The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1.

Pamela’s Mistress pressed against her as she steered them to a table through the strobing, thumping club. Pamela endured it, loving Tracy’s taut body. She no longer had to envy the clients Mistress trained, who could only worship her with their eyes in the gyms where Mistress taught. One or two had caught Tracy’s interest and had even been allowed to beg her control. But Mistress kept only Pamela.

When Tracy’s hand slid down her hip and took her buttcheek in an expert, momentary squeeze, Pamela spasmed helplessly, and the plug in her ass reminded her again delightfully that it was there.

She moaned and sagged against her Mistress, enjoying the stares. Mistress had taught her to love even harsher displays. This was the other part of belonging to Tracy—the others’ lust and envy.

Pamela felt an old urge, then. She wanted to beg Mistress to use one of her triggers to send her into trance. They’d played with hypnosis, partly to help Pamela deal with becoming a 24/7 slave, and for a while it had become part of the dominance. Pamela came, sometimes, just from being induced, feeling Mistress do lovingly to her mind what she’d already done to Pamela’s body.

Mistress would say no, here, since she took more pride in controlling a fully-aware woman, enjoyed submission given more than taken. But there were times when Pamela’s obedience to Tracy made her want to sink deep, to be nothing but her domme’s windup toy.

Just at the thought, she moaned and wiggled her ass, which only made it worse, and better.

Tracy let her lean against the high table before pinching her. “Stop complaining, slut.” She kept her face close and warm, her eyes almost glowing, and “slut” was a tender murmur in the throb of the club. “You’re not even riding the medium one tonight.

“I do want to see you dance, later.”

Pamela had been trained not to kiss unless told to, despite her need, but she could speak.

“I’m not complaining, Mistress.” She closed her eyes as Tracy’s thigh brushed hers and withdrew. She opened them, and looked at her Mistress. “In fact . . . I’d love you to teach me to dance with The Empress up my ass.”

Tracy’s eyes flickered to hear that and Pamela had to fight to keep her own from rolling back just to think about it. Early in her enslavement, as Mistress was introducing her to the joys of penetration, she’d learned that dildos came in Small, Medium, and Oh My God.

When Mistress had told Pamela to end her career, she’d spent her last day at work riding a Medium, barely able to talk. She hadn’t looked back when she’d been told to leave, so she never knew if she’d left a little pool of lube and pleasure on the chair. Her stained miniskirt, afterward, had given her hope.

But The Empress had been more of a threat than a real part of how Tracy used her. Tracy kept its sinister supple length on a stand like a ceremonial sword. Sometimes Pamela had dreamed of waking in the night, crawling to it and worshipping it.

Mistress’ hand was strong on Pamela’s upper arm, just under the slave-bracelet.

“Pretty talk, slut. But it’s your pussy saying it, not your brain.” Reaching Pamela as it always would, even through the slam of the techno that filled the club, Mistress’ voice was cool but concerned. She knew how far into subspace she could push Pamela, and sometimes it seemed to worry her.

Pamela swallowed. “This slut’s pussy is her brain, Mistress. When she’s this h-hot.”

She stared up at Tracy, and almost cried as Tracy suddenly drew her close, her soft curves against Tracy’s hard muscularity, both sculpted by Mistress herself in her craft as a personal trainer.

Don’t dive too deep, my little sub, her eyes told Pamela.

Pamela was still falling, but there were still words she could say, even as her voice thickened. “It isn’t my pussybrain, Mistress.

“It’s Yours!”

Tracy kissed her hard.

Pamela didn’t even think of how it looked, two women in little black dresses trying to melt into each other. She forgot anyone else was there, and the music’s pulse was just her own lost, chaotic heartbeat.

Tracy released her. She knew the eyes were there, hungry, wondering how far the tall domme was going to take her trembling slave. She smiled. Some of them might think this was punishment, or obedience training. She wished they could have heard her beg to be leashed for tonight.

She’d thanked Mistress sweetly for letting her at least wear one of the wider collars, anyway.

Mistress liked decorating her. Along with the collar and the armlet, Pamela had a bright ankle-chain above her heeled sandals, a watch with a gold-chain band, and a pendant just inside the top of her cleavage—a golden padlock, to tease anyone who stared between Pamela’s breasts.

Little pearl earrings hung from the only piercing Mistress permitted, holes Pamela had gotten when she was free. Mistress didn’t want her slave pierced, or marked except by her own hand, and she’d promised that would never happen. But she decided Pamela was too pretty in earrings, not least when they were all she was allowed to wear, to let the holes close up.

Pamela had accepted the promise with a little more relief than she wanted. But Tracy could hurt and show her beautifully and addictingly enough without putting holes in her, and it was another easy surrender.

Mistress, for her part, wore no jewelry, not even a watch. She just knew the time.

Pamela looked at her as they parted slightly. Their dresses were the same, tight, black, and brief, but Mistress looked like a predator stalking the savannah. On Pamela, the dress and the physique Mistress had carefully trained her into made her look like a well-kept whore. She no longer cared if she liked that because it was what she wanted, or because it pleased Tracy to make her want it.

Tracy was scanning the crowd, ignoring for now the ones who were still hoping she’d do something more drastic with her submissive. Pamela didn’t know if she were looking for friends, or even for another playmate for the evening. Tracy had an eye for beauty—Pamela accepted her own selection without any false modesty—and Pamela trusted her Mistress too deeply for jealousy.

If Tracy chose someone to come home with them, Pamela would kneel beside her and they’d pleasure Mistress, and it would be another glorious night. She’d serve, and be seen serving, and she’d watch another woman fall under Tracy’s spell, to be released later. She felt her heart start to race, because she sensed that was what Tracy was up to, tonight.

She looked out into the club’s shifting light, too. Tracy welcomed her suggestions. She’d learned what Tracy liked in a girltoy, and after she ‘d become a slave, she’d been delighted to find out how open she was to other women’s submissive vibes.

Pamela smiled dreamily. One girl she’d met in the ladies’ room in an upscale restaurant had pleaded to meet Tracy after only hearing about her. Mistress had been very pleased with both her playthings that day.

She froze suddenly.

“What?” Mistress just followed her gaze.

Another couple stood at a table against the wall, across the room, looking at them. Dancers leaped and swayed between them but there was some sort of standing-wave effect that kept opening the gap. The lighting was better, and Pamela and Mistress could see them fairly clearly.

The taller one was deep-chested in a leather halter, with light-brown hair that flowed over her bare shoulders. Her companion was more petite, which the sharply-cut top, almost an Edwardian jacket, actually highlighted.

They both wore collars.

Pamela felt herself tighten over the buttplug and swayed on her feet. For the first time tonight, she didn’t feel happy to let someone see her arousal. Losing herself in front of those perilously pretty women felt too much like being alone in a parking lot.

She started to lean on Mistress but didn’t want to seem weak, not now.

Then she felt Mistress’ hand on her neck anyway, and straightened against it, proud to be owned and happy that her owner took pride in her.

The women smiled. The dancers’ gap closed without reopening.

2.

Pamela danced, and the plug buttfucked her exquisitely. Her internal slave compass always told her where Mistress was. Sometimes Mistress danced with other girls, or warded men off with varying degrees of patience, and she was always there if a man tried wooing Pamela herself.

Nearly as sweet as the physical joy of moving was feeling so vulnerable and so protected at once. She thought about the days she’d danced much more demurely, and hoped to draw a man, and it made her smile open-mouthed as she spun.

No man had ever tasted like Mistress Tracy, and few women even came close.

This was one of the other reasons Mistress wouldn’t hypnotize her here, in public, even if no one knew. Mistress liked Pamela to be aware and responsive—she enjoyed seeing her slave react as much as she enjoyed seeing people react to her slave.

Someone was against her back, firm and soft and in synch as she writhed, and she leaned into them. The woman helped her turn, and Pamela was face to face and belly to crotch with the voluptuous brunette in leather. The woman moved with her, her face tranquil, her eyes locked on Pamela’s.

Suddenly Pamela thought Psychotic? It scared her that it only made the girl more attractive.

There was something less threatening in the other’s eyes, though. Some force missing there, that a killer would need.

But that’s the problem with killers. Real-life ones are incomplete. Less than their victims.

“Who are you?” The girl leaned close to Pamela as they danced, and her voice was low and pleasing and sane.

“I belong to my Mistress!” It was automatic to put slavery before identity. It reminded her, again, that she wasn’t alone. She was owned, always.

“Oh yeah,” the girl mouthed at her, grinning, and Pamela had to smile back. She loved hearing it was that obvious. Then the girl smiled past her, and she turned.

Tracy was dancing with a pair of women in electric-purple minidresses who seemed focused on her, moving together like votaries around an idol. Pamela’s cunt heated even more to think Tracy was taking two playmates for tonight, and that they were so very into serving her, so soon.

But they were under something deeper than Mistress’ enchantment. One of them was looking at Tracy with glazed eyes. She seemed trapped in a dream that stopped her knowing and kept her dancing.

She felt curved leather against her arm and the girl was near her, radiating heat and lust.

“—m Robyn,” she hissed against Pamela’s ear, and Pamela slid against her without thinking.

They turned and she looked through Robyn’s flying hair at Tracy, who smiled to Pamela between her two shining purple devotees. Then Pamela saw one of them trying to shake her head, and the other put her hands on either side of her face, staring her deeper. Their dancing grew more uniform as they locked gazes.

Now Mistress frowned slightly, and Pamela knew it wasn’t pique at losing their attention. She wondered what the other women had taken, and how much, and whether it would hit them even harder.

Then she went rigid as the plug in her moved.

Almost . . . almost . . .

For a second she stared through Mistress herself.

“Responsive,” Robyn purred, now next to her. As the near-orgasm faded Pamela recalled fingertips against her bare ass, just before the girl had paralyzed her with a tap.

Tracy had seen enough and slid past the mutually-enthralled couple toward Pamela. Pamela turned to Robyn. But Robyn was gone.

Pamela flowed against Mistress as she passed and let herself be borne back to their table. She put her head against Tracy’s shoulder for a moment. Tracy had left the distracted pair without a backward glance to save her from . . . she wasn’t sure. Gyrating her ass out there with a stiff toy inside was at least risking some nonconsensual play, but she felt relieved that her Mistress was at least picking up on her vibe that something weird was going on.

They looked again to the other table. Robyn wasn’t there, but her shorter companion was speaking earnestly to a waitress. The waitress settled her tray on the table to listen for a moment. After another dance-wave crossed vision, the waitress was gone.

“I think I know the short one,” Tracy said. “She looks like a client I have. I know she’s been checking me out, but I never would have guessed she was in the scene.

“Much less a submissive.”

Mistress talked about some of her Type-A fitness clients, women who seemed to use their sessions to let Tracy control them and give them orders without ever making it explicit.

“Maybe they’re just scene tourists, Mistress. They may think collars are fashion accessories.”

Tracy looked at her and nodded. “You may be right, slave. They seem a little feisty for a pair of subs, even if their owner let them out to play—and their owner didn’t teach them manners.

“Dash might know.” Pamela looked around with her, but neither one saw Dash.

Dash and Mistress had been lovers once. They learned quickly that both needed to dominate and that neither would, or could, be the other’s bitch. Dash kept a string of slaves now, but instead of a languid littl e pet like Pamela, she preferred hardbodied jocks, and she usually let them go, often with a new itch to rule other women teasing them in their turn.

Knowing everyone in the scene here, Dash could help Mistress figure out who had just copped a stroke on her sub and what game she might be trying to play.

Pamela’s pussy twitched. Someone might be trying to seduce her away from her owner. It was exciting to be wanted that way, even as just a succulent prize, but she felt safe, too. Women had snared her body before, but since she’d been in Tracy’s bed—and the many other places Tracy had chosen to fuck her—she’d belonged to her Mistress as she’d never dreamed possible.

My nipples aren’t pierced, she said, gazing up at Mistress. Her chains go through my soul.

Mistress looked down at her, saw the worship, and smiled.

Then the waitress was at the table, with another frozen vodka for Mistress and another goblet of rose for her. Tracy looked at her, and she looked back, leaning lower over the table. Pointing across the room, she said, “Compliments of the lady over there.”

They looked over, and the dancers parted. The collared pair were holding up stemmed glasses, and smiling.

“Whatever you were having,” the waitress said, staying low over the table and staring at Tracy. Her eyes were a little unfocused, and Pamela felt more excited—the girl’s own submissive strings were starting to vibrate, this close to Mistress. “I asked your waitress.”

The girl looked like she was ripening into obedience right there, but Mistress was too preoccupied to pluck her. She glanced over and their first waitress nodded, and Pamela suddenly wondered how concerned she really was that these new people were trying to drug them.

As the waitress slowly straightened, still staring at Mistress as though in a trance, Mistress nodded and picked up her glass. She raised it to the other couple, and the waitress blinked and shook her head and walked away.

“Drink up, slave.”

Pamela put her hand on the glass, but hesitated. She wasn’t even sure why. Tracy looked at her. “Worries?”

Pamela looked up, and felt her misgivings slide off, forgotten. It didn’t matter if Tracy was wise—just that she’d spoken.

“None, Mistress.” She picked up the wine, and her smile was real. She toasted her owner and drank.

3.

“Stay,” Mistress said, fingertip on her arm, and Pamela shivered in obedience, feeling herself take root at the table as Mistress set down her glass and slid through the dancers to talk to the other couple. She watched Tracy go into a stalk probably without even realizing it. Was Mistress going to thank the cheeky subs for the drinks, or play with them?

Or just scare the shit out of them, for presuming?

The music changed as Mistress disappeared. Everyone on the floor started moving in unison, arms above their heads, shifting

left

right

flowing

left and

again

and with the lights it reached into Pamela. Mistress was walking through it immune, but it made Pamela weak, malleable. She wanted to be mindless with them, thrusting her body in the flashing dark with her mind shut down. It didn’t call to her—it commanded her, a dominance all around her that rang with her slavery.

Tracy liked her to let go like that when they went clubbing, and knew which tracks could hit Pamela that way. Sometimes she’d come back to the table grinning, and Pamela would blush and squirm: a DJ had been instructed, and a show would be put on. A squeeze, or a whispered Obey it, and she was lost. There were nights she’d awakened in Mistress’ arms, sore and wet and buzzed, a dream of applause and offers fading around Mistress’ smiling face. It wasn’t Mistress’ hypnosis, but it could put Pamela in its power just the same.

Without Mistress to guard her in that trance, it was different. Scary.

Stay. She held firm.

“Sweet.”

An arm was around her and she jumped feebly, boneless in the dreamstate, spasming around the buttplug. She’d have fallen but the arm kept her upright.

Robyn held her.

She’d played the plug into Pamela before, and knew what she’d just done to her.

“You looked a little lost, standing there. Starting to get hypnotized.” Robyn’s perfume was sharp, spiced with sharper arousal. “Dangerous, for a pretty little submissive girl to be hypnotized on her own here. So many bad ideas waiting to be implanted in her helpless mind.”

She held Pamela close and Pamela didn’t pull back. She was nude under the black dress and Robyn must be feeling her nipples against her arm, her heat against her thigh. Pamela was used to people reading her turn-on. The bit about being hypnotized made her wonder—was Mistress playing a game with her? But trance had always been a private thing, a headspace Mistress kept safely hers alone. Not even the friends whom Mistress had lent Pamela’s body and submission had ever seen her under hypnosis.

Robyn leaned in and kissed her cheek, moth-flirting, and grinned at her. “So many bad ideas. And so many dark places to lead you, when you can’t resist being led.” The pulsing music swept over Pamela. It was like floating with someone in surf. It tempted her to lose herself against Robyn’s warm, leatherbound curves.

“Are you going to protect me? Ma’am?” Pamela breathed back at her.

“Mmm.” Robyn smiled, her eyes flaring. “Certainly not going to let some complete stranger hypnotize you.”

Pamela stood there, letting herself be held, wondering where Robyn would fondle her first. If she’d reach for the buttplug to goose her again.

“You’re a complete stranger, ma’am.”

“Mmmm.” Robyn rubbed herself against Pamela’s hip while staring her in the eye, and she shivered.

“Not a stranger,” Robyn purred. She leaned down and licked Pamela’s collar, and when she touched the skin, Pamela felt it in her cunt. “Not a ma’am.”

When Pamela’s eyes cleared she looked at Robyn’s collar. Robyn let her look and then stared her down again, waiting before she spoke.

“Not going to hypnotize you, either.

“Goddess will do that.”

“Goddess?” Pamela felt a chill.

Robyn smiled. “Goddess is the hypnotist. i’m the hypnoslave. And you”—she tapped Pamela’s lips—“are dessert.”

“I belong to my Mistress,” Pamela said, with more resolve than she thought she had.

“Her. Yes.” Robyn smiled. “She’s the entree.” Her eyes drank in Pamela’s look.

“Goddess is preparing her now.” Robyn turned away and stared at the dancers, stroking Pamela’s back. Pamela followed her gaze, and in a moment she could see the table where Tracy had gone to meet her client.

Mistress was standing by the table, hands by her sides. The dark-haired woman was looking up at her, talking, but it didn’t seem like Mistress was looking at her. Or even, really, at what was in front of her, the wall over the woman’s head.

Pamela tensed but Robyn’s grip stayed comfortable. She could run over there, she wanted to, but—

Stay.

She obeyed.

“Good slave,” Robyn whispered against her ear, guessing what kept her still. “Just relax. Behave. Watch Goddess enslave your owner.”

“She isn’t,” Pamela said. “She isn’t.”

“Goddess is a very, very powerful hypnotist. She can make anyone want to do anything—especially obey Her.

“For example, i used to be a nun.”

Pamela jerked against her, and Robyn laughed. “OK, i lied. i was a pretty perverted little slut before She took me. Or before i gave myself to Her.”

Pamela heard bliss in that, not confusion, but she reached for it. “Don’t you remember?”

Robyn’s face said Isn’t that quaint. She leaned in suddenly and kissed Pamela’s lips softly, gone before Pamela could do more than dampen.

“Of course i remember.” Robyn was tight against Pamela, now. “Part of how Goddess controls me is letting me remember giving my soul to Her.

“i wonder what your . . . mistress will want to give Her.”

Pamela forced her eyes back to Mistress. This wasn’t happening. Mistress was playing a game. She was humoring the other sub—it was harder and harder for Pamela to think of Tracy’s client as a submissive, but she had to. Nothing else made sense, because Mistress would never let anyone—

The waitress. She’d stood there like Mistress did now, listening to a drink order—and others? Glassy-eyed when she’d brought them, in a submissive daze that had nothing to do with Tracy after all.

“You drugged her!” She twisted in Robyn’s arms, feeling an old urge to fight. Robyn looked at her, not smirking quite enough to provoke her, but stepped back.

Pamela tried not to panic. What had the hypnotized waitress been told to put in her wine?

“If She did drug your mistress,” Robyn asked, “who drugged the waitress?”

Who told you anything about the waitress? But Pamela was seeing the blank-eyed dancers again, the ones who’d distracted Mistress so Robyn could get at her the first time. How many women had this “Goddess” programmed?

“This isn’t happening,” she said aloud, not bothering to look for Robyn’s reaction.

It was crazy. This pretty but odd submissive was trying to play with her mind—maybe even get her to break command and rush over to “save” Tracy.

She did look at Robyn then. The self-proclaimed hypnoslave was leaning on the table, smiling at her.

Oh, yes. She was getting it now. She didn’t know why they’d be doing it, but it made sense. The “hypnosis” motif was unusual, but some dommes did things like this, even to their own subs as a test. Sometimes they’d have someone start coming on to the sub after she’d been given an order, to see how well she’d stay on command.

Occasionally it got rough. One girl Pamela knew thought she was going to be raped after her mistress sent her on an “errand.” She’d obeyed, and in the end nothing had happened, but she’d left that domme almost right away, and despite others’ offers she’d fled the D/s scene itself, no longer able to trust.

Pamela looked over to find Robyn still smirking at her. She smirked back, but it wasn’t quite time to say Gotcha. If she could, she wanted to let Mistress know, quietly, if she hadn’t already figured out what was going on.

Pamela knew Tracy wouldn’t play games like that with her. But a couple of Tracy’s friends might. It would embarrass Mistress, if they got her to break discipline, the more so if she did it because she’d believed a story that her Mistress was weak-willed. She looked again at the “hypnotist.”

Her heart slammed. The hypnotist was looking back at her.

4.

A little while later, she saw Mistress and the petite brunette appear from among the dancers, and she gasped in relief. Tracy was grinning, and she had the other woman by the wrist. The shorter woman’s hotpants and tight boots showed off supple legs twitching rapidly to keep up with Tracy’s strides.

Mistress didn’t look mad, just amused, but Pamela knew the night was going to get more interesting than someone had thought.

“Pamela.” Tracy addressed her almost as an equal, making a point. “Come along.” She kept walking, still leading the brunette, and Pamela stepped away to follow. Robyn did the same, but wisely didn’t try to intervene with Tracy for her “Goddess.” Pamela saw them all reflected on one of the shiny panels on the wall. Her Mistress was the only one not in a collar. She smiled.

Pamela admired “Goddess” from behind, too, seeing slender legs and a lovely bubble butt shimmying inside the sprayed-on hotpants. She looked like a prostitute being dragged off by her pimp. Mmm.

Mistress led them into one of the quieter glassed-in rooms off the dance floor, and Pamela let Robyn go in before closing the door. The club noise faded to a dull roar, though the mesmerizing rhythm seemed to throb visually now, as lights flashed and dancers swung in waves.

Mistress released her captive, who leaned against the tall table in the middle of the room. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Pamela. This is Joss, whom I’ve been training.

“Obviously, she needs some different training.” She smiled down at Jos s, who was even shorter than Pamela. Joss smiled up uncertainly, looking more like a hypnotist’s assistant.

“And that would be Joss’ friend Robyn, I imagine.” Pamela looked over, and the taller sub was standing a little straighter. She looked at her “Goddess,” her eyes widening a little.

Pamela smiled at them. “Very pleased to meet you.”

“Joss never told me she played in the scene.” Tracy grinned. She didn’t need to add Bad girl. She touched the collar on Joss’ neck. “Who owns you? Who put you in this?”

Joss’ eyes narrowed and her smile faded a bit, but she couldn’t stare Mistress down, and averted her gaze. “No one—” Mistress’ fingertip drew her chin up to look again.

“No one collared me.” Joss panted a little as she glared up. “It’s a necklace. I’m no one’s sub.

“But if you don’t let me go, Tracy, you’ll wish you had.”

Tracy kept the delicate chin on her finger. “That’s ‘my Lady’ at the very least. We’ll get to that. But I’ve seen you at your limit in the gym, Joss. What exactly will you do to me?”

Joss relaxed and smiled up at her. “I’ll hypnotize you into complete obedience to me.”

Mistress cocked an eyebrow. “Really. You get points for sheer outrageousness, anyway.”

It amazed Pamela that Joss would still harp on that. She waited for Tracy to pull Joss’ chain about pretending to be entranced before.

Tracy just withdrew her finger, and Joss left her chin up for a moment before straightening gracefully. Tracy smiled at Pamela, who grinned back and spoke to Joss.

“You’d enjoy that collar more if you’d let Mistress Tracy put it on you.”

Joss turned to her slowly, and for a moment Pamela was almost worried. Then Joss tilted her head and said airily, “I’ll leave that joy to you, Pamela. I don’t swim in obedience—I drown others in it.”

She glanced at Robyn and narrowed her eyes, and when Pamela looked Robyn was rigid and unblinking, her face empty of smirks. She looked younger, somehow.

Tracy watched this calmly. When Joss turned back to her, she just shook her head.

“That’s really . . .” She shook her head again.

“I’m not really sure what you’re . . .” Blinking, she turned to Pamela. Where to start? her gaze seemed to ask. Pamela smiled back.

“What?” Joss prompted.

“I don’t know,” Mistress told her, baiting her with a look of deepening confusion. “I just keep losing . . .”

“. . . your train of thought?” Joss prompted helpfully.

“Yes! That’s it.” Mistress looked happy. Almost dopey. Pamela wondered why she was overplaying it, and how Joss was buying it.

“Could I help, in some way?” Joss asked sweetly.

Mistress closed her eyes, forced them open. She gazed very earnestly at Joss. “Actually, yes. Seeing you put your hypnoslave to sleep just now reminded me. My thoughts are all very sleepy, too. If I’m going to think, I need to think your thoughts instead.

“Would you put some thoughts in my head, please, Joss?”

Joss’ lips curled as she leaned more against the table.

“Are you sure you even want to think, Tracy? Robyn’s perfectly happy when she’s mindless—aren’t you, slut?”

“Yes, Goddess.” Robyn’s monotone was too steady, too empty to be pretense.

Pamela looked at her Mistress. Mistress gave no sign she was about to give the game away.

“If I can’t think at all, I can’t think about being obedient,” Mistress said, a little sadly.

“That’s true,” Joss conceded. “Well, all right. If you’re sure. Just look into my—”

“Mistress!” Pamela said it without thinking. Fear was telling her this was real.

Joss looked at her, curiously.

Mistress didn’t look away from Joss.

“Mistress Tracy! Please!”

Tracy shook her head, and then put her hands on the table and leaned over it as though trying to wake up. She blinked and stared, turning to Pamela.

“What . . . ? What is it, baby?”

“Mistress.” Pamela sighed. “I thought you were—”

“She thought I was hypnotizing you,” Joss said, and Tracy’s glance swung to face her.

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” Tracy said to her, tonelessly.

Joss smiled like a shark. “Yes, it is.” Joss looked at Pamela again, and as though this freed her gaze Mistress looked back too.

“Tracy could snap me in half without breathing hard,” Joss said. “How do you think someone like me could get someone like her to let me wrap her mind around my finger?”

Pamela looked at Mistress. She hoped Mistress would understand if her sub didn’t get the joke. “Mistress, please know that I—”

Tracy lifted a hand, but her expression was warm. She knew Pamela’s limits, and if she hadn’t guessed it before she’d know this was one—seeing her Mistress in what seemed like trouble.

Tracy’s look at Joss was much less kind. “Scaring my slave is out of line.”

“My fault.” Joss nodded thoughtfully. “I shouldn’t have snapped you out of it before. You’re not trained to obey out of trance yet, unless you’re triggered.

“Like this: flex for me, Tracy.”

Tracy stopped moving toward Joss and clasped her hands together, stepping into a pose.

But Mistress looked dopey again, smiling at Tracy, her anger forgotten.

“That’s better, Tracy, isn’t it?”

Tracy stayed taut and nodded. “Yes, Joss. It’s better. Sort of hard to think.”

Joss grinned at Pamela. “Really? Why?”

Tracy frowned for a moment. “Oh. Right. When you tell me to flex, the blood leaves my brain for my muscles, so it’s easier to obey but harder to think.”

Joss held her gaze. “Or maybe you’re just hypnotized now and ready to obey. Unflex now.”

Mistress came to attention again. “Yes. I’m just hypnotized.”

Pamela ran for the door.

“Tracy?” Joss prompted.

Mistress sighed. “Obedient trance now, Pamela-slave.”

Pamela froze, perfectly aware of the trigger taking control of her. In an eyeblink she was vague on what she’d planned to do when she reached the door.

Panic at being this helpless nipped at her skin like ice play—and melted there with her deeper heat. She tried to hang on to the fear, but Tracy had trained her too well, and submission throbbed through her new trance.

This game was way beyond consensual or safe, but she had to play.

She obeyed the compulsion to turn and receive her next orders. When she did, Joss no longer had her collar.

Mistress wore it now.