point, but nothing on screen changed. Her other hand was tentatively, almost bashfully stroking a wet patch on her panties. Her skirt was hiked up the middle, but still covering some of her thighs in a V-shaped mockery of modesty. Even if someone wouldn’t notice her hand, they would certainly see her milky breasts topped with pink, perky nipples. They were popped free from her blouse and bra — pouring out of the still-buttoned window of her suit.

Her face was fairly neutral, all things considered, but leaned in quite close to the screen. Her tits dangled over the keyboard. As did a thin thread of drool from her now gaping mouth to her chin. The newest words filled her vision, but no matter how much she clicked, she couldn’t find satisfaction. Claire whimpered deep in her throat.

Finally, when she was certain she would explode, the twirl returned to calm her. The constant rise and fall — the increasingly powerful elation of the sound, followed by the soothing, cool colors that brought her back down to Earth — melted her consciousness down into a happy, malleable mess. Whatever the screen told her then was the truth, and had always been the truth, until a new and stronger command overwrote her.

The words reformed to say “You would submit to someone if it meant they would fuck you.”

Only an instant of hesitation kept Claire from clicking in the affirmative yet again. The reward for her agreement brought her back up into the clouds, before she sunk back down into subliminal pillows.

“You’re very submissive.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“Not just sexually, but in your day-to-day life. You’re always thinking about sex, so you’re always submitting to others. It’s all you’re good for. And the only way you can repay them is with your body.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“You dress, and act, and think submissive thoughts all the time in the hope that someone will notice you just need a good, deep fucking.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“You want your friends to fuck you. You want your coworkers to fuck you. You want strangers on the street to make you submit and use you however they like.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“You’re a happy, horny, subby little idiot that lives for sex.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“You know what people call a happy, horny, subby little idiot that lives for sex like you.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“You’re a slut.”

Ding! Twirl, twirl, twirl…

“Now say you’re a slut.”

“I’m a slut.”

“Keep saying it.”

“I’m a slut. I’m a slut! I’M A SLUT!”

The chime repeated of its own volition, then, until finally Claire was gently lowered back into reality. But not before three fingers plunged well past her panties — caressing her gushing wet insides. Her other hand, free from having to click the mouse to receive her treat, was lifting one tit close to her mouth, so that she could tease the nipple with her tongue between proclamations. She didn’t bother keeping track of how many times she came like that.

“Now relax,” the program said. It was running on its own now — giving commands over her headphones and directly into her mind via messages embedded much deeper into the screen than text could accomplish. It didn’t need her cooperation anymore, however. The program had fully smoothed out the folds of her brain with cotton candy. Claire was all too happy to let it etch new thoughts into her self.

“Relax, relax, relax.” The spinning pattern loomed large, maintaining her trance just in case. “You need to wake up soon. And when you do, you will forget everything you will forget everything you just learned about yourself. You will forget because you will know these have always been your true feelings.”

Claire nodded, her wavy red hair falling into disarray before her face.

“You’ve always been a slut. You’ve always been a horny, happy little idiot. You’ve just been too afraid to show it! But not anymore. You had a wonderful time taking our online personality profile, because it helped you find the courage to be your true self. Say it.”

“I’m a slut,” Claire repeated. Then the rest of the script that had wormed its way between her ears settled around her lips. “I’m a happy, horny little idiot who lives for sex. I love being submissive and repaying people who take charge of me with my body.”

As she spoke, an utterly guileless smile completely overtook her face. She was so happy and relaxed (and horny and submissive). She always had been. Now she knew the words for how she truly felt.

“You’re deeply, deeply indebted to whoever gave you this program. You couldn’t imagine life without them! You’re so grateful to them for helping you find your true self, in fact, that their words supersede all others. You trust them implicitly. You obey them unquestioningly, even if you don’t remember why.”

“Trust… Layla. Obey… Layla.”

“Now you need to wake up soon. But before you do, you need to sleep, and think about everything you just learned. Relax and sleep. Relax and sleep…”

The sapped executive finally leaned back in her chair, relaxing into a sleeping posture. Her dribbling chin fell forward onto her chest while her hands fell to her sides.

“You’ll awake when you hear the sound of that person’s voice. That’s when everything you learned about yourself will come back into focus. Relax and sleep. Relax and sleep…”

Claire grunted softly. Her eyes flickered shut, but her mind didn’t shut down. The prompts fluttered through her head like butterflies, tickling neural pathways with subliminal wings. She couldn’t focus on any one thought while unconscious. So she let them wash over her all at once, unable and unwilling to resist.

A few moments passed while Layla glanced furtively at her phone. The instructions said to let the subject “cook” for half an hour. Yet it had been almost 45 minutes since Layla sent the message.

She wasn’t worried the program didn’t work. Even muffled through a thick office door, she had heard Claire shrieking in pleasure. Not to mention Layla knew what it was like to be nearly bimbofied firsthand. But nearly wasn’t good enough if the programming didn’t last. If Claire remembered anything, Layla would lose her job for sure, and probably a lot more than that.

Butterflies in her stomach made Layla realize just how deep her excitement ran — and that perhaps that it went beyond simple revenge. Having complete domination over someone who treated her like a pet was thrilling. Soon Claire might literally be her own, personal pet. Or slave. Or cow. Or anything…

That did it. She had to know. Layla stopped fussing, rose to her full height, and… knocked politely on the door. It wasn’t a perfect act of dominance, no.

Silence. She knocked again.

When there was still no answer, Layla tentatively opened the door. Then, after a flash of realization, just as quietly locked it behind her. The assistant approached the desk where her sleeping boss lay.

Sure enough, Claire’s tits were fully exposed. She was disheveled, too, as if she had been up to rigorous physical activity. Layla eyed her more hungrily than even she realized. But she placed a hand on one shoulder and tried to gently nudge the other woman awake.

“Ms. Cooper,” she whispered. Then she cleared her throat. “Ms. Cooper?”

Claire jolted awake, clearly confused, melon flesh jiggling invitingly before Layla. Then she finally looked up at her assistant, and confusion… quickly gave way to a dopey, contented grin.

“Oh,” Claire began. “Layla! Hello. I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep at my desk. Did you need something? Anything…”

“I just wanted to remind you that work hours are over ma’am,” Layla intoned. She tried her best not to look at the bare flesh before her. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Of course,” Claire added. “Thank you for telling me. I’m… so lucky to have you around. I’m just such a s- So forgetful sometimes. And you’re so good at… taking charge.”

“Yes ma’am,” Layla replied. She licked her lips lightly, still nervous and unsure how far to take things, despite her quarter-naked boss beaming up at her. She tried something easy to start. “Speaking of which… I’d like to take that vacation I requested after all. Fully paid. I take such good care of you and this place that I deserve it.”

“Uh…” Confusion returned to Claire’s face, but only for an instant. “Ohmygod! Of course. Anything you want. You… more than deserve it.”

Claire nodded as she spoke, elated to give her valued employee a positive answer. Layla felt red hair brush her hand and realized it was still resting on the woman’s shoulder. On instinct and adrenaline, she gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Good girl.”

Blood instantly rushed to her face. She hadn’t meant to say something so embarrassing! The words just came out.

Blood also rushed through Claire, but not into her cheeks. Her eyes glazed over. Lightning strikes of pleasure arced through her shoulder, down her spine, and between her hips. She looked dully straight ahead as she replied.

“Mmmm… Y-Yesss! Anything you want…”

Layla couldn’t stop blushing. She couldn’t control her hands, either. They traced over and down Claire’s neck, between her cleavage, and finally cupped her free floating bosom. Claire squeaked. Layla almost did, too, but her embarrassment was overruled by her newfound audacity.

“And, um, you should really start dressing more appropriately,” she said. Her thumbs danced light circles over stiffening nipples. “If you’d be comfortable showing more skin, you should dress properly for it, instead of looking so sloppy. You’re supposed to set an example for everyone.”

“Uh huh,” Claire gasped. “Dress properly… Show more skin…”

“Good girl.” Layla pinched the two pink points to emphasize the platitude. She couldn’t help herself. No more than Claire could stifle a thick-witted moan of pleasure.

All the repeated indignities she had suffered over the past few months flooded her forebrain. Now was her chance to toy with “Ms. Cooper.” It felt great! Okay, it felt hot, too, but that was still a secondary concern to turning this stuck-up bitch pay back the office (and Layla) in full for how they had been treated.

Part of the assistant worried the shock of her actions would bring Claire to her senses, but as she tweaked the teats, it seemed to have the opposite effect. The woman’s tongue lolled out of her mouth — a thick, clear drop of drool beading at its end. White light from the computer, its program long since ended, highlighted the brown specks on her heaving chest.

Layla slid up to sit on the desk. She kept her fingers tight where they were, but now she could look the empty-headed woman in the eye. Claire didn’t make it easy. Her pupils rolled up in her head beneath drooping lids as she reveled in the sensation.

“You really need to clean up your whole act, Claire. You don’t mind if I call you Claire.” It wasn’t a question. “Otherwise I’m going to wind up running this whole department. And you’ll just be a pretty face. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

“Uhhh… Uh… Uh!” Claire couldn’t muster a proper response. She felt too good. Besides which, Layla was right. That was what she wanted. Being a pretty face was all she was good for. Well, that and one other thing.

“That’s why I shared the app with you,” Layla continued. “I thought it might help you be more honest with yourself. Did it work?”

“Unh! Uh huh.” Claire’s wonderful assistant had seen right through her. She was just a huge slut only good to be a pretty face and for… sex. “Yes!”

“Good,” added Layla. “In that case, there’s no reason to hide it any longer. You’ll be much more comfortable if you dress like the big, dumb whore that you are while you’re at work. I don’t mind. And I’ll make sure everyone else understands. You just let me take care of everything for you from now on, okay?”

To emphasize this point, and confirm once and for all if the brainwashing had taken root, Layla freed one hand from its chosen mound and plunged it down Claire’s skirt. Her fingers found a much more enticing target there: warm, drizzling folds and a firm clit for her thumb. She started finger-fucking her boss then and there. Her own breathing kicked up a few notches with excitement.

Claire moaned again, much more enthusiastically this time, and couldn’t keep her hips from rising to meet the pressure. She clutched the arms of her chair for dear life.

It was loud: a bit too loud. It was late enough that cleaning crews might have already been making their way through the building. So Layla once again did the first thing that came to mind. She freed her other hand from Claire’s poor chest and pinched her by the tongue instead. When that didn’t stifle the sounds, she slid her thumb up into the executive’s painted mouth, giving her something to suck instead.

That did the trick. Claire wrapped her tongue around the digit with sloppy efficiency — just as her lower body clenched the best it could on those hastening fingers.

Despite Layla’s small size, the sense of being filled at both ends brought great warmth into Claire’s stomach. She was being used! It’s what she was good for, after all. Gratification, both sexual and emotional, threatened to overwhelm her. When Layla sped up her drubbing, the threats stopped…

Her body quivered and arched out of the chair as best it could. The orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, climbing up her crotch and into her head, both of which shuddered with naive delight. When she finally slumped back down, she wasn’t sure how long the feeling had lasted. But Layla patiently waited before removing her hands.

“Good girl,” she repeated yet again. Her face was still flushed, but any trace of hesitation had abandoned her completely. Claire giggled as she had during the test. “This is so much better than being in charge for real, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm,” Claire agreed. “S’what I’m good for.”

“That’s right. You’re such a good little slut. Just trust me to take care of everything, while you keep on being yourself, and everything will be fine.”

“Yesss... I trust you, Layla. Everything... will be... fine.”

Even if she hadn’t been exhausted, Claire couldn’t do much but agree with Layla. She didn’t want to. Listening to her was so much better than being in charge for real.

“Now let’s get you cleaned up. Even if you’re not in charge, there’s still a lot to do before tomorrow! You might just be the pretty face of our department, but that still takes work. As a pretty face you’ve still got to set an example by being the best nympho you can be.”

“Yes Layla… Anything you want, Layla.”

With that, the black-clad assistant helped her emptied-out boss to trembling feet. She made sure Claire was at least passably decent before clasping her dark hand and darker nails over Claire’s lighter palm and polish. Then she doubled back. Layla had almost forgotten the most important thing.

“We definitely need this,” she said, rummaging through Claire’s forgotten purse.

Inside was a wallet — with more cash inside it than Layla would ever keep on her person at once. Plus half a dozen credit cards that each looked several grades higher than all of hers put together.

“Perfect,” Layla exclaimed, pocketing the pocketbook. “You’ve got some shopping to do!”

Early the next morning, it was actually Layla who skipped into the office with a brand-new wardrobe. It was all still black, of course, but much more daring and certainly more stylish. Her band T was replaced with a tiny, tight tube top that hugged her boobs and not much else. But a miniature leather jacket covered her shoulders and upper arms, while leaving her tattooed belly proudly on display. Shorts gave way to wide fishnet tights tucked into her same thick boots.

Breaking up the pattern were metal studs on a thick belt by her waist. Ankhs made from the same, real silver dangled from her ears. As did a nose ring — seated above more prominent black lipstick than usual. In fact, Layla’s entire face was made up more to her liking. Higher quality products and some professional help had seen to that.

“Good morning, everyone!” She chirped to the office. Her disposition perfectly contrasted her outfit. “How’s everyone today?”

“Morning Layla,” said the man from yesterday. George. He had a medium build, with light brown hair, but perfect length 5 o’clock shadow and a sardonic voice that made him seem mysterious. He was going over some files and only half-looking at the PA.

“You seem happy for someone who’s about to get yelled at,” he continued.

“What do you mean?”

“The clothes,” George explained. “And no coffee today. Cooper isn’t going to be happy. I don’t think she’d ever fire you, but, well, you know how she is better than most.”

“Oh,” Layla laughed. “She’s perfectly happy. I ran into her downstairs. She’s in the elevator now with Dave. The mail guy? They’ll be a few minutes.”

“Minutes?” George did look up then, visibly confused. “You said they’re in the elevator.”

“Yep,” Layla confirmed. “I had to take the stairs because they have it stopped. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something similar, as a thank you for yesterday.”

“Thank you for what?” George was completely lost by this point. “I barely even saw you yesterday.”

“But I heard you,” Layla offered by way of explanation. “It’ll all make sense at your meeting. Claire wants one-on-one time with everyone today!”

There was an audible groan from the group as Layla raised her voice to make it an announcement.

“Don’t worry,” she added. “I’ll be there to guide things along. I promise it’s good news; I’m thinking a new job satisfaction program. But we might need to bring on some of Claire’s friends to take care of everyone.”

“Uh,” George replied. “Okay. Sure.”

Just thing a happy “ding” sounded from the elevators, and one very satisfied looking employee stumbled out. His shirt was untucked and still partly unbuttoned. His hair was a mess, but he looked perfectly happy.

As did Claire Cooper, who stepped through the elevator behind him. She licked something off the inside of her wrist that definitely wasn’t coffee. Nobody really noticed, however. They were too busy gawking at her outfit.

She had traded in her suit for a itty bitty wrap top cropped to show off her tummy. Its long sleeves covered her arms, but not much else, including the cleavage that was considerably more on display than anyone in the office but Layla had ever seen. There was black above and below the skin. Her leather hugged a juicy rear that few people knew existed, while a studded collar caressed her throat. It almost looked like she had borrowed it from Layla.

High heels helped her red hair bounce, as usual, but the rest of her face was also quite colorful today. Claire’s lips shone with outrageous pink gloss. Pronounced yellow eyeshadow matched her top and blended in nicely with her hair.

Strangest of all, however, as the beatific smile she wore as she waved freshly painted nails at her employees.

“Good morning, everyone!” Her chirp was much chirpier than Layla’s. “It’s nice to see you all.”

There was murmuring between the male and female employees both. A few slid their way to Dave, who had accompanied Claire up from the mailroom, to question him. Others stared and blushed.

“I’m sure Layla already told you, but I’m gonna have meetings with each and every one of you today.”

To illustrate this, she pointed at a different employee with each syllable, as if to punctuate her bounciness.

“We’re gonna start with you, ’kay?” She grabbed George with both hands and led him toward her office. George didn’t seem sure if he should resist or not, so Layla followed just behind to encourage him.

The rest of the office was filtering over to Dave now. The discussion grew louder as they shut the door. The walking trio definitely heard the word “job” in one context or another.

“Have a seat,” Layla said. “I just need to set something up.”

George tentatively sat himself at a chair in front of Claire’s desk. Claire naturally sat at her much larger seat. Layla followed her, however, and eased a heavy pair of headphones over the boss’s ears. Then she clicked something on the unseen monitor. Whatever it was caught Claire’s attention; she leaned close to the monitor and let her eyes go wide with interest.

Layla finally took a seat of her own. She crossed her legs on the corner of the desk and fiddled with a tablet. Claire moaned occasionally as her assistant tapped more invisible icons.

“George,” she opened. “You might have noticed that Claire is making some life changes. She wants me to take charge of her responsibilities, which isn’t very difficult, since I was mostly running things anyway.”

“Um. Okay.”

“But she feels just super, duper terrible about the way she treated the office before coming to her senses. And she’s eager to apologize. That’s actually going to be her chief responsibility from now on. Making things up to everyone. She already started with Dave, but I made her promise to just use her hands. You get first dibs on any hole you like!”

“Wait, what? I don’t think—”

“No, she doesn’t think. Not anymore. She’s just a happy, horny sex toy for you to use however you want. That’s your thank you present for putting up with her so long, and for helping make all this possible.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

Layla laughed. “Do you really want to look a gift horse in the mouth? Or would you rather fuck hers? She’ll do whatever you want. I’m making sure of that right now.”

She slid a finger over the tablet and Claire’s eyes rolled back into her head. She bit one smiling lip and swallowed a moan. It took a moment, but her gaze inevitably drifted back to the computer screen.

She let out a satisfied sigh and let the light fill her face again — refreshing her dumb, docile personality. Each time this happened, the remote controlled toys deep inside her surprised her again. It was like experiencing her first orgasm half a dozen times over. And Layla had the key: the tablet controlled both vibrating eggs buried in Claire’s snatch and ass. It was her favorite purchase made with Claire’s money so far. But she had lots of other ideas.

George fidgeted for a moment. He still wasn’t sure about this.

And yet… Claire wasn’t complaining. If she said something, he could always stop, but at the moment she seemed perfectly happy with the arrangement. What was that about looking gift horses in the mouth?

“Fuck it,” he finally broke.

“That’s the spirit,” Layla agreed.

George walked past the assistant and spun Claire to face him. Her tongue was dangling and drooling (again). He was spoiled for choice, but that mouth looked awfully damn inviting.

“You want this?” He unzipped his fly and let a half-hard cock drop freely through his pants. Layla turned to look and was pleasantly surprised by the size herself. “You want to suck my cock?”

Claire started massaging her breasts as her breathing quickened. Her mouth formed a perfect O with the pink muscle still hanging loose and wet. Her eyes focused on the tip of the rod like a starving animal. In many ways, that was what she was now.

“Yesh,” she slurred. “Cock…”

“Leave the headphones on,” Layla insisted with a hand on George’s shoulder. “This is good, positive reinforcement for her.”

“Sure,” George replied, not really listening. Claire was dribbling saliva onto his shaft and working it to full size with newly slippery hands. “Yeah...”

Claire slid tip to painted lips, fitting herself around its hardened heat like a glove. Then she forced herself forward, firmly, to envelope the entire member in one long swallow. It didn’t take long for her to pick up the pace. She slurped and sucked with inexperienced greed — moving her tongue this way and that to catch as much of the salty taste as she could manage.

“Oh my god,” George intoned. “Fuck! You little… cocksucker.”

Claire had trouble giggling with her mouth full, but did her damnedest. Tit-flesh jounced with repeated motion. Her technique was all over the place, but her enthusiasm was unmatched. Tears welled in her eyes as she took the cock down as far as it would go. Gag reflex be damned (or in this case, completely overruled where dicks were concerned, much like the rest of her mind).

Layla watched with increasing increasing intensity as her former boss completely gave way to her inner sex slave. She kicked the vibrators up to full blast, just to make sure Claire was enjoying herself as much as possible. The overpaid whore spasmed with shock. Her stomach arched forward, letting her tiny skirt ride high in her chair, revealing the damp devices plugged in and happily buzzing away there.

It wasn’t enough. Layla acutely felt her own dripping dew. She was wet and getting more so.

She sidled up to George with a soft “Hey.” He turned his gaze away from Claire just in time to lock lips with Layla. They kissed deeply, matching Claire for single-minded intensity.

“A-Are you sure,” he asked, pulling away for just a second. “I mean, I don’t want—”

Layla pulled him back into her dark lips, putting her tongue to use as well as Claire. The shifting angle stretched the mindless slut to her limit — literally. She leaned as far forward as she could, arms and breasts suspended over the floor, helping support herself by the mouth around the rod. Layla helped by gripping the low-hanging woman by the hair.

It was a precarious situation not helped by Layla using her free hand to massage George’s balls. He shivered with delight and pulled her tits from their cage. Her nipples were stiff: not quite as stiff as Claire’s had been the other day, but easy to tease. That still wasn’t enough. So she guided one set of his smooth fingers down her shorts. Once again mirroring Claire, she allowed herself to be fingered into bliss.

“Bliss” was all Claire had on her mind just then, too. The subliminals weren’t as effective without a visual component. Yet they meshed well with the mouthful of reinforcement she received from George. Cock penetrated her head literally and psychologically.

She was a cocksucker. A whore. A happy tramp. Sex toy. Slave. Pet. Cow. Furniture. Only good for sex. All her cares were taken care of, because all she cared about was sex. Layla was so good to recognize that. Layla was good. Layla was smart. Not like Claire. Her head was full of super duper yummy dick! Soon it would be filled with even more delicious cum. Cum was good, too. She knew that somehow.

The latest in a series of never ending ding sounds supported that. Cum was good. She wanted cum. She wanted cum! The fastest way to get it would be to make George cum. Even a sex-crazed idiot like her knew that!

So Claire redoubled her efforts. She sucked, and licked, and slurped, and drooled, and pumped as hard as her empty noggin could handle. George shook. He felt it coming, too! In sympathy, he picked up the pace with Layla, frigging her like mad, but with a much more practiced rhythm than Claire.

It only took a few seconds to break all three dams at once. George erupted sticky, hot happiness down his employer’s gullet. It blossomed between her cheeks, and she pulled back just in time to catch the last of it on her face. That caused something to click in the fresh cogs of her mind; sensation built up by the toys within her cavities hit all at once. She shrieked, jizz trickling down her chin and cheeks and into her belly.

The sites and sounds and sensations were all too much for Layla. She had gotten a late start, but found herself bursting with pleasure at her property being marked this way. Her orgasm was no less intense. Her hips shook and her chest quivered — unable, as ever, to find her voice when she came.

George sat back on the desk, spent, while Layla fell over his tight torso for support. Their shared toy wasn’t so composed. She finally fell from her chair onto hands and knees. The hum of her sealed splooge sockets, sticking prominently in the air, was the only sound left in the room.

“G-Good meeting,” Layla finally breathed into George, clinging to the fabric of his shirt, taking in his sweat. “W-We’ll be in touch… about future… future sessions. Would you mind… sending in Jessica?”

George, still reeling from what had happened, nodded slowly. Then he slipped out from under Layla and slinked out of the office.

Layla caught her breath. Claire did not. She remained on the floor, still presenting as she lapped lingering semen off her face. Layla considered this for a moment, but let her old boss be. Instead she sat in the big (now also soaked) chair. Claire’s seeping juices mingled with her own, but there wasn’t exactly much shame between them anymore.

Since she was just kneeling there anyway, in fact, Layla rested her feet up on the pitched buttocks. Claire squealed a bit, but didn’t move. She had been a slave, a sex toy, and a pet. Now she was furniture. Layla pondered what making her into a cow might look like… After all, there were so many employees to meet with that day. She would have plenty of chances.

First she clicked away from the brainwashing program. Couldn’t be too careful with that! Then she pulled up Claire’s personal email.

“Did you get it ready like I asked?” One foot toed a vibrator, prompting Claire into answering. “The email.”

“Yesss,” Claire responded. “Anything you want. Anyone you want!”

Layla pulled open the drafts and found the message waiting there. If Claire was telling the truth, it was addressed to all of the executives hottest, richest friends at the company and beyond. Below the body of the text, which promised a fun online personality quiz in Claire’s own words, was a file attachment. It was the same one Layla had sent to “Ms. Cooper” before she had gone bye-bye — replaced by the much happier, much friendlier creature below her.

There was a knock at the door. A timid voice said: “It’s Jessica. You wanted to see me?”

Layla prodded Claire once again.

“Come in,” she cooed.

Layla hit send.