The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The slave designated lucy registered its image in the mirror. But only for a moment. The mirror wasn’t important. Nor was the image it held, of a pretty young woman in a skimpy maid’s outfit, her eyes empty.

What was important was following the slave in front of it. What was important was obeying.

An unseen tongue teased at the slave’s clit as it followed the skirt-suit clad Overseer through the halls. It forgot each of its fellow slaves as it passed them. Barely registered them. The other slaves were not important to its task. It had completely forgotten the hall it had been cleaning and the other slave, mary, that had taken up that task.

The slave stopped. The overseer, whose designation was helen, had led it to a large room, luxuriously furnished, low white couches and delicate ornaments. Large glass windows opened onto a broad grassy slope that fell away to a line of trees.

The slave paid no attention to the vista before it.

Perhaps the slave had cleaned this room. If so, it had no memory of it.

The slave designated lucy had no memory of ever having felt grass beneath its feet.

The slave did not sit down, or question what it should do. It simply stood there, awaiting another order.

“The slave designated lucy has been chosen by Mistress to perform a task.”

Phantom fingers caressed the slave’s breasts, gliding across its nipples. It had been chosen by Mistress. Mistress had thought of it.

“Before the slave can perform its task it is to be reinforced. The slave will obey.”

“This slave will obey.” lucy’s voice was empty. Its mind too, far too empty to register what it sounded like.

The Overseer was standing in front of the slave now, regarding the slave as lucy looked back passively. Two sets of eyes, each as blank as the other.

“Remember the spiral.”

The slave designated lucy remembered the spiral. The spiral was always in its mind. Even when it did not remember it. Now the spiral hovered before its eyes. The spiral turned, so slowly, colours flowing and morphing into each other, the slave’s awareness, what little there was of it, captured and held.

“You see only the spiral.”

The slave’s awareness of the room drained away. It did not see the glass windows or the grass or the overseer-slave in front of it. There was only the spiral.

And the tongue that whispered between its legs.

“Your eyes are drawn to the centre of the spiral.”

The slave’s eyes followed the spiral, drawn to its centre. The pull might have been irresistible. If the slave had any resistance at all.

“Sink down, watching the spiral, letting go of all thought.”

The slave did as it was told. It was so easy to obey. So easy to let everything flow out of its mind. Its mind was always so empty.

“There are no thoughts.” helen’s voice slipped into the slave’s mind, slithered between its folds, like the fingers of a lover caressing the slave between its legs.

“There are no thoughts,” the slave repeated. Like the place between its legs the slave’s mind didn’t hold thoughts. The slave’s mind was simply wet and open and willing.

“The slave is deeply hypnotised.”

“This slave is deeply hypnotised.”

The slave was never really out of trance, never truly awake. But there were different levels to its existence. Often, it would just go about its assigned task, its mind wrapped in obedience, thoughts impossible to form. Sometimes its obedience would be reinforced. Usually, as now, that would be performed by another slave. Mistress had too many slaves to reinforce them all. But sometimes it would be Mistress, helping the slave sink into that warm dark abyss at the centre of the spiral where there were no thoughts.

“Hypnotised girls are obedient.”

“Hypnotised girls are obedient.”

The slave wasn’t even aware of what it was saying now, so deep in trance. It didn’t need to be aware. It was simply reciting the truth.

“Obedience is rewarded.”

“Obedience is rewarded.” Even so deep in trance as it was, the slave knew the truth of that. Knew it without thought, instinctively. Had it been capable of thought it would have known that the other slave was being rewarded for its own obedience.

Thoughts were beyond it.

“The reward is pleasure.”

The slave moaned, invisible fingertips and tongues playing at its body, teasing, stroking, caressing, phantom lips wrapping around a nipple that was so taut.

“The reward is pleasure.”

The overseer would be being rewarded as well. The overseer was more important than the slave but it was just a slave as well, another pretty, hypnotised girl.

“Pleasure deepens your obedience. Stare into the spiral. Go deeper.”

The slave did. It didn’t know how many times the overseer had it repeat the words, the mantras sinking further and further into its mind, making it a better slave.

“Hypnotised girls are obedient.”

“Obedience is rewarded.”

“The reward is pleasure.”

“Pleasure deepens your obedience.”

Time was an infinite thing, an endless ocean of obedience and pleasure.

“Awake to level two.”

Level two allowed the slave to think.

This slave is a better slave now.

The slave was not often permitted level two. It knew that, without knowing how.

“Report,” the overseer commanded.

“This slave has been reinforced. This slave is more deeply enslaved than it was. This slave is Mistress’ possession.”

The slave smiled. It was allowed that at level two, satisfaction at its own obedience. It could feel its nipples tightening, warmth between its legs.

It had obeyed.

“Satisfactory,” the overseer observed. “The slave will wait.” Without another word the Overseer designated helen turned and headed to one of the lounges and sat down, picking up an electronic tablet that had been lying on the glass table in front of the lounge. The Overseer’s fingers played over the surface of the tablet.

Given no other orders, the slave simply stood where the Overseer had left it. It had been told to wait. It was obeying.

It would, if left, stand there until it collapsed from exhaustion.

The slave was unaware of the passing of time. Even in its present state, capable of some level of thought, that was unnecessary. That would have implied some level of impatience.

How could it be impatient when it was obeying?

The tongue whispered between its legs, rewarding the slave’s obedience.

Obedience is rewarded.

The slave had no idea how long it stood there, the Overseer engrossed in its own task. There was still sun coming through the large windows. Dimly, the slave was aware that the sun had moved.

The door to the room opened. The slave’s heart leapt.

Mistress!

The slave did not move or give any visible sign. much as it longed to run and throw itself at Mistress’ feet. It had been ordered to wait.

It obeyed.

The tongue ghosted over its clit.

Mistress glided over to stand before the slave, hands on hips, looking up at the slave.

It did not concern the slave that Mistress was a few inches shorter than her. An observer may have noted that too. And that the woman who had entered the room, blonde and beautiful like the woman in the scandalous maid outfit, appeared to be in her early twenties, at most. That observer may have noted all those things, but they would have noted other things as well. The expensiveness of her clothes. The perfect wave of her long blonde hair. The air of command about the newcomer. Her casual, easy assurance.

Mistress tilted her head to one side. The gesture made her look even younger. But if the observer could have seen into her eyes they may have reconsidered their estimate of her age.

“So this is the one?” Mistress asked, the question directed at the Overseer.

“Yes Mistress,” the Overseer replied without looking up. “This is the slave designated lucy.”

Mistress took a moment to consider her possession, the slave revelling in the attention. “Yes, I remember her. Such a talented tongue. I can hypnotise girls all I like. And you can get a hypnotised girl to practice for hours every day. But talent is something I can’t give. Some girls are just born with it. Even straight girls.”

The slave didn’t reply. It hadn’t been asked a question.

“Do you know how much I like a mindless girl licking my pussy?”

“No, Mistress,” the slave replied. Something swirled about its clit, at the honour of exchanging words with Mistress.

“Hmm, you wouldn’t, would you?” Mistress smiled to herself. “Well, I do. It’s one of life’s greatest pleasures. It’s not your tongue that I need you for, though. Not right now. Perhaps if you’re a very good girl. Perhaps I’ll allow you to eat me out if you perform well. Can you do that for me, lucy?”

The slave shivered in pleasure as Mistress used her designation. She could hear the lack of a capital letter. That just made it better. “Yes, Mistress.” It replied. There was no question. Even though Mistress had asked a question, the answer was obvious. The slave would obey. The slave always obeyed.

“Everything ready in New York?” Mistress asked. The slave didn’t reply, the question aimed at the Overseer.

“Almost Mistress,” helen replied. “One of your shadow holdings there is contracting you’re your California software studio for a new system. One of the target’s recruiters has been chosen. A therapist. lucy will be directed to her after a suitable period.”

“Good,” Mistress declared. “And then our little slave here can lead us to wherever that stupid bitch has her base. Have you selected who her liaison back here will be?”

“Yes Mistress,” the Overseer confirmed. “Myself and slave mary. mary was also acquired through the software studio.”

“Was she?” Mistress queried, then continued. “I don’t remember. But then that’s why I have slaves like you.” Smiling, she turned back to the maid-slave. “Well, lucy. We’ll need to wake the old you up. Just a little. Ensure that the assignment will leave you stressed so that consulting a therapist seems normal. Maybe long working hours? We’ll need to make sure your programming skills are up to date. mary’s as well, I suppose. Do I wake her up? Or do we just have her pretend? Decisions, decisions.”

The slave knew that she wasn’t meant to answer. She stayed silent as Mistress spoke. Stayed silent, as Mistress took her hand and began to draw the spiral on its back. Stayed silent as Mistress spoke more words, bliss engulfing her.

Ashley awoke. She didn’t cry out. She didn’t worry that she’d been dreaming. Or that the dream had been about slave lucy and her Mistress. Since she’d returned from her little vacation everything seemed so much better. Like a weight had lifted from her shoulders. She almost felt like she’d achieved something. She wasn’t sure what. It didn’t matter. Everything just seemed right.

Ashley fluttered around Samantha’s apartment, cleaning a speck of dust here, rearranging some decorations there. She wasn’t sure why. But everything had to be perfect. It was important.

“Are you alright, Ash?” her sister laughed, looking up from where she was scrolling through something on her phone. “You’re not usually this into cleaning. You haven’t got a date coming over, have you?”

“Uh, no?” Ashley replied, almost confused. She couldn’t remember the last time she had dated. Was that important? She pulled out her own phone, glanced at the time. Something about that was important too, but Ashley didn’t know why.

She was saved from worrying about it by a knock on the door.

“You do have a date!” Samantha cried as Ashley rushed to the door.

Ashley threw the door opening, a sense of relief, and something more, flooding her as she took in Alice standing there, the young woman looking as relaxed and gorgeous as ever.

“Alice,” Ashley cried. Of course that was who she’d been waiting for. How could she forget that? She’d been cleaning for Alice. Something seemed so right about that. “Please, come in. This is Samantha,” she continued indicating her sister as Alice swept into the room. “Sam, this is Alice Hewett. She owns my company.”

“What?” Ashley’s sister cried, almost dropping her phone in surprise. “You should have told me.” She stopped herself, rising to greet the newcomer. “She’s like that, you know. Always forgetting things.”

“I know,” Alice smiled warmly. “But not the important things. So you’re Samantha,” the younger woman continued. “Ashley has told me so much about you.”

Ashley couldn’t remember doing anything like that. But it wasn’t important. It wasn’t important that Alice was offering her hand to Samantha. Or maybe it was. A little something tried to tell Ashley that was important. She wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. She almost worried about that. Until something told her not to.

“Um, you know,” Samantha shrugged awkwardly as she took the newcomer’s hand. “You shouldn’t believe everything sisters say about each other.”

“Oh, I trust Ashley,” Alice smiled. And if there was something behind that smile, Ashley wouldn’t worry about that either. Just having Alice here made Ashley feel as if she was walking on clouds. “You’re in marketing, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Samantha confirmed. “Ashley’s the technical one.”

Alice hadn’t let go of Samantha’s hand. Samantha hadn’t commented on it. So there was no reason Ashley should. She should just stand there. Doing nothing. Barely thinking. Definitely not thinking of how Alice still held her sister’s hand. Of how Alice’s thumb played over the back of her sister’s hand. Drawing something that was so terribly familiar. Over and over and over.

It was so good just to stand there, waiting for something. Like being told what to do.

“Oh, we all have our talents,” Alice commented, that smile still there, warm and sincere and Ashley could just drown in it. “And I’m sure you’re just as talented as she is. Maybe you even share some of her talents. I have an opening for someone like you. Back in California. Any chance I could interest you in joining your sister?”

“No.” Samantha’s brow creased. As if she was trying to think of something and failing. She stared owlishly at her hand, the one held by Alice. That thumb continuing in its slow, relentless movement. Something in Ashley said she should tell Samantha to pull her hand back. Run out of the apartment. That made no sense. Why should Samantha run from her own home? Why should she run from Alice? Ashley didn’t say a word. As something delicate ghosted over her clit.

“No,” Samantha repeated, her frown deepening as if she wasn’t sure what she was denying. “I. Um. Here?”

“Shush,” Alice said reassuringly. “It’s alright. You just stand there and listen to me. Feeling the spiral. Watching it.”

Ashley could do that as well, the shape hovering before her eyes. She couldn’t see any reason why Samantha shouldn’t. Alice was here. And that meant everything would be alright.

Stroke.

The slave designated lucy stared into the mirror, its eyes empty. Even so, in the reflection. it could see the brush being applied to its hair.

Stroke.

The brush was carefully drawn through its hair, starting at the top of its head, then slowly pulled down, the hairs falling away from the brush one by one as the movement ended.

Stroke.

The slave didn’t know how many strokes of the brush there had been. It didn’t matter. It was simply sitting there, mindless, passive, another slave attending to the task. It was obeying, a ghost of contact to its clit rewarding its obedience, pleasure spreading through its body.

Stroke.

The slave had no idea how many times it had sat in front of this mirror. Watching as another slave brushed its hair. The slave designated lucy was passive. Obedient. Perhaps this was the first time its hair had been brushed like this. Perhaps it had sat there every day for months, having its hair attended to. Such knowledge was unimportant. But it knew why it was sitting there. It was there to be made beautiful.

For Mistress.

Its cunt moistened at the thought.

“One hundred,” the voice of the slave that was brushing lucy’s hair declared, lowering the brush and stepping back. “This slave has obeyed.”

“This slave has obeyed,” lucy echoed, still staring into the mirror. Its blonde hair shone with life. So much more life than its eyes held. Than the eyes of the slave behind it held. It didn’t matter. It had obeyed, the phantom tongue again teasing at its clit.

Like there would be one teasing at the clit of the slave behind it, rewarding the slave’s obedience.

Obedience was pleasure.

lucy knew that slave that had been brushing its hair was designated susan. The other slave had announced its designation when it had arrived in the room lucy occupied. Perhaps lucy had encountered susan before, but if so, it had no memories of those encounters. Such memories were unnecessary. lucy did know that it was allocated this room, to hold all the things it needed to be beautiful for Mistress, makeup, clothes, underwear. The slave didn’t own them, though. The slave owned nothing. Everything in the room was Mistress’ possession.

Like it was.

susan had instructed lucy to sit before the mirror in the room. To stay there as its hair was attended to. lucy had obeyed, its centre moistening, clit humming with its obedience. Something stirred in the slave’s mind. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Dimly, lucy was aware that the same routine was followed every day, even if it didn’t see Mistress for days on end. It always had to be ready. So every day a slave arrived to attend to it. lucy didn’t know if susan was always the one that attended to its appearance or whether other slaves took their turns at that task.

That knowledge wasn’t important to lucy’s function.

Like lucy, the slave that held the brush had long, silky blonde hair, although the other slave’s hair was held back in a ponytail. If the slave designated lucy had been sufficiently aware it would have noticed that there was more than the colour of their hair that the two slaves shared, something about their eyes and the shape of their faces so similar.

As similar as sisters.

The slave didn’t register the resemblance at all, let alone think about what it might mean, even as it gazed at the image of itself and the other slave in the mirror. The other slave was a maid-slave, wearing the oh-so-short dress with the low-cut neckline that was the uniform of the maid-slaves.

The slave designated lucy wasn’t wearing such a dress. Was unaware if it ever had, even with all the dresses that hung in the room’s spacious wardrobe. It wasn’t a maid-slave. If it had ever been one, those memories were gone. It was a body-slave, kept beautiful and ready for Mistress’ pleasure. It wore nothing more than a sheer negligee.

“The slave will stand and allow itself to be dressed,” susan declared.

“This slave obeys,” lucy replied, gracefully rising to its feet. That tongue flicked at its clit again. The slave had obeyed. susan may have spoken, but the slave designated lucy knew that the orders came from Mistress.

It always obeyed Mistress.

The slave designated lucy now saw that another maid-slave was in its room. It had not been aware of that before. It had not been important to its function. This was simply as it should be. One slave was responsible for its appearance. Another for its clothes. Body-slaves had value to Mistress. But the maid-slaves were not lucy’s attendants. They did nothing for her. They were simply maintaining one of Mistress’ possessions.

“Mistress has ordered that the slave wear this outfit,” the second maid-slave declared, indicating clothes and underwear laid out on the bed.

The slave that had spoken was dressed in an outfit that matched that of the other maid-slave. The same as all Mistress’ maid-slaves, short and tight and revealing. Unlike susan, its long hair was dark and its features told of Asian ancestry. In all the ways that mattered it was identical to its fellow maid-slave.

lucy paid no attention to that. Barely paid any attention to the outfit the dark-haired maid-slave had laid out on its bed. Even so, its pussy twitched, pleasure flooding its not quite empty mind. Another piece of knowledge appeared out of the void in its head. When Mistress ordered that it wear something particular it usually meant that it would be graced with Mistress’ presence.

The slave designated lucy simply stood in the middle of the room. Not moving as that tongue sighed over its lower lips. It made no move towards the clothes. Body-slaves did not dress themselves. They did very little for themselves at all, receiving direction from other slaves. If left to itself, the slave would not have known how to dress itself. Body-slaves were primped and pampered, their days spent in front of a mirror or exercising or in some other activity designed to keep them beautiful and ready for Mistress.

Because that was what Mistress decreed for them.

The slave stood there, passively, as the other two slaves dressed it, reacting only as the other two slaves commanded, arms and legs moved to allow the delicate, lacy underwear to be placed on it, one foot then the other raised to place stockings and high heels on its feet, arms over its head so a dress could be slipped on. It paid no attention to what was being placed on it, underwear, clothes, jewellery. Even as the maid-slaves unrolled the stockings and clipped the top of them to a garter belt. The outfit was not for its benefit, but for Mistress’.

The slave designated lucy showed no awareness as the two slaves checked its appearance.

“The slave will sit while makeup is applied,” the slave designated susan announced.

“This slave obeys,” lucy declared, pleasure pulsing from its clit as it resumed its seat, just as gracefully as it had risen. It was obeying. It could see before it an image of a pretty young woman, wearing a shoulderless red dress that hugged its trim form, its long blonde hair tumbling artfully around its shoulders.

The slave sat there as susan skilfully applied makeup to its features. It was even more beautiful now, its pussy pulsing. It had obeyed.

After a mindless time, susan straightened up, its lifeless eyes flicking between lucy and the body-slave’s image in the mirror.

“The slave’s lipstick requires attention,” the slave designated susan declared. “The slave’s appearance must be faultless. The slave will remain seated while this slave attends to the fault.”

Its appearance was not perfect. susan had been correct, a slight smudge apparent at the corner of the slave’s mouth. The slave remained perfectly still as the maid-slave carried out the correction.

“The fault has been corrected,” susan declared after replacing the lipstick in its assigned place and straightening up. “This slave has obeyed.”

“This slave has obeyed,” lucy echoed. Just like the lipstick tube, it had an assigned place. Just like the lipstick tube, it was an object. Owned.

The slave remained seated, dimly aware that the two maid-slaves were still in the room. It paid no attention to what they were doing. It paid no attention to the door opening.

“Slave lucy, listen to the words.” Another slave had entered the room. An overseer, in an overseer’s outfit of skirt suit, dark blouse and two-and-a-half-inch heels. The other slave said something after that. The slave designated lucy did not consciously register the words, the memory of what they were slithering from its mind the moment the other slave finished uttering them.

It didn’t matter that the memory was gone, the slave knew what the words meant. It was to obey the other slave.

“This slave hears and obeys,” lucy replied.

“Stand and allow inspection,” the Overseer ordered.

lucy rose again, the movement identical to what it had been before. Graceful, practised. The overseer was brunette, its hair loose about is shoulders. It was likely that lucy had encountered the overseer before. They were much fewer in number than maid-slaves or guard-slaves or body-slaves. Lucy had no memories of encountering the overseer. If such memories existed then it would only recall them if ordered.

“Acceptable,” the Overseer declared after slowly circling the slave. “Report.”

lucy said nothing. The order had been directed at the blonde maid-slave.

“The slave has been prepared as directed,” the slave designated susan replied. “The slave was fed and cleaned before preparation. Appearance is to specification. Makeup, body oils and perfume applied as per instructions. Grooming has been checked and any stray hairs removed. It is estimated that another laser treatment will be required in two months.”

“Noted,” the overseer replied flatly. Vaguely. lucy recalled susan checking its appearance, the slave standing naked after being washed and dried by the maid-slave. It remembered being fed, the spoon lifted to its mouth by the maid-slave. Body-slaves did nothing for themselves unless Mistress commanded otherwise. The memories slithered away, unimportant. There was simply obedience. And pleasure. “Slave lucy,” the overseer continued, “sit. You are to remain seated until instructed otherwise.”

lucy resumed its seat in front of the mirror. “This slave obeys,” it said. It didn’t care how many times it rose and sat. It only obeyed. And was rewarded for its obedience.

“The maid-slaves are to remain in attendance on the body-slave,” the Overseer declared. “Ensure that its appearance remains perfect.”

“This slave obeys,” the two maid-slaves declared in mindless unison.

The overseer departed. The slave designated lucy was unaware of the passing of time, simply staring into the mirror, doe-eyed and vacant.

The door opened again. The slave designated lucy did not move or speak. It hadn’t been instructed to do so. But arousal rose in it, hot and intense, as it registered its owner’s presence.

“Oh, yes,” Mistress purred, examining her property. “Aren’t you a picture.”

lucy’s pussy twitched. Mistress was pleased with it.

“I need some arm-candy. Can you do that for me, lucy?”

“Yes, Mistress,” lucy replied. It had no idea what Mistress meant, its mind too empty to reason even that much. The response it made was automatic, the obedience rewarded by the ghosts of lips locking around the slave’s nipples.

“We can sort out just how much of your brain I’ll let you use on the way. Not much, I imagine. It should only take about two brain cells for you to smile and simper and hang off my elbow. Like this one. Doesn’t it look better like this?”

At its Mistress’ words, lucy noted another slave that had followed Mistress into the room. Another body-slave. Like lucy, this slave wore a figure-hugging short dress and high heels. Except the other slave’s dress was black, as was her hair.

In all the ways that mattered, the slave was identical to lucy.

The slave was beautiful, like all Mistress’ slaves. But it was older than they usually were. Its eyes were just as blank. Mistress’ words implied that lucy had encountered the other slave before. But Mistress had not told her to remember such encounters. So lucy didn’t.

lucy didn’t think anything about it at all. It hadn’t been told to think.

It had been asked a question though.

“Yes, Mistress,” lucy repeated. The other slave’s appearance would be what Mistress decreed. So of course it would be better than whatever it had been before.

“I had such fun breaking her,” Mistress smiled thinly. “She used to think she was a mistress. A goddess.” Mistress laughed at the idea. “Now it knows better. It’s much better as a slave, isn’t it, lucy?”

“Yes, Mistress.” The slave designated lucy had no idea what Mistress was talking about. But it knew the answer required.

It obeyed.

“And it has you to thank for that,” Mistress mused. “At least a little of it. Now stand up.”

“Yes, Mistress,” lucy replied, that tongue swirling about its clit. The slave wanted to drown in Mistress. But obeying was so much better.

“Perfect,” Mistress smiled as lucy rose gracefully from its seat. “You two have done well,” Mistress said to the two maid-slaves who had stood silently since the Overseer had departed. “You are to pleasure and reinforce each other. Go.”

“Yes Mistress,” the two maid-slaves replied before leaving the room and heading for one of the spaces reserved for that purpose. lucy gave no thought to what they would be doing. Or why or why not she should care. The image was there, though, of naked bodies entwining and mouths mindlessly repeating mantras between kisses. Something inside lucy twitched at the images, dark and moist and needy.

“I could get you and susan to reinforce each other,” Mistress smiled wickedly at lucy. “But that would be awfully naughty, wouldn’t it?”

lucy had no idea what Mistress meant. She had no thoughts to form an idea. Had not been told what to think. Still, she knew how to reply. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Its tongue is just as talented as yours,” Mistress continued as she led her two slaves away. Lucy had no idea why Mistress was telling it this. The lack did not concern it. Mistress would tell it what it needed to think. In the meantime, it was simply obeying. “I knew it would be. It would be a shame for you not to know just how good its tongue is. Well, maybe if you’re a good girl tonight and then make me cum especially hard when we get home, I’ll let you find out. And then I’ll have the two of you together. Yes. I think so. Would you like that?”

The slave had no wants or desires beyond pleasing its Mistress. It had no idea why the idea of it and slave susan serving their owner together seemed to particularly appeal to Mistress. But it knew that it did. So it knew how to respond. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Well, come along then,” Mistress declared. “And we’ll see. But we need to get going.”

The slave didn’t need anything.

The slave didn’t want anything, beyond obeying.

It followed its Mistress, as it had been commanded, the phantom tongue swirling about its clit.

It was a slave.

It obeyed.