The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The wedding day which had joined Tessi to Matthew, and Matthew to Tessi—as spouses to each other, forever—had only just happened a week earlier.

It had been a pleasant affair: Tessi had put a lot of effort into planning it, and Matthew had helped her when she had found it becoming overwhelming. For a lot of it, she’d had the stamina, and the vision, to want to make the arrangements herself. But Tessi had been very relieved to know that Matthew was always there to help at those times when she couldn’t manage it anymore. The thought of him—not only as someone ready to step in and help, but as someone who would be hers when the day had come and gone—had sustained her. She’d been happy, if tired, while she’d been planning the wedding. And the night that they’d gotten back to their apartment after marrying, Tessi had fallen asleep almost immediately, for having actually carried off the wedding she’d planned out.

Tessi had done most of the planning work, with a few key contributions from Matthew, but the guestlist had belonged almost entirely to him. About one hundred guests had attended: only three of the guests had been Tessi’s, and they’d been in the wedding party. Matthew had a much more filled out life than her, populated with people—Tessi had never been close with, or kept in touch with her family; three close friends had been it for her.

Tessi had tried not to feel too pathetic about her three-person guestlist; she’d told herself that a late-twentysomething naturally had a personal life that was less established than a mid-thirtysomething’s. And she was a late-twentysomething, where Matthew was in his mid-thirties. He’d had more years to accumulate friends and loved ones than she had.

That was part of the truth, but Tessi knew there was more to it than just that. The fact was, she had never been all that great at bonding with people. She wasn’t too personable. She mostly liked keeping to herself, and apart from that, spending time with people she had already vetted and accepted into her life in her inner-circle.

Tessi hadn’t felt pathetic on her wedding day. She loved her three guests. They were all she needed at her wedding to be happy. She hadn’t resented the lack of other guests, and hadn’t even spent any time thinking about it.

She liked all of Matthew’s people well enough, anyway. But she did think it was impressive of him; was impressed with the way he networked, with how easily he took a liking to new people, with how seriously he invested into every budding bond of relationship. He had so many people he loved, and that loved him—Tessi thought he had one of the biggest hearts of anyone she knew, and that heart was focused on her, on loving her. He’d had a successful thirtysome years to have so many people around him, but she was the only wife in his heart.

Before Tessi and Matthew had married, they had lived in the same apartment together. But they’d known that as soon as they actually got married, they’d want to have a house of their own. So as soon as they’d gotten engaged, they’d started the search for a home. It had been a busy time, but they had worked well as a team together. Tessi had taken all the responsibility for the wedding planning, only sometimes seeking assistance from Matthew—and Matthew had taken full responsibility for the househunting, seeking only a sometime assistance from Tessi. And just as the wedding had been approaching, Matthew had closed on the house—and everything had been arranged so that the two of them could move into the house just three days after the wedding.

It had been specifically planned this way—Matthew had thought they would be so tired after the wedding they’d want to have a few days to lie around before having to worry about packing and moving.

And he had been right—by the third day, Tessi had felt rested enough to tackle a move, and on the fourth day, moving day, they’d packed everything and gone.

Their new house was on the very, very edges of the city they lived in. The neighborhood they lived in had very low noiselevels, and everything about its ambiance was cozy and reassuring. Tessi loved the area, loved the place—and Matthew loved it too. He’d told her so.

Tessi and Matthew were at home in their new house, now. They had opted not to go away on honeymoon, and not only because their move-in date was scheduled for just three days after the wedding.

The main consideration in not going away on honeymoon had been a financial one: they had had enough money to throw their dream wedding, and afford everything they wanted to make the day special, and they had had enough, in addition to this, to buy their dream house in their dream location.

But that had been as far as the pursestrings had stretched: they had not had the money left, after buying those two dreams, to dream a third and spend it into existence. So they hadn’t had a honeymoon. It had been enough for them just to move into their house, and know that it was now theirs.

And it was enough for Tessi now, just to be in that house with Matthew, knowing they had their whole future ahead of them.

Tessi did like the area, though, so she often went on walks around the neighborhood. It was purely residential, so there were no shops or anything to walk to and visit. But all the houses around there were very nice, so it was worth it in Tessi’s view to walk past and appreciate them.

And sometimes, when the weather was nice, Tessi liked to stand or sit outside on the front step, and just watch cars driving past slowly.

Tessi already thought of the place as being a place she was habituated to—a place where she was a habit of doing this, or doing that.

But the truth was, she had only moved there on the fourth day after her wedding, and her wedding was only a week into the past. She and Matthew had only lived here for three days in total. But the place was so right for them, Tessi told herself, that it already felt like they had a lived history with it.

Now was the eighth day after the wedding, a new day, a distinct day all its own.

And today, Tessi had the day off from work. She and Matthew had planned a weeklong staycation in place of a honeymoon.

Tessi wondered now if it had been some latent sadness that had pushed them to do it. All the other married couples that Matthew knew, and some of whom they’d even spoken with at the wedding, all of them had had great stories of their first vacations as married couples, just after the wedding, in which they had truly gotten to know each other for the first time. In which they had truly gelled, and come to see themselves as a unit. And Tessi and Matthew had been incredibly lucky that they were able to afford not one but two expensive, extravagant dreams in the very same week—getting married, getting the house. But maybe part of them wished they could have had the third dream. The honeymoon vacation.

And maybe to make up for that, they had arranged their planned week at the house.

Of course, they had planned for everything, but some aspects of scheduling weren’t perfect. Neither one of them had been able to get their start dates aligned—if Tessi was starting earlier, then Matthew was starting later, or the other way around. They hadn’t been able to get it so that both of them started their vacation on the exact same day.

So Tessi’s first day off from work was this day, the eighth day after the wedding. She’d taken off the actual day of her wedding, and the actual day of the move, but she’d been in the office the rest of the days of the week. Now her vacation could really start, seven days with Matthew. Seven days, just the two of them, as spouse and spouse, Tessi being Matthew’s wife—maybe they would gel, in the way the other married couples had all talk about. Maybe this was when they would start feeling like one married unit facing the world and facing life together.

Tessi felt lucky to have this day alone. She would have preferred to spend it with Matthew, but it had felt luxurious to sleep in while he’d been getting up and getting ready for work. She’d tried to convince him to let her make him breakfast last night, but he’d refused, saying her vacation had started and she should enjoy. His started tomorrow.

Tessi was thinking of Matthew leaving earlier that morning. She’d stirred awake, had opened one bleary eye to watch his shape-blurred form disappear from the bedroom, and then she’d shut that eye again and drifted off back to sleep.

But she was awake now, several hours later, feeling perfectly rested after having slept in, and she was thinking back. Having fallen asleep so quickly meant the intervening time had seemed to pass immediately, so to her it felt like Matthew had only just left, and that everything which happened now was taking place in the wake of Matthew’s absence. It was this way, even though she rationally knew Matthew had been gone some time now.

Tessi swung her legs off the bed, and stood. She undressed from her pajamas, and re-dressed in a simple pink dress; flattering but modest. The neck was shallowly scooped, the sleeves went to her mid-arm. She wasn’t hungry and didn’t quite feel like a walk yet. But sitting on the front steps sounded good to her.

So Tessi went outside, and closed the frontdoor after herself. She sat herself on her steps, and looked across the road.

The house directly on the other side of the street had a nice garden.

But then Tessi’s eyes fully took in what was happening in that garden. And her blood chilled with terror. What was happening in that nice-looking garden was not a nice-looking thing. It was a terrifying thing. Tessi sat, felt paralyzed.

The woman who was standing in the garden, and who clearly owned the house, clearly had to be some kind of dominatrix. The way she was dressed, the way she looked, there could be no other option.

Tessi had to admit she was a beautiful woman, if beauty could be frightening. Her hair was darkest black, and her breast were two heavy-sitting melons hanging from her chest.

She had to be the one who owned the house, because neither of the two who were with her looked like they had the competence required to go through a real estate process, let alone the competence required to amass the large sum of money that made all real estate processes possible to begin with. So Tessi felt confident—the woman was clearly the homeowner.

Tessi tried to look at her a little longer, afraid of looking at the ones lacking competence who were with her. The woman, the dominatrix, was wearing a very lowcut dress which nearly dipped to her navel, and showcased the innersides of her breasts. The dress was black, like her hair, they both matched, and made of latex.

The two with her must have been her slaves; the first was wearing all pink; the first thing Tessi thought in looking at her was, ‘bimbo,’ and the facial expression she wore aligned with this impression: stupid, vapid; she was sneezing otherwise.

The other looked like a human dog—maybe she’d had surgery? She had a snout, had flappy ears, wore a latex dress, but hers was brown.

Tessi’s eyes lingered on the dog lady, because she was the one Tessi found the most disturbing. At least the other bimbo looked more or less like a human woman. But that dog; she must have been surgically altered. Her cheeks were too round, and too jowly; her nose was too much of a snout, and the way her mouth was shaped looked so much like a dog’s moth, too; the woman was down on all fours, while the other slave was standing beside her mistress.

And her ears really were like a dog’s earflaps. She must have had to have so many procedures to get her looking that way; yet she didn’t look like a real dog, either. She looked like a true hybrid: half dog, and half woman.

And now Tessi looked at what she wore again—she had thought it was a dress at first; her mind had remembered the dress on the dominatrix and filled in the blanks.

But the dog’s latex outfit looked more like a bodysuit—it was brown—instead of fur, Tessi thought, because the dog lady couldn’t grow her own.

The bodysuit was completely open at the chest, showing the dog lady’s breasts—and it was, once again, open at the crotch, showing the most intimate place on the dog lady’s body completely. The poor woman had no privacy of her own—judging by the state of her surgically altered face, she likely had no bodily autonomy either.

Tessi kept watching the dog lady. She had been sitting there, more or less peacefully.

But now, she was moving forwards on hands and knees, just like she was a real animal. She was a hybrid, but she was quadripedal, and she moved down the garden over to a small clump of trees. This clump of tress was off to the left of the fine brick house, if one was looking at the house head on, as Tessi was.

The dog lady crawled over to the tree this way, and passed it a little; she’d turned so Tessi was seeing from behind, which meant Tessi could see the cheeks of her ass. The area in the suit which exposed the dog lady’s crotch kept going, and also exposed the dog lady’s rear end.

Tessi watched, in confusion. Why had she stopped just there? In front of the tree?

Then Tessi understood why, and wished she’d never found out. The lady lifted the leg closest to the tree, holding it aloft in the air, and then she hunched a little more over her other still kneeling leg; and then Tessi saw, perfectly clearly, as the woman pissed out a stream of urine, making it hit the tree; and then once on the bark, it ran down.

Tessi shook her head, in disbelief. This had to be public indecency, at least. How was this allowed? Why was no one else paying attention? Why did no one else care?

The lady finished pissing, and dropped her leg. But this made her hindquarters more visible again; and Tessi realized that she had a dogtail. She couldn’t grow fur, but she had a dogtail—no, that was synthetic too. What she really had was a plug in her ass; Tessi squinted to be sure she was seeing what she thought. Yes, there it was, a probe jabbing into her, right into her butt, stretching her anus out slightly so it was snugly fitted in there. And at the base of the dildo, the tail stared, and then it hung down, looking like reality, even though it was truly a fake.

This somehow seemed even more humiliating to Tessi than the rest of the woman’s appearance—than the piss she’d taken.

Tessi knew that lady must be able to feel the dildo plugging her anus all the time; stretching it all the time. She must get sore from it; and everyone whoever saw it would be able to see it there, would be able to see evidence of how low she’d allowed herself to be taken—that she’d stooped to the point of letting her ass be inserted with that thing.

Tessi hoped at least she was getting some pleasure from it—then she was horrified with herself for hoping so. The thing shouldn’t even have been in that lady, at all. Even if it was giving her pleasure, that didn’t justify its presence there. Tessi wished she had never thought that thought. It made her feel like a stranger.

Tessi’s eyes drifted back to the bimbo who was standing right beside the dominatrix; she had been sneezing, last that Tessi had seen, but now she was giggling to herself. First giggling, then laughing uproariously, and then giggling again; and in that pink clad latex suit, which also had all its private spaces exposed and open, Tessi could see the bimbo’s naked breasts, and naked pussy.

The bimbo splayed her legs apart, and did a partial crouch, still laughing to herself—as if her body was practicing some well-rehearsed motion. It didn’t look like she’d made the conscious choice to crouch, it looked like something had unlocked in her head, and the rest had happened automatically. Then she’d just found herself crouching—but Tessi wasn’t even sure if that bimbo was fully aware, now. She was giggling, and she put her hand between her legs, and laughed in time with strokes to herself, strokes which were all playing with her clit, over and over again.

The bimbo seemed lost in the motion, and Tessi shuddered to think why this particular action was rehearsed. Why the bimbo’s body simply forced itself into a position where its pleasure was accessible, and then performed the pleasure itself; as if it believed the release necessary, and just forced it out.

This went on, until the dominatrix raised her voice sternly.

“Slave!” She snapped, so loudly it was audible to Tessi across the street. “Lead the bitch back inside the house!”

Tessi was watching the three figures go back into the house—the bimbo taking the lady’s leash, and leading her in, the dominatrix following behind imperially. Then the frontdoor to that other house closed. Tessi was left alone to her feelings.

She was in shock for a solid few seconds. All that she had seen—it had just left her speechless. It had left her speechless, and it had left her completely unsure of what to do, what to say, and what to feel. She was hollowed out, sitting there, undecided.

But feelings were starting to come forth in her. The first one to really grip her was abject rage—just complete, all consuming rage. Tessi didn’t believe in swearing, but she was almost angry enough to let a string of profanity fall from her lips, something foul enough that even the most veteran curser would be made to feel uncomfortable. She could have thrown herself down and beat hands and fists against the earth—how could anyone treat other human beings with such a complete lack of respect? Such a complete lack of autonomy? Such a disregard for free will? For dignity? How had it been possible for so many people to fail those two women? Why had no one been protecting them, keeping them out of the clutches of that dominatrix.

Tessi’s body was white-hot with her anger. She wanted to scream, she wanted to break. She was shaking on the step while sitting.

Tessi sat there, feeling angry for a long time. Long enough, actually, for the dominatrix to emerge from the house again; Tessi could see her, out on her terrace; she was sitting on a very comfortable looking wicker, cushioned, loveseat—a bowl had been set on the ground next to this loveseat, and the dog lady was lapping at it; it looked like water that was sloshing around in there—and the lady was drinking it up thirstily.

The bimbo was sitting on the ground, in front of the loveseat, her back to the dominatrix. She was giggling as hard as before—and even when she stopped, she was still smiling vapidly. And all the time, she moved her hand between her thighs, rapidly masturbating herself, playing and moaning.

Tessi looked at the bimbo in disgust. She tried to remember the rage—tried to feel the sympathy that inspired it. She was outraged on behalf of this woman, she shouldn’t be feeling disgust.

But there was something so groveling and pathetic about that bimbo. When faced with her it was hard to keep a more compassionate perspective. She was practically drooling on herself; she was making herself an embarrassment, and enjoying it. She didn’t seem to care about it. She didn’t seem to care about anything, unless it was pleasure.

She was playing with herself more roughly. And she moaned and moaned as she did it. Tessi could hear each moan as if the bimbo were moaning right up close to her. Shameful, since the bimbo was not.

Tessi couldn’t take it anymore. She needed an ally in this. Someone to listen to her anger, someone to affirm her feelings. Someone to help her know what she should do to help. She couldn’t just sit here and watch this, especially since it made her feel so much less compassionate the longer she did. It was hard to look at such debased figures and not let her opinion of them fall.

She stood from the stoop, and walked to the left of her own house, towards the house next door. She and Matthew still didn’t really know the neighbors, and this was hardly an ideal first meeting. But Tessi told herself this was an emergency, and even if it actually wasn’t, and wouldn’t be understood as one once all the details were known, Tessi still knew that she needed help. So she knocked on her neighbor’s door.

Her neighbor was apparently a woman with lightcolored hair.

“Yes?” The woman asked, a bit impatient. “What is it?”

“Can you come out with me for a moment?” Tessi asked hopefully.

The woman gave a deeply irritated sigh, but followed Tessi.

And Tessi pointed at the terrace across the way.

“Look at that!” She said, a bit hysterically. “Look at how dehumanizing that is—what she’s done to them! We have to do something, help them!”

The end of that sentence had been more like a direct plea.

But the woman shook her head. “That’s normal.” And retreated.

This hadn’t been the response that Tessi was looking for at all, but now her neighbor had shut the front door of her house in Tessi’s face.

She had hoped, somehow, that it would turn out the dominatrix had only recently moved here, or that she had only recently taken in those two women. That today was the first time she’d brought them outside like she had, and no one in the neighborhood had known anything about it. That way, every neighbor could have been a potential ally; and anyone around her had a good chance of reacting the way Tessi had. In shock, in anger.

But the way this neighbor had reacted had just destroyed all those hopes which Tessi’d had. Because the neighbor had looked at the horrifying display as if it were something she saw every day, something insignificant, something that was occupying its rightful place. The dominatrix must have owned the house for a long time, then. She must have taken her slaves out every day for innumerable days and weeks. Which meant every other neighbor around her had likely seen it done a thousand times; and would likely be as unresponsive and as unhelpful as the one Tessi had tried.

So trying to solicit help from the neighbors wasn’t going to work. But Tessi needed outside help from someone.

She went back into her house, picked up her phone, and called the police. They told her they would be there shortly.

Tessi was left now to wait for them. And she found she couldn’t really stand in place, just waiting. It was easier to pace around the house, to walk to one length of it, then turn and walk to another length instead. To always keep moving.

But Tessi was feeling a lot less enthusiastic about this house now than she had earlier. First, because she didn’t want a neighbor across the street from her who was so cruel. But then because she didn’t want to live among a majority of people who were so uncaring towards those who were clearly vulnerable. She had been eager to get know the neighbors before. She never even wanted to do it at all now. The plan—to throw a block party, trying to do things the way Matthew did them for once, to try and connect better with the people around her like he always could. That plan was off now. Tessi wouldn’t throw a block party for any of these people if someone threw her one hundred thousand dollars to do it.

She had been so enraged; the rage and irritation was in her. It made her want to scratch her skin all over, like she was having some kind of allergy reaction to it. She paced faster, trying to make the time go more quickly, and trying to keep from yanking and yanking at her hair.

Then the doorbell rang, finally, and Tessi opened it to find two police officers standing on her stoop: a man and a woman.

“I understand you called for us?” The man asked, in his most understanding, reassuring tone of voice.

Tessi thought it was a little strange that he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself first, but what was happening over there was so pressing she was kind of glad she didn’t have to waste time on introductions.

The woman had taken out a paper notepad, and she had her black pen poised to write. No—it wasn’t black—the inktip looked pink, like it was a special treat for her to help her get through her work.

“The woman across the street is abusing the other two women who live with her,” Tessi burst out. She was already talking very fast, and didn’t seem able to regulate the rate of her speech.

“She’s completely stripped them of all their dignity—she’s got them both wearing latex suits that leave their genitals completely bear, and she makes one of them crawl around like a dog on the ground—she keeps her on a leash! And she makes go to the bathroom outside like she really is a dog—she made her pee on a tree!”

But just in case that was enough, Tessi threw in everything she could think of.

“And it’s indecent—that they’re both practically naked. This is a nice neighborhood!”

Both the police officers wore concerned expressions.

“That does sound concerning, Miss,” the woman said kindly. “We’ll go across the street and investigate. You just wait here.”

Tessi watched as both police officers turned from her door, and walked down her stoop. She watched as they crossed her lawn to the sidewalk—then watched as they walked up the sidewalk to the nearest intersection, and crossed at the crosswalk. Tessi always crossed the street by jaywalking, but it made sense to her that literal police officers wouldn’t do the same.

Actually, it made her feel confidence in them. They cared enough about things being right that they would go out of their way to follow the rules. These were the kind of people she wanted on her side, the kind of people that she wanted helping her.

Tessi let herself lean against her open doorframe on her left side. She felt a little less scared now. They were still crossing the crosswalk, but they had taken when she’d told them seriously. They would be able to see how wrong things were over there, now. And they would be able to fix them, and stop them from being wrong like that anymore.

Tessi hoped they would take the dominatrix away with them for questioning, at least—and if she was hoping for things, then what she really hoped was that they would make sure the dominatrix was punished for doing what she’d done.

Tessi looked to the terrace, hopeful the dominatrix might be caught in the act. But she and her slaves had already disappeared back into their house. The terrace was empty—empty.

Now the officers had reached the far sidewalk, on the other side of the road. They had parked their patrol car on Tessi and Matthew’s side of the street, and they had pulled their car up halfway between the house of the unhelpful woman Tessi had already tried, and Tessi’s house. They weren’t looking back to their car now. They were stepping through the dominatrix’s garden, facing the house, seeming like they were looking at it all the time as they approached it. Tessi wondered if they were feeling trepidation. But why should they be? Surely they had been in far more stressful situations than this one—maybe Tessi was transferring her on fear to them in imagination. The dominatrix was clearly willing to do anything; it seemed dangerous.

Tessi watched them standing at the door; watched as the female police officer raised her fist, and knocked upon it.

Maybe the dominatrix had known she was spotted—while Tessi was seeing her, she might have been seeing Tessi, might have gathered her slaves up and taken them far away, so she wouldn’t have to face accountability for her actions. Maybe the police would find an empty house, would find everything stripped away.

But just a moment after they knocked, the door opened, and Tessi could see that the same bimbo she’d seen before had been the one to open the door. She was in the same latex suit, her breasts showing. On that basis alone, everything Tessi had said was proven true. They followed her inside, door closing.

Tessi could have gone back inside—with the door shut, and the police officers investigating within, there was nothing there for her to see.

But she couldn’t bring herself to turn away from the door; if there was any chance of the police officers reemerging, she didn’t want to miss it—she was afraid if she went back in, they would leave and she wouldn’t be able to talk to them first. So it was easier just to stand where she was, even if it meant she was standing there staring at the same thing over and over. A house with a closed door.

As long as Tessi was standing there, she felt like she was doing something. She felt like she was helping the two women who were slaves by standing vigil for them—remembering them. She knew she wasn’t the one who would ultimately help them—the police officers inside would do that, but still Tessi had the unjustified emotion. Somehow this was helping them in Tessi’s mind, this was her doing something for them. She wouldn’t be like every other person in this neighborhood—she wouldn’t turn away from them, forget them, ignore them, overlook them. She would stand here for their sake.

Time went slowly—finally the door opened, and the officers were coming out. The policeman was smiling strangely—and the policewoman had let her hair loose—she looked without thought like the bimbo. Her eyes were void of all emotion.

Tessi stared; she watched the two police officers. Everything about the image was wrong: why was the male police officer smiling? He’d looked concerned, he’d looked serious, he’d look kind. But his smile now was unnatural. Tessi doubted the man had ever smiled this way before in his life—never, before going into that house—she was willing to bet onto it, and she wasn’t a betting woman.

The police woman was more disturbing. She’d had her hair pulled up in a tight bun—looking very professional, but now it was all frayed and loose and down. She looked like a mess—and she was smiling the way the bimbo had done, her eyes empty, showing no thoughts inside her. Even all the way across the street, Tessi could see this thoughtlessness—she was horrified all over again. What had happened in that house? How had two people who seemed so kind and so professional gone from that to this—how could they have been changed so much?

This time, the police officers didn’t walk the sidewalk to the intersection to cross properly at the crosswalk. This time, they just looked both ways down the empty street before cutting across in a jaywalk, breaking the rule, the law, themselves and not caring. And they weren’t coming to Tessi’s house—they were heading back to their patrol car, to just leave.

Tessi ran out from her house to get to the car. She reached them in time.

“What happened?” Tessi asked in alarm. It stopped the policeman from pulling open the policewoman’s door for her—she didn’t look able to work a doorhandle herself—so he’d clearly been intending to open her door, help her into the passenger seat on the frontside, before going around to the driverside. But he had hesitated, and he looked up at Tessi, still smiling that disturbing smiling he’d never worn before.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he assured her—being condescending—did he think she was a bimbo too? Unable to think for herself or understand the complex? Did he think she was the same as the policewoman, or the same as the bimbo the dominatrix kept? That made Tessi even angrier. He hadn’t been like this before.

“But it’s wrong!” Tessi insisted. “And you really need to tell me what happened when you went in there, because neither of you are acting the way you behaved before. Why have both of your attitudes changed?” Tessi’s hand had dropped to her hip, and she was feeling combative.

The man shook his head. “You’re worried about nothing. Really, trust me, nothing happened in there. You’re just imagining that we’re different.”

But Tessi knew she wasn’t. She also couldn’t avoid noticing that the man was the only speaking—meanwhile, the woman stood beside him robotically, smiling that empty smile. She didn’t look like she was hearing anything that either Tessi or the policeman were saying to each other. Tessi wished she could shake her awake from wherever she was.

The man reached out and patted Tessi right on the shoulder. “You know that I’m just doing my job,” he told her, as condescending as he had ever been, so far. “You seemed ready to trust me to do it before I went into the house over there. Why have you changed your mind about me?”

He was turning the questions back around her—avoiding truly answering any of hers, asking his own instead. “I went in there, and did my job—I asked all the questions that I needed to ask, I spoke with everyone I needed to speak with. I got all the notes that I needed to take. I just have to go back to precinct and put everything together now, with the help of my partner. Will you let me do that? This is police business, after all. Do you really want to stand in the way of that?”

Was he threatening her? If he was, Tessi wasn’t afraid. She puffed her chest higher, straightening her spine, digging her nails into her own hip.

“What is going on in that house over there?” She threw her free hand in a point, one fluid motion that extended to pointing then fell until her arm was back at her side.

“You misunderstood what you saw,” the man said. “Everything has been cleared up. We’ll go over things back at the department, and then we’ll get back in touch with you.” He opened the cardoor.

The one that led into the passenger seat. He pulled the handle, then eased the door open; he moved the policewoman back from it with his hand, and then swung the door open. Then he helped her down into the seat. Tessi hated that she had been right about the situation. When she’d seen that the policewoman was going to be unable to work a door handle, when she’d seen that the policewoman was going to be unable to pull a door open, when she’d seen she was going to be unable to help herself in a seat. She wished she had been wrong about that. It was only with the policeman’s help that she managed anything—whatever had happened to her in the dominatrix’s house, it had made her forget how to do everything else.

Tessi did notice, now, that the police officer didn’t do up the policewoman’s seatbelt. And that seemed wrong to her. It was illegal to ride and drive without a seatbelt too—but they’d jaywalked illegally, and now they were breaking seatbelt laws, laws that were in place for reasons of safety. That didn’t seem like the conscientious cops that Tessi had met before.

The male police officer closed the door in on the policewoman, and got in behind the wheel, closing his door and starting the car. As they drove away. As Tessi watched them, she saw the policewoman lean over and start fellating the policeman. Another traffic law broken.

Tessi stood there, watching the car getting smaller and smaller. She felt that with it all her hopes were going—her last chance was leaving with that car. The only people who’d seemed really able to help her were leaving—and they weren’t even the same people she’d met.

She felt a little despair; and then she felt the anger again, the anger always protecting her from deeper, more painful feelings. She shouldn’t have even been put in this situation in the first place. And she was glad to stand there, with balled fists, watching the car go—getting angrier. If she stopped feeling mad, she wouldn’t only be feeling despair. She’d be feeling guilt too. She’d sent the officers in there—she had ruined the people they’d been.

The car was almost completely out of sight now; it was at the end of the street, and it was about to turn. Tessi was amazed that it hadn’t crashed yet—and she couldn’t help but wonder bitterly if the policeman had had his orgasm yet—if the policewoman bimbo—for it seemed that was what she was—if she would keep sucking him even once he was finished.

The car turned, and it was fully gone.

Tessi realized she was still standing on the sidewalk. She walked back across her lawn—in the rush, she had run from an open door. Maybe bugs or animals had gotten inside. She closed the door now, and sat down in the livingroom a bit dejectedly. She didn’t know what to do.

She ended up sitting there for the rest of the day. She didn’t stand to eat. She didn’t stand to do anything else. She just sat there. The first thing that roused her was the frontdoor opening—and it was Matthew, come home to her.

“Oh,” she said, sadly. He was coming home to her after his last day before their honeymoon staycation—this was supposed to be a happy occasion, they were supposed to be looking forward to the next seven days together—so it made sense that Matthew was looking at Tessi perplexedly, since he’d come home to find her slumped and depressed.

There had been a plan—and it was ruined now, because all Tessi could think about was what was happening across the street.

“What is it, Tessi?” He asked, coming to sit beside her.

“Everything’s ruined,” Tessi said, looking down at her hands, where her hands were hanging down off of her knees. She had her arms lain along her upperlegs to get them in that position.

“I hate this neighborhood now. There’s some kind of monster across the street—she keeps these women as slaves—she makes one dress and crawl around and piss like a dog, and the other she makes masturbate herself constantly—and I called the police but they went in there and came out different, and they said they weren’t going to do anything, and then they just drove away and—”

Tessi had surged into tears.

As soon as Tessi had started crying, Matthew’s arms had immediately reached out to enfold her and pull her close to him—and she felt slightly cheered up by the presence of his body, the closeness of it, him wrapping around her and holding her tighter. Pressing her to him, rocking her—it made her feel slightly comforted. And Matthew started to speak as he kept holding her.

“I’m sorry such an awful thing happened to you today,” he said, and it sounded heartfelt. “I’m sorry you saw something disturbing, and I’m sorry someone so evil is close to us.”

Tessi felt heard—Tessi felt understood—Tessi felt believed. This had been all she wanted when she’d gone to speak to the cops after—she’d wanted affirmation, not gaslighting. At least Matthew was affirming her, what she’d seen, what she’d felt, what she’d known was true.

“And I’m sorry that the people you called for help couldn’t help you.”

Tessi felt more affirmed still.

But then Matthew kept speaking. He had hesitated first, as if trying to phrase something in his head—and when he spoke, Tessi wished he hadn’t.

“I can help you, now. I’m here. I’ll take you over there—we’ll go, we’ll see what’s going on, and we’ll stop what’s happening. We’ll make sure that cruel woman sees consequences for what she’s doing.”

Tessi sighed into Matthew’s shoulder, and pushed him back with her hands. He had not understood as she had hoped.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to go over there, Matthew. I don’t feel comfortable. She needs to be stopped, but… I’m not sure how to do it. I sent two people in there already, and they came out… different. It seems like a dangerous place to enter. I don’t want the two of us going in there. It makes me really scared.”

Matthew kissed the side of her head. “But I’ll be going in with you,” he reminded her. “You won’t be alone—and we won’t let that woman do anything to us. We’ll have our guards up—she won’t be able to get anything past us.”

“I guess so…” Tessi said. She still felt uncertain, still disliked the idea entirely. “But the police officers, they went…”

Tessi swallowed, then cleared her throat. “The police officers went in there. And they have all kinds of training for facing dangerous situations—and they went in, and they were still gotten. Then they came out different. We don’t have their training—it will be even more dangerous for us—”

Matthew held Tessi’s face in his hands, directing her eyes to his. “And did they fully know what they were facing? No. But we do—we know what this woman has done, to the two others who live with her, and to the two police officers who went inside to investigate her. She can’t surprise us. She can’t do anything unexpected. We’ll be alright.”

Tessi still really hated the idea. But Matthew seemed so sure, and he knew people.

Knew how social interactions went. And Tessi had decided to trust this man with her future—she would trust him with her evening.

“Alright,” she said. “We can go over there, and see.”

Matthew stood, and held out a hand to her. She took it, and he held hers in his as he’d held her in his arms—they stepped outside their front door, and made it across the street, jaywalking it like the police officers had done once they were different.

Tessi felt like it was a worse and worse idea all the time as they got close to the front door, but she wouldn’t turn back from it now. She let Matthew walk them through the garden. She let him lead her up on to the terrace.

Tessi was the one who knocked on the door. She expected to see the pink bimbo with the exposed breasts on the other side, once it was opened.

But when it was, the dominatrix was there.

Her hair looked even blacker upclose. It looked like night. And she was still wearing the black latex dress; the one that plunged for her navel, the one that showed the innersides of her breasts.

Tessi was so much afraid of her in near proximity. Her features were sharp; looked cut, like they would hurt to touch, and her look was hostile. She didn’t speak, only stared hard into Tessi, and then hard into Matthew. Tessi hated her, wanted to leave.

But as Tessi was thinking this, as she was thinking how much she hated this woman, she watched as Matthew’s eyes fell down the dominatrix’s cleavage, and then came back up to her face.

The dominatrix quirked an eyebrow at him, as if in questioning, and his mouth fell open, and he began to speak.

“My god,” he said. “You’re so… your whole essence, it’s pure eroticism. I just… I look at you and your eyes are… hypnotizing… everything about you seems hypnotic, like I could fall asleep and let you do whatever to my mind that you wanted… just from looking at you… but you don’t… you have an air of calm, of confident charisma—but you don’t seem like you need to tell people about it. You’re not… showy. There’s a bit of humility to you, and all of it together makes you so… incredibly attractive… to me…”

He trailed off; his eye had taken on a glazed look as he’d been saying this, and Tessi just didn’t understand. Matthew had been so adamant about cautiousness—yet he seemed completely lost to himself. Was she that good? Had she somehow put all those words inside Matthew, that quickly, just in time for them to fall out?

Tessi was still just so blindsided by this—she felt defensive, protective anger again. “Matthew!” She rebuked. “How could you say this to a complete stranger! Especially to a stranger who’s done the terrible things we know of?”

Matthew didn’t say anything else. He was staring at the dominatrix, watchfully. Tessi shook him, he was her husband, she had more justified intimacy with him than she’d had with the other people she’d wanted to shake today but couldn’t. But it did nothing to bring Matthew’s attention back to her.

Whatever Matthew had said, wherever it had come from, it seemed to have at least impressed the dominatrix. She smiled for the first time, and even when she looked at Tessi, she was looking a little less intimidating—as if now, she really wanted to be welcoming to Tessi, and to treat her… better than she would have treated her before.

“Why don’t you both come inside with me, and we can all have a nice visit together?”

Tessi didn’t quite know how to say no to the dominatrix; and Matthew still seemed a little lost and hazy. So both of them said, “Okay,” and followed the dominatrix into her house.

Tessi had a sinking feeling the whole time—dreading it, expecting sudden danger around every corner. But everything looked normal; pretty, like the terrace outside was pretty. There was no evidence of hidden horror. It didn’t set Tessi at all at ease.

They had arrived in a room that had several comfortable looking armchairs—all were a light blue looking color. Too nice for a place like this, a house like this, a woman like this.

But the dominatrix outstretched a hand. “Why don’t you both sit down and make yourself more comfortable here?” She asked.

Tessi hated this woman again, hated her even more than she’d hated her before. It was irrational feeling—seeing her be hospitable and generous, friendly even, was too much. She cared about comfort and dignity for random strangers, but not for the people who actually lived with her? How could she have such an extreme double standard as that?

Tessi wanted to shout at her about, but instead she three herself into the nearest indicated armchair. She folded her arms over her chest and slumped deep into the chair, scowling all the time and hating the dominatrix more by the second. Her anger was ravenous, feeding on everything accessible to it, even what was not offered—getting stronger. Tessi couldn’t even imagined every calming back down from it again.

Matthew considered what had been offered him—a pleasant chair to sit in, but he didn’t take it. The dominatrix was still standing, and he wanted to keep standing with her. He wasn’t questioning why he was suddenly so interested in her—why he suddenly thought she was so great. It was just enough to bask in her being there, in knowing that he was standing there. He didn’t want to step away and sit down; he didn’t want to separate from this woman, from this moment, even so much as that. He stayed standing where he was, smiling lightly, not concerned about anything, and least of all concerned about the fact that he hadn’t sat down.

As Matthew stood, he was happy; but then, he was looking at the dominatrix’s face—why shouldn’t he be happy?

He looked into her face for a long time—but his eyes had the urge to look downwards. They ran down the trail between her cleavage, and there, hanging on a chain, was a red pendant. As soon as Matthew looked at it, it seemed to glow, and if he looked very carefully into the center of that red, glowing pendant, he thought he could see a tiny spiral turning—and he unconsciously took a few steps toward the pendant, wanting to reach and touch it—but something in him couldn’t quite do that.

Standing closer, he was also getting a musky scent—perhaps the glow was also releasing an odor as it shone itself.

And when Matthew looked at it, that was when he wasn’t so happy anymore. Because looking at it was memory—he remembered the last time that he had seen, and the last time he had seen it had been outside the dominatrix’s frontdoor—he’d looked at her, looked down her cleavage, seen the pendant, then looked at her agin, and confessed everything that he was feeling inside.

But had he felt any of those things before he’d looked into the pendant, seen its red glow, seen its tiny central spiral? He didn’t want to look anymore—he knew that while he looked, he was being controled, and he didn’t want that. He tried to look away, tried to move, tried to turn. But his body stayed standing where it was, and he stared. He didn’t want to be staring, but his body was making him do it. His eyes were wide and filled with that red colored light—the glow seemed to bleed further and further outward from the spiral, but as the tiny spiral turned, at once it seemed to draw some glow inside itself, and expand. And at the same time, it seemed to eject some of that red glow inside itself, and retract. It was like it was breathing.

With each breath it grew bigger, but with each breath it also grew smaller at the exact same time. And the scent that came was erotic—reminded Matthew of sex. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but as soon as he breathed it in, it was making him remember every time he’d ever fucked a woman, making remember all moments in kaleidoscope, until they became on composite that left him hopelessly turned on.

The pendant glowed. The central spiral turned—it breathed. It breathed, and Matthew breathed, and when he did, he took in more of the scent. It was a closed loop, like a larger spiral that he was a part of—a spiral formed by Matthew’s person, the pendant, and what was inside of it—the glow the odor, Matthew’s feelings, all seemed to travel in a loop, like the ring of a planet, and each one seemed to seep into the next—Matthew felt so entrapped.

He didn’t want to be. He hadn’t wanted to, as soon as he’d looked at the pendant he hadn’t wanted to, he’d remembered what it had done to him, the words it had spun to him, but he hadn’t been able to stop it.

He would try to stop it now.

He clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides—it gave him a little more control. He swung his arms, but they didn’t connect to anything. He was only moving to feel them going through the air—he swung his arms faster—he tried to move them in an upperbody jumpingjack that never moved his legs. He was trying to say—‘no,’ he was trying to say—stop. He could move his arms but not his legs; he was doing all that he could, still couldn’t speak. He was doing the best he could to fight what the pendant was doing, but his successes in this area were so far negligible.

At first when Tessi had sat, she had ignored Matthew, still feeling betrayed by him—what he’d said to the dominatrix had almost been unforgivable.

But when Matthew hadn’t sat down in one of the other light blue armchair, Tessi had turned to look at him. And she’d watched him stand and stare for a long time. Now he was being even more bizarre—swinging his arms, twisting his upperbody, but not stepping forward or speaking anything.

“What the hell is happening with you, Matthew?”

Before Matthew could even offer an answer to her, the dominatrix moved. She pulled her latex dress even further apart from itself; the plunging navel meant the cleavage dip went pretty far, but she pulled at it from the inside until it came off her shoulders and left her naked waistup. She had opened herself up and displayed herself for Matthew—and Tessi could see now that she was wearing a red, glowy pendant. She didn’t know how she’d missed it before—but then every time she looked at it, she felt herself actively forgetting it as her eyes latched onto. She still couldn’t really be sure that it was there. Maybe it wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t remember it there.

As soon as the dominatrix’s breasts were exposed, Matthew stopped moving; his head fell low, to the dominatrix’s breasts, and he started kissing and licking everywhere. He did it like it was a carrying out of chaos—he was putting kisses and licks everywhere, all over her chest, not seeming to care where he kissed, or when—or how—he was just putting chaos everywhere. It didn’t look like he was even thinking about what he was doing—he was just in constant movement.

And somehow, into what was already a melee, he three his hands. He moves his face, mouth, lips, tongue, and now also used his hands to caress and grip into the dominatrix’s breasts. He was spreading physical love over them.

“What!” Tessi shrieked, frightened and in a state of terror. It hadn’t even been meant as a question, she had just needed something to express with great vehemence; a vehicle for her feeling. She didn’t understand what had happened—why Matthew was even behaving this way—and this was the first thing he had done that seemed truly inhuman—he was being too chaotic, he didn’t even seem like a man anymore. He seemed like some kind of supernatural wraith, and now she feared her own husband.

She was raising up the energy to let out a scream—but it was at this moment that the bimbo, in her pink latex bodysuit, emerged from the corner of the room, holding what looked like a perfume bottle with a squeezeend.

The bimbo brandished the bottle in Tessi’s face, and then she squeezed the squeeze end—but it was then that Tessi realized there wasn’t perfume in the bottle. There was gas, and it hit her face like vapor. She felt the moisture of it touching her skin before she inhaled.

Nothing seemed to happen at first, though the bimbo had emptied the perfume bottle. Tessi couldn’t seem to stop standing there—but nothing was happening.

Then slowly something was. It felt like a tingling to start—and then Tessi realized it was in fact a dimming—every sense felt muted until it felt numb; and then once she was numb, it was her thoughts that dimmed, until they were silence. And finally, Tessi was sitting, mind-emptied, in her chair.

Since Tessi was now for the moment without a mind, she was blinded and oblivious to everything that was happening in the room around her; but things were still going on.

Matthew wasn’t fighting anymore—he was still just staring with sagging jaw at the pendant between the dominatrix’s breasts.

It was the dominatrix and her bimbo who were behaving as active agents within the room. They were the ones who were taking action.

And the dominatrix was the one to move first. When she saw that Tessi’s mind had been properly drained out by the gas, and saw that Matthew’s mind had been similarly drained out by the appearance of her pendant, she took his hand, and pulled him trailing behind her, leading him out of the room.

Once the dominatrix had left with Matthew, and only Tessi and the bimbo remained, the bimbo took action. She had set the empty bottle down, all the gas having gone into Tessi and done its job. And now the bimbo began systematically undressing Tessi from head to toe.

Unbuttoning Tessi’s blouse, and taking it off. Taking Tessi’s undershirt off, pulling it up over her head. Then she removed Tessi’s bra.

Then she had to unzip Tessi’s skirt—more of a challenge since Tessi was sitting down, but luckily the zipper was on the side and not the back. Then she had to pull it down, get off her underwear and finally remove her shoes and her tights.

Matthew had been led from the room, unaware—there was no awareness after that for him, either—he did not fully become conscious again until some time later, and when he was fully his thinking self again, he didn’t know how long he had been unconscious for. He couldn’t say whether he’d been eyes-open unconscious or eyes-closed unconscious, either. He remembered what had happened with the pendant, he knew either option was possible. Nor could he say what might have happened to him while he was eyes closed unconscious. Or what might have happened to him while he was eyes-open unconscious. He had no idea what had been going on for the past however long it had been.

He knew now that he was awake again that he had been strapped down to a table in an operating room—it looked like a clinic room, but it also didn’t. It had a quality a real doctor or surgeon’s clinical room wouldn’t have had.

This looked like a set someone had built for a pornography shoot, video, photographic, or otherwise. It looked like it had been built in a spirit of lust—this had been fetish fun for whoever put this together. It was not a serious place, occupied with its practical practices in a mundane way—and yet the operating table felt very capable of holding Matthew in place as he was cut into. Even if the person cutting him would be getting aroused about it.

There was a frightening thought—the person who did the operating in this room might not be a real doctor or surgeon. They might not be licensed at all, might not even know what they were doing, might only be doing it because it was erotic for them. But that wouldn’t make any cut they put into his body less real.

Matthew started thrashing violently against his restraints. He wanted to somehow loosen them and get away before someone could slice him open and do something to him—he was bucking his whole body, worming around on the table, but it wasn’t getting any looser.

There was panic in his body, and he was only becoming more activated by anxiety. This felt dangerous—nearly life or death. He struggled.

But Matthew realized he wasn’t alone here. And somehow just the sight of her calmed him. He knew that wasn’t rational or right, but some residue had been left by the influence she’d exerted on him.

She was not wearing a black latex dress. She was wearing a white doctor’s coat. Matthew still doubted her credentials, but he couldn’t stop part of his mind from becoming happy at seeing her.

He realized he had stopped struggling, and flopped back against the table. And now he was looking at her from on a craned neck—the dominatrix was smiling.

Her bimbo was beside her, dressed up as a nurse.

For now, the two of them were just standing.

Matthew was stuck with the way he felt inside for just a moment. He looked at the dominatrix—and somehow, a half-memory fragment was coming back to him. He’d thought of looking at the pendant before, he hadn’t forgotten about it, but now he was really remembering what that pendant had felt like to look at.

There had been some kind of transference that had happened in his brain—it wasn’t only looking at a pendant that could affect him in that… hypnotic, brainwashing way. Now, his brain saw her person, the form of her body, as a hypnotic trigger.

And just in looking at her, Matthew felt things in his head starting to whisper. Telling him that it was alright—that he should let himself be operated on, that even if she was only doing it out of lust, without the necessary training, he should still let her do it, because she was right to do anything that she wanted to him.

And the feeling was something wet and hot and running—but in his head—like things of ice had been liquified, or were in the process of liquefaction. As he looked at her he felt that liquefying happening to an even greater of an extent.

A moment ago, he’d just accepted that his sense of peace and acceptance in looking at her was acceptable. He’d just… allow it to be, no matter how irrational it was.

His mind on this was changed—and for once, he’d been the one moving things around up there.

“No!” He snapped—he needed to hear his voice, to tie himself back to something as he looked on her body, as he felt what it did inside his head when he looked at it. He had heard himself speak, it enabled him to speak on. “You… hypnotized me with that pendant. You brainwashed me! I won’t let you do it anymore, I don’t care how I feel when I look at you. You can’t do it!”

The dominatrix only smiled pleasantly at him—and he was looking at her face. It was like he was on the wall of his own brain inside his head, holding onto grips in the siding—and when she smiled—when she just existed as someone with her appearance, it was like whipping winds were pulling at his body, trying to get him away from the wall.

He could feel the force of her beauty—he’d come off the wall, and now it felt like someone was blending things inside his brain with an electric egg-beater—everything turning and getting churned up, and he was just smiling as it was happening to him. It would be good for her to cut him. It would be good for him once he was transformed. The dominatrix was perfect and beautiful and all-powerful, and she was the only one with the right to make decisions about him, and about his future. He should let her make those decisions for him.

He looked away from the dominatrix. That removed his feeling of peace. When he wasn’t seeing her, and feeling her presence gripping his mind just because it was fact, then he could feel his uninfluenced feelings.

So he kept his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall far enough away from them that they didn’t even register in his peripheral vision. He felt swamped with confusion and fear, again. Why was he here? What would they do to him, and why would he need to be strapped down for it? His mind was trying to make sense of it, trying to understand, but it just couldn’t seem to do it.

He should have listened when Tessi told him it was dangerous to come here. He was so scared.

He heard footsteps. They were both approaching the table. Now they were standing on either side of him.

He felt a gas mask being set over his mouth and nose, covering them both—the top of it rested in his bridge, the base of it reached his chin. It felt like the thing was suctioning in, sucking on his face like a vacuum. Once it seemed to have sealed itself, something came down through the tube at the back of it—gas—Matthew was forced to let it flow into him.

It was a sleeping gas—and as soon as Matthew experienced it, he was already thinking how wonderful it was. He was already appreciating the way it was lifting him away from everything, and taking him into dreams.

But Matthew wasn’t quite descending into sleep just yet. He could tell by the way the gas was making him feel that that was where it was ultimately going to send him, but he hadn’t gone all that way yet. He was on the edge, but he was still half-awake.

He could feel a hand being set on his gas mask, pressing it even harder into his face, making it cut in and dig, and hurt. He tried to stir. He knew she was the one holding it down, but his eyes had mostly fallen shut so for this moment he could still try to resist—he could still want to. He could still want to, more than he wanted anything, and it was the last action left he could take.

“None of that,” she said, disapprovingly. It made Matthew feel rebuked—he realized dimly that Tessi had rebuked him before, once he’d already been under the pendant’s control. But at that time he hadn’t been able to resist it, or respond to what his wife was saying. Such a short amount of time had she been his wife—how awful: the beginning of their marriage had come to look like this, had seen them end up in this situation.

“Stop fighting,” she said, as he still tried to roll on the table. “Soon, you will never fight me again. You and Tessi will be the new slaves in this house.” Matthew felt more panic again.

Ultimately, he was finding he couldn’t fight the gas, just as he couldn’t overcome his restraints, and it really was going to take him all the way to sleep. It hadn’t quite gotten him there yet. He kept feeling it was about too, he was about to collapse and give in, but then he felt that he could fight on a little more, so he pushed on a little further and did it.

But every time he raised himself to push past this, he found himself more exhausted the next time. He fought, he hoped for a better situation to be around him, or at least an improvement to what was already worst of all. And then he found it had all been for nothing. It was very demoralizing.

He was only becoming more demoralized every time that he needed to try again. Every time, he wondered why he was even bothering. Everything was only going to stay the same. Nothing was going to improve and get better. The only thing that actually would feel better right now was the unconsciousness, and he was the one who was holding himself back from that.

Why try anymore? Why bother, when it would feel so good to sleep? Who cared what happened after he did sleep? He was wasting his time trying to fight when nothing could ever be fixed, and nothing could ever feel better.

But there was still something left in Matthew. It didn’t matter how demoralized he’d become. It didn’t matter to him, everything that had happened. He knew what was going to happen to him when the gas finally took its effect. He might not have been able to specify specifics, but basically, he knew he was going to fall asleep as Matthew and wake up as whatever perverted thing the dominatrix wanted to force him into being. And he couldn’t force his way off the table, and he couldn’t stare the dominatrix in her face and keep mental control of himself.

But he seemed able to fight off the gas—at least enough to keep himself awake. And so, if that was the only thing that he could do, then it was the thing that he was going to do.

He settled himself in for a long fight—it didn’t matter about time passing, he would hold on until he couldn’t anymore. And it didn’t matter to him if he’d misimagined what would happen when he woke up from this surgery—if his mind would wake up still thinking, but pliable—if the dominatrix would spend time breaking his mind down until it was completely gone. He couldn’t see her now with his eyelids sealing his vision in, but he’d seen her enough—had her do to him—enough—to guess what kind of a person she was. He’d heard enough about what she’d done before he’d come face to face with her. She was the kind of person who would probably like breaking down a new slave for a long time—as if the period of time spent breaking their mind was a special luxury or a treat for her.

Matthew’s heart suddenly ached for Tessi—he might wake up, and be humiliatingly destroyed in his mentality over days and weeks until he was reduced to the final thing the dominatrix wanted him to be.

But that didn’t seem so horrible to him, because—because—was it because her mind influencing had been successful on him? Had it quietly swayed him into a kind of half-measure agreement?

What he would tell himself about how he felt was simple. That he just didn’t care about himself anymore—hated himself for being weak, for not taking Tessi’s warning, for not being stronger than the sight of the dominatrix’s pendant… but even if he no longer cared what happened to him, he cared what happened to Tessi. And for a moment, as he rolled his sluggish body in his restraints, it felt like he was fighting for her. The ache in his heart was for her. It didn’t matter what would happen to him. But it was horrible to think of the enslaving that the dominatrix was going to do to her—even if he couldn’t imagine the details. Thinking of Tessi humiliated for weeks or months as her mind was destroyed forever—that was the thing that was horrible. He could accept what was going to happen to him. But not what was going to happen to Tessi.

She was still fueling him. If not for the thought of her, he might not have been able to keep fighting the gas.

Because he could feel it coming in through the mask that was adhered to his face. It was gripping him so hard it felt like some kind of parasitic creature—a huge one—which had affixed itself to him there, so it could drug him and have whatever way it wanted with him.

That was how he knew the gas was getting to his brain. It was warping his view of reality. It was confusing him about what was real and what wasn’t.

He was even more sluggish as he tried to roll. The gas was making weak. It was putting weakness in him.

But this seemed like—more than just science-based gas. He didn’t know if it was a special compound, or if the dominatrix had instructed a dormant mind within in him to find something in the gas that he was now finding.

But it felt like the gas wasn’t just sleeping gas. It felt like it was hypnotic gas—like it was brainwashing gas—now it seemed to Matthew that everything ever to happen to him was only to ensnare his mind and force it deeper under control—her control. The gas was putting him to sleep but before it sent him there, it was convincing him of things, installing ideas into the midst of his thinking.

And so it was putting him into weakness in two ways: making his body slump, in almost a physical sleep—but it was telling him he wanted to be weak all the time, that he wanted to lose all his strength. That he wanted to become a dumb, weak idiot that only ever thought about sex—that could only ever feel things if they were sex—that he wanted his mind to shrink, all parts of his body to shrink. He wanted all parts of him to become weaker, to lose their strength—to atrophy—he only wanted to be a delicate thing for coquettish display—something pretty to look at.

The gas wasn’t only making him feel this way—was he even fighting anymore? It felt like it had put him to sleep systematically—whatever had been fighting and had been enslumbered, and now all that was left awake was what could observe.

And it was observing that all these new thoughts and feelings of weakness—weakness as a permanent state of being—it was observing that those thoughts were erotic for him. He’d waste away; everything about him would be soft but his cock—that would be the only thing left on him that had hard edges and angles. His cock was getting hard right now—his surgeon might be horny for cutting into him—but now it seemed he would be horny for being cut into. He struggled.

He finally lost his battle, and the gas carried him, finally, as some part of him had always known it would, into his sleep.

Tessi woke up. She didn’t know where she was, but she knew there were words ringing in her head. She didn’t open her eyes right away. She just let herself lie there, listening to those words ringing themselves out again and again. She recognized it was the dominatrix’s voice that had spoken them—and she put it together that she must have said them at some point after Tessi had temporarily lost hold over her own mind. In that endless haziness, in which there was no memory of time passing, or of changing locations—in which there was nothing distinct, there were also the words that the dominatrix had said on one specific occasion.

And Tessi was hearing them now. “You and Matthew will never fight me again. You will be the new slaves in my house. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

It seemed a predestined future that would be nearly impossible to avoid—so Tessi thought she should at least open her eyes and see where she was, see what she dealing with.

And possibly her surroundings could distract from the grim foretelling the dominatrix had given her while she was lost.

Once she did open her eyes, Tessi saw that she had been placed into a cell. It had bars, and a celldoor within them, which was clearly locked.

This was just perfect. She wouldn’t even waste her time pulling on the bars. They wouldn’t move. She was stuck here.

Tessi looked around the cell, feeling everything was dismal. There was nothing actually present in the cell with her at this moment. But Tessi didn’t trust the walls, or the floor. Anything could emerge from them, and spring itself on her.

She moved closer to the bars. At least she hadn’t been chained to the wall. She could stand and walk around the cell. Maybe if she needed help preserving a sane mentality later, she could stand and pace in different formations—or maybe that would be useful if the feeling of being trapped here forever and never ever getting out started to seriously affect her mood. As long as she was moving, even within a trapped space, she could forget what was happening. She could escape from it.

Tessi exhaled, and decided to stand up from where she had been left sitting crosslegged. She walked over to the bars, and set her face between them—not to try and force herself through—only because she wanted the feeling of cool metal on her skin. She wanted to forget what was happening. What would never stop happening.

It was when she looked outside her cell that she saw there was a little more to this room she’d been imprisoned in.

The cell only took up part of the entire room—and the rest of the room was empty too, but the opposite wall had a sheen to it. It was white, but it had a sheen.

It made Tessi wonder if there was more to it. If it could do something else.

And then the wall lit up.

It took Tessi a second for Tessi to realize there was a screen embedded in the wall—and now it was showing film footage.

At first Tessi thought it was showing her herself in real time—but then strange things were starting to happen on the screen. The Tessi who was her, the Tessi who was watching—she felt like she was still in full control of her senses, but the Tessi she was watching on the screen didn’t look like she was.

She was being more obviously held captive—sometimes she was bound to a slat, held in place, unable to move. And there were different techniques being used on her—different things happening to her up on that screen. Tessi watched them happening, but she felt confused. All these different things—they had not happened to her, she knew they hadn’t, because after they happened to the her that was on the screen she was much worse off than she had been before—and Tessi still had all of her faculties.

But after all of these assaults, the onscreen Tessi that was left barely resembled who she was. She was clearly a drone—worse than the bimbo, only interested in sex—and it looked like she’d been made over into something of plastic, something a bit inanimate. There was a mask permanently welded to her face—it only had eyeholes, and a mouth opening.

Through the eyeholes, Tessi could see her own eyes rolled back into her head. The version of her being shown wasn’t even looking out at the room, wouldn’t even be able to see anything with her eyes rolled up that way; her pupils were facing in backwards, nowhere to be seen, and nowhere they could see, either.

Tessi’d thought the bimbo was the worst it was possible to be—but this drone version of her, this macabre sextoy, this veritable doll—this was worse. At least the bimbo still experienced human emotion, even if it was within a limited range—this her couldn’t even do that. That drone had no feelings—that drone didn’t even seem human, especially since its body wasn’t really a human body anymore—it had so many things welded to it, and embedded within it—it was more like a robot, or something cybernetic. Tessi hated it—hated the look of the thing, hated everything about it—but she still didn’t understand why she was seeing it.

Now that the drone was more or less finished she got to watch it fucking and getting fucked—got to watch it being used like the sex toy it was. It was a thing completely dehumanized—it was a thing completely unlike her. It was worse than the bimbo—Tessi was sure that it was worse than the bimbo, and it disgusted her more than the bimbo did. She could have no sympathy for it.

It was clearly a thing which was completely thoughtless—like the bimbo, but the bimbo had still seemed to think thoughts of sex. She had been able to respond to simple commands, follow simple orders. Tessi doubted this drone would even be able to do that. It looked far too stupid to carry out such expectations.

The drone, which, when Tessi looked at it, definitely looked like it was made of silicone, or some kind of synthetic paneling—it still had openings for its vagina and ass. And when it was left alone in its cell, with an array of vibrators, small and large laid out in front of it, it would always select the two largest ones, and insert both into its holes—both the vaginal and the anal ones. It seemed to have some kind of dispenser in each to produce copious lube, so the vibrators could easily fit. Then it would turn them on, and sit down, crosslegged, vibrating with the vibrations inside—it would sit there unmoving, being vibrated, being fucked, for hours, until someone came into use it, or take it out to be used somewhere else.

It was sometimes tested by the dominatrix. She would take its vibrators out and put them around the room. But every time, the drone would go get them and put them back inside. It never liked to be without them—it always put them back in—like they were a permanent fixture for it.

And that was what made Tessi realize—what this was. This was not what had already happened—it hadn’t. She was still human, still flesh, not a drone. Not synthetic, not made of manufactured materials however soft. No, this footage had been animated—it was photorealistic, but it was a creation. Because it was showing Tessi what was going to happen to her. This was the future the dominatrix had planned for her.

Now Tessi started pulling on the bars of her cell. “No!” She screamed into the room. “I’m not going to become that! YOU CAN’T MAKE ME BECOME THAT!” She didn’t even know if the dominatrix could hear her, but she wanted to shout it anyway, to force others to hear her, no matter where they were.

She raged and cried for a long time—the imagery on the screen looped itself, started from the beginning—she raged a while more until she ended up curled up in the ball on the floor, and sleeping there.

When she woke, they had started—the bimbo must have come and done this to her. The screen was only sheening, not displaying anything—but little electrical sensors had been attached all over her body—and they started pulsing electrical energy into her—and when they did, it was transmuted into pleasure.

“If you think this will break me, it won’t!” Tessi shouted at the room.

But the her on the screen spoke directly to her now: “I am becoming a drone,” she said. “I will be a happy drone.”

“I will become happy at the thought of being a drone—and then I will be placed in front of the intelligence drainer, and I will be stupid—the last thing I will ever think is that I am dumber than the bimbo. Then I will be given my drone body.”

“No!” Tessi shouted back. Horrible that they had synthesized her body just like they had synthesized her likeness—that she had to watch her own person saying it, as if it had already happened.

And each time her doppelganger claimed the truth, the sensors on her pulsed pleasure in time, clearly trying to force her brain to make the connection. Maybe, above all, it wanted her to say the words along with the faked recording—she imagined the pleasure would be much more profound if she did that—but she wouldn’t say it. She didn’t even believe it, and she couldn’t accept for a second that all of this would be enough to change her mind—it was primitive. So electrical sensors were shocking pleasure into her body in a way that felt warm and good? Who cared? She was stronger than that. She knew she was stronger than that. She didn’t care if her own self was telling her otherwise. She wouldn’t believe it.

Still, she couldn’t try to get up, or take the sensors off. She had been laid down on a slat on the floor, and strapped there. She couldn’t get up.

Tessi hated where she was—hated having all the sensors hooked up to her, hated having the version of her that she could see on the screen telling her the future that had been planned for her. She didn’t want that future. She wanted out of that room.

But it seemed that the reason she was being told this was so that it would stick in her head. They had conditioned her with electricity, but next, the Tessi onscreen disappeared, and multiple mid-sized turning spirals spun on the screen. The bimbo came in, and it turned out that the slat on the floor had a hinge in the middle, and it could be bent into a kind of chair that had Tessi sitting up and looking at the turning spirals. This was the intelligence drainer, the spirals told her so, and as she looked, they were seeping her smarts out of her—and at every so alternate interval, they whispered to her that she had to come, and then she would orgasm so hard she squirted arousal out from her pussy in an arc.

The bimbo would come in and feed her—and afterwards she always felt drugged and out of reality. Or else the bimbo would come in and spread cream on her breasts—it seemed like they were getting bigger. Tessi was always strapped to the slat, whether it was hinged into the chair or flat on the floor.

The days started to bleed.

One into the next. Tessi body was becoming more primed for orgasm all the time. So when she was flat on the floor, getting pleasure shocks again, it happened more and more often that she orgasmed each time she got a shock—or every few shocks, or every five shocks. And she had to see herself, hear herself describing what was going to happen to her.

She knew they weren’t going to take her in for surgery to make her look like the drone until her mind was completely gone, so no matter how tired she started to get, she fought as hard as she could to put it off as long as she could. The conditioning had reached deeply enough into her brain. She believed now that in the end what she had seen was going to happen. She couldn’t seem to get that belief out of her head, but it didn’t stop her from fighting as hard as she could.

She could feel her spirit getting weaker. Time was an endless processional, and there was hardly ever sleep to break it up—for short periods of time, she even felt happy about how she was being destroyed.

Then she would come out of that even angrier. Angrier and fighting—she would rip and tear at the bands holding her to the slat, she would try to rub the sensors off her body when they were there. It felt like her mind was constantly being smashed on the ground for her to put back in one piece.

When Tessi was feeling particularly broken down, that was when she would start crying. And the way she cried was often exactly the same. She would feel the rears running down her face. If she’d been strapped to the slat flat of the floor, then she would feel them being pulled down by gravity. But then she would keep crying—whatever position she had been made to cry in, her sobs would escalate until they were shaking her body, and then, fully in her sadness she would have the same repeating idea.

It always came back in this situation, and it always would—in those moments, she wished for Matthew, for his presence. Her mind somehow believed that if he were there he could protect her. Or at least he could comfort her—so she called out for him trying to make him be there with her.

Then when he didn’t come, she would cry even harder.

She didn’t know how many times she had done it. But here she was doing it again—“Matthew! Where are you? Matthew! Come to me.”

But this time when she did, the door opened to present the dominatrix—she was bringing in a man who was a stranger.

No—that was Matthew! At least it was Matthew’s face, but his body was different. He had been a man of strength and muscle. Somehow everything about him had been changed—he’d been made into something weak and wiry, something feeble.

Tessi didn’t even know what kind of surgery could do that—remove so much muscle mass—remove so much muscle definition. But Matthew looked completely weak now. The dominatrix was easily stronger than him. Actually, even the pink latexed bimbo was probably stronger than him. If Tessi hadn’t still been strapped down to the slat, she would probably have been stronger than him too—his body was practically flat. Flat, and skinny and thin—he looked like an extremely underdeveloped woman, maybe one who had been malnourished—but he still had his penis—and it looked, if possible, bigger, thicker, stronger than the rest of him.

Tessi imagined that had been the dominatrix’s preference. She wanted the feeling of a good fuck, so she’d customized Matthew’s dick this way.

But she also wanted to be able to overpower him—she also wanted to be able to manipulate his body, move it around, position it, and so she’d made him so weak.

And yet—in the way that Matthew was standing, Tessi could get a sense of sexuality—as if Matthew found something about his body to be fetish, and he was displaying it as such. Like he was viewing himself in an objectified matter—he had one hip popped in a coy way, his other leg forcing his weight in that direction to enable that presentation.

He was nothing like the one she had married—and most of it wasn’t his fault. Tessi still felt horrible.

She looked at him again—his body was changed, and his affect was different, but there was something in Matthew’s eyes that Tessi could still recognize—in his eyes, he still looked like Matthew.

He must be like her—still himself inside, still himself in his mind, but changed outside. At least in Tessi’s case, she wouldn’t be operated on until her mind was finished for good—but Matthew seemed to have been operated on first, in a completely opposite process to what was happening to Tessi herself.

She was glad, at least, that she still felt like herself—she was tired, she’d given in the idea of ever escaping, and she had her moments of slipping into dronelike happiness about breaking—but so far she could reassert herself.

She wondered if it was like this for Matthew—if he got lost, then came back to himself. Or if he stayed himself all the time—if he had not yet really been pulled under—had not yet really gotten lost.

It was a relief at least, that both of them were still thinking like themselves, no matter what the cost of that was, no matter for how short of a time that would be true. Tessi didn’t know what to say, even though she knew it would be her Matthew hearing it. Suddenly, as she was looking at him, seeing what had been done by the dominatrix, she started to cry again. And she cried profusely as Matthew just stood there watching her do it, hip still popped.

Then Tessi saw that Matthew was really crying too. And she had been so distracted she hadn’t noticed the pair of over-ear headphones he was wearing.

He still seemed to be able to hear things in the room even with those there. It looked they were somehow attached to his head—locked in to whatever attachment held them. They probably could be removed—but only by the dominatrix.

“Tessi, it’s okay,” Matthew was saying. “Tessi, don’t cry,” he pleaded. “We’ll be alright. We’re still like ourselves, aren’t we?”

Tessi was convulsing with her sobs—Matthew’s comfort was hollow.

But he was talking. Tessi sniffled, trying to get control over her voice again. As long as Matthew was talking, Tessi wanted to help him stay with her—she didn’t know if the dominatrix was doing anything to him right now—but she wanted to help him if she could.

“We’re not alright, Matthew,” Tessi said, quietly. “But tell me—what’s happening to you? What are you feeling?”

He was failing to comfort her, but that didn’t meant that she couldn’t comfort him instead.

“She changed my whole body,” Matthew said. His face was still wet—Tessi wondered how often Matthew spent crying when he was by himself.

“She told me afterward she could have changed my mind in surgery. But she wants to take over my mind slowly. She says doing that is as good as the sex for her—so she’s been conditioning me all the time—with sounds—it makes my brain stop thinking. She wants me to be her dumb little fuck machine, and she uses the sounds—the sounds she makes me hear—she uses them.”

Tessi was very disturbed to see that Matthew’s dick was hardening more the more he talked about this. The person Matthew reminded Tessi of the most was the bimbo—the dominatrix wanted another one like her—she didn’t want Matthew to be a drone like the plan was for Tessi—she wanted him to still feel, to still express his individuality, even if it was an individuality that she had given to him.

She just wanted him to be completely controled and obsessed by sex; wanted him to be like the future drone Tessi, always wanting himself fucked and pleasure—whatever his equivalent would be, not the two vibrator solution that Tessi had, or the constant self-masturbation the bimbo had—but whatever he would do. Whatever the dominatrix was going to make him do.

Tessi shook her head at the hopelessness of the situation. She felt herself starting to cry again—copious tears.

Matthew saw Tessi crying and he was crying more himself, too.

“I don’t want to change like she’s making me change, Tessi. But it’s not just my body that’s weak. She’s been making my brain weaker all the time—ever since she started hypnotizing me. It’s not fair—and I’m so tired—I’m so tired of having to fight, and I just want to give in and sleep forever. But I keep fighting her—I’ll fight her until there’s nothing left in me. I’m fighting for you, Tessi. Thinking of you makes me hold on.”

This made Tessi cry even harder. She was sobbing into her hands. It was a cruel situation—it was horrible, and it never should have happened to them. She hated the dominatrix. Hated everything that she had planned out for them, hated everything she had done to them.

She lowered her hands and looked in her direction. “You will never defeat me,” she spat venomously. I hate you.”

The dominatrix smiled.

And then something switched on the side of Matthew’s head—and the headphones glowed. Tessi could only imagine what Matthew was hearing in them.

Matthew knew it was happening again. The brainwashish hypnosis recordings were starting again. It wasn’t that they just put him in a trance—they stacked their effects. They put him in a trance while simultaneously conditioning and programming him. It was the soothing wave sounds that lulled the trance—but it was the indistinct background mutterings that gave him his conditioning.

Matthew tried fighting, like he always did. He tried pulling the headphones off, but they were bolted in.

“Matthew,” Tessi said in alarm. It was clear to her that the headphones weren’t coming off. They would soon be dominating his audio field if they weren’t already doing that. Tessi couldn’t drown them out with just her voice but she could still try to help him stay present with her while he had to listen to them.

And when Matthew heard Tessi say his name in the background, behind what the headphones were actually playing to him, he focused on the sound of his wife speaking to him.

“Matthew,” Tessi said again. She could tell he wasn’t pulling at the headset—she thought she had his attention for a moment at least. So, the most important thing first. “I love you,” she said, and it was a sob. “Just… keep yourself talking to me. Telling me anything you’re feeling, or that you’re thinking about. It will help you hold on to who you are. It’ll stop you from getting dragged away. It will stop you from being lost.”

This made a lot of sense to Matthew, so he started talking. “I want these headphones off. I always want these headphones off. She keeps me in this room—” Matthew was rocking forward and backward on the heels of his feet. “She makes me listen to them forever. She can make them turn on whenever she wants and then I just have to listen.”

It didn’t really matter how Tessi reacted to what Matthew was saying. He had his eyes shut and his face in a bunch of concentration—as if it took everything that he had left in him, whatever remained after all the dominatrix had done to him, to force the words out. Like his mind was divided—having to compensate for what the headphones were playing to him, and then having to speak past it. He didn’t seem to have any bandwidth left over for opening his eyes.

And since Tessi knew Matthew couldn’t see her, she didn’t have to keep the heartbreak off of her face. She was listening—she couldn’t speak to him really and he couldn’t see her, but even if it was only real for her, the fact that she was listening to Matthew, to hear him out and give her support—that mattered to her.

“I try to pull them off all the time—but she told me—she put two plastic tracks on either side of my head—and the headphones connect in, and then she has the bimbo use a screwdriver to screw them in place. She can take them off—but I can’t unscrew screws with my fingers—and sometimes she likes to fuck me on the floor of that room, putting her pussy around my dick while the headphones play… she says it makes her come, to see my resistance being destroyed in my eyes.”

Tessi hated how much she had already been conditioned in her own brainwashing process—the reality was, she was getting wet listening to this.

And she wasn’t sure how well this plan was working. How much it was really helping Matthew to have to say the way that he was being changed and mind-warped.

“Is this making you lose yourself Matthew?” Tessi spoke up into a shout, hoping to make her voice carry over the sounds from his headphones.

“No,” Matthew shouted back loudly—clearly the headphones were playing louder in his ears so he naturally felt the need to speak louder in order to hear himself. “None of this is what the headphones say to me! Remembering things—things that are different from what I hear, hidden inside those soothing lulling pulls of tone—that helps! Because otherwise all I can hear is what they’re saying to me—and when I listen to that—it pulls me away—help me, Tessi—I’m drifting—”

The expression on Matthew’s face was deeply conflicted.

“Keep talking to me Matthew!” Tessi was nearly full on screaming now, the volume of Matthew’s voice had risen even more.

“I’m just hearing what it’s saying to me… I can’t remember what I was talking about before—I can only remember what I’m hearing right now—but speaking with my voice, feeling it resonate, it feels good, I want to keep speaking to you—I want to keep saying so that you will hear—“

Tessi was even more skeptical of this plan, but she felt desperate, so unable to really help him that she wanted to indulge him. She could see the light on the side of his headphones glowing—there was nothing she could do to shut it off. That damn dominatrix had smiled and pressed her little button—and then the headphones had come on and done all of this. And she kept Matthew in a room like this—Tessi hated to think that Matthew had his own room like this. But he didn’t have to watch a screen like her—he just had to listen to the headphones he could never escape.

So Tessi said, “Yes, Matthew, keep talking to me.” Screamed it—her eyes watered.

“It says… the headphones say… I only want to think about sex. I only want to experience sex. I only think about sex, and I think about it until I stop thinking and then I don’t think about anything more because the pleasure is holding my mind, and it’s the only thing inside of my mind—”

Tessi was finding herself affected just by listening to this enumerating. Her own conditioning had hooks in her mind, and hearing Matthew’s conditioning—it was just similar enough to drive the hooks in deeper.

Matthew’s eyes had drifted open but they were glazing over and he still wasn’t saying.

“I only think about sex. I only want sex. I only feel sex. I’m so weak and pathetic—I’m a pretty thing to see and fuck. I only think—oh—oh—oh—”

Matthew knew he had lost his words—sunk down into the mental pleasure, stopped thinking.

And the bimbo was there—on her knees. Her sucking part of the brainwashic hypnotic loop—all three happening at once made him feel like his old self had died—and watched him in confusion from beyond the grave. He felt stupid. He felt horny.

Tessi saw what was happening to Matthew. And behind him, outside the cell, she saw the screenwall coming to life—there was herself, reciting what was going to happen—and the sensors were on her again, forcing the orgasms—and now, as she watched the faked version of herself speak, those multiple mid-sized hypnotic spirals were overlaying her. Everything was happening at the same time here—and one of the straps was undone—just the one over Tessi’s hips, making Tessi’s vagina accessible.

It was the bimbo approaching, holding a dildo in hand—Matthew looked too controlled by what he was hearing through his headphones to fuck right now.

But in the other hand of the bimbo, there was a plate with that food Tessi kept getting fed. And with one hand, the bimbo forced the dildo into Tessi’s pussy. And with her other hand, the bimbo was stuffing handfuls of food into Tessi’s mouth—one of the straps was over Tessi’s chin, so she couldn’t keep the food out of her mouth. It went down, and Tessi was drugged again—drugged, being fed, being fucked by dildo, seeing the spiral, hearing her own voice—all at once, and still Tessi was fighting. She could feel the despair getting into her—the exhaustion—the happiness over breaking—if she didn’t fight it back this time—maybe this could finally end, and end her too.

But the she saw Matthew, and it made her keep fighting back.

This went on for some time more—it might have been days—it might have been weeks. Tessi kept fighting, but flaggingly—she was happier for longer stretches—and she was confused enough that even when they took all the straps off of her, for the first time, she stayed lying where she was, and didn’t try to get up.

But Matthew stepped towards her—he looked ready now, ready for fucking like he hadn’t been before. His eyes were still empty, all his intelligence visible through them as being dumbed down, but he was standing at attention, and Tessi was hearing her voice saying that she wanted to suck, and she saw it in the spirals, and Tessi realized she did want to suck. She got up onto hers.

Tessi’s mouth sealed around Matthew’s cock, holding the thickness of it inside, the firmness off it—enfolding it within the warm moisture there. Did she actually want to be sucking him, or had she just heard it somewhere? She hadn’t fully decided her mind in one direction or the other, but her body seemed to have come to its own conclusions in the interim time. She was doing this by automatic habit it felt like now. Had she stared into the multi-spiraled patten enough times, had this method been held within there? She had never done this much for Matthew before—she was doing it now. Why? What had decided this for her? What had pushed her to make up her mind?

Tessi found her mouth was sucking. Had she just been thinking about this a second before, or had she not? A second before? What had she been thinking about a second before? Was she supposed to be thinking of something else now? Deciding something here?

Tessi could feel her face furrowing. Her eyes were closed so she couldn’t see anything. She could just feel the presence of Matthew on her tongue, against the insides of her cheeks. She kept trying to think about one specific thing but then her mind would wander away—there was something undecided on, some action she needed to take. Something she really needed to be thinking about. And behind that, there were a lot of other feelings she had, a lot of other things she wanted to think about, and many more things that she wanted to express, But if she couldn’t decide the first thing while she was still sucking here, working her cheeks in and out, working her tongue around in a swirl, drawing Matthew in closer—

There! Her mind had just done it again, completely avoided what it was that she was trying to talk about and what it was that she was trying to think about. She’d had better focus than this before, hadn’t she? She hadn’t always been this distracted.

She was sucking Matthew. She was sucking him. Was she supposed to be sucking him? Had that been her own idea? She was starting to get a headache from all the thoughts she was trying to have. She knew what the intelligence drainer did—all those spirals beside themselves on the screen, and if she opened her eyes now she knew that she would see them again. She knew what it did and she had looked into it so long—was this what had shrunk her head? Her capacity to hold a thought inside it?

What had she been thinking about before?

She was frustrated and her head was aching. She would had raised the fleshy part of her palm to cushion against it, and so sought relief this way—but she was a bit absorbed in the feeling of her mouth and tongue moving. Remembered Matthew saying he liked speaking when she’d been trying to help—she liked sucking now, as much as Matthew had liked speaking, and she was getting absorbed in the action.

But she was still trying to think. Her intelligence was much reduced after all the breakings-down that had been done to her up there, but she was still trying, even with reduced capacity, even in a shrunken space—her mind felt like it was lost to her. There had been a set of controls once that had helped her direct it where it needed to go, but someone—the dominatrix—had come in and ripped up the control panel, shredding it and destroying all its functionality. She couldn’t pilot her mind anymore—so of course it kept veering into unknowns, going in circles, getting nowhere. It kept flying away from her, circling around questions, ideas, that didn’t matter.

Tessi had never been so submerged in confusion—but her mind was directionless, and she couldn’t seem to make it behave.

There were things she wanted to say—pleas that she wanted to make—whether to Matthew or the dominatrix, Tessi wasn’t sure. But she just needed the words for them—she just needed to figure out how to say them all, to express them and in return get the response she was seeking. She wanted to convince people of things for some reason—that she’d forgotten—but when her mind tried to focus on any of this, it, too, just got out of place. Or she passed right by it to fall off in another direction, spin around something else.

If she hadn’t cared about what she was trying to say, maybe her goals would have been diversions to her—if she’d had other goals instead, then maybe she could have diverted herself with, around, this. But because this pleading was the one thing she wanted to set herself on, focus on, it was the one thing her mind kept steering her away from. She wished—she felt like she could almost say it, and then all the words that she had only just scrambled together in desperation fell out of her grasp, and she forgot them all.

There was an even bigger problem with all of this. And that problem was that no matter what her mind was doing, she was still sucking. Hollowing her cheeks, slurping her tongue, pressing and kissing with her lips. Her mind never did a single consistent thing—never thought the same idea a second time, but her mouth was always moving in the same way. This returningly drew her attention back to it—when her mind flew away, or spun, or crashed, or swerved—her sucking was steady, and then all her attention went there.

And the more her focus was there, on the sucking, the less she was thinking—the more she was getting turned on. But her arousal didn’t even really mean anything to her—when she was a drone, she might be aroused, but she wouldn’t know it—and it wouldn’t matter—when she was a drone? When she was a drone, it wouldn’t matter? That was all her mind had retained from the final string of thoughts she had been thinking, but it was enough to set her into a rage. Her body was still moving like it had been, but she was filled with anger. When she was a drone—that had been thought so off-handly.

It went beyond just accepting that someday that would be her fate. The way that had been thought, it had sounded like it was something that was about to happen—something that was about to happen in a time that was near to her—not distant from her—she wouldn’t accept it. She wasn’t okay with just becoming a drone! And while she was angry, it was making her thoughts clearer. That veering issue wasn’t happening now—this was fighting—while she was angry, she was fighting—and she was angry now.

She tried to rip her lips off of Matthew’s cock, but his hands were behind her head, both in her hair, two fists, propping up the back of her skull, forcing it to keep her head close to him, to keep himself in her mouth. She felt him stuffing down her throat—“mnhf—” she tried to speak, but Matthew was holding her mouth in place there. “Mnhf—” She would have been swearing at him, at the dominatrix too, if she could have gotten Matthew out of her mouth to clear the room for her that she could use.

So she couldn’t get him out right now—she thought half-heartedly of biting down on him, but though she was angry, and angry enough to say the man in her mouth wasn’t her husband, she wasn’t angry enough to deny he was some version of him. And any version of Matthew was a Matthew she couldn’t hurt.

Fine. She didn’t need to show her anger externally. She could think it inside her head, know that it was there.

The fight could be internal. She’d been fighting on that battleground for weeks already.

And the happiness was close to her—the happiness that would lead her into being a drone, eventually, it was right there inside. It was so good that she like this—it would be so good once she stopped thinking and once she stopped feeling—once all the words had been taken out of her head forever and shredded—once all the words had been taken out of her world, once her world, as created by her experience of living in it and perceiving it, was destroyed—it would be better—

NO IT WOULD NOT! She screamed inside—she felt it had strengthened her anger. She could ignore the way her mouth had never stopped working—the way her body was disconnected from her mind and following other directives—it was easy to ignore, because she felt like she was winning the fight, even now, even after being so beleaguered by it.

She opened her eyes, out of some sense of triumph—out of some desired to control her own body—if she could control her eyes, she could control her hands, and with them, she could give Matthew a hard enough shove that he would let go of her skullbase—and then she could stand—and run to the bars, and plead with the dominatrix—somehow find the right words to get the door opened—or pull on the bars like she’d never tried to rip them out of the ground. Or pick up the slat still on the floor and bash it until some of them came loose. One step at a time—and then she’d have brokenthrough, and then she could be running out of the dominatrix’s house. And she would go to the police station herself—bring the entire squadron with her—she’d opened her eyes, of her own volition—she was just going to need to get back to using her hands for the shove.

But in opening her eyes, she remembered what had happened—Matthew was standing with his back to the screen, so when she was sucking and looking ahead, she was seeing it.

Not the part that was directly behind Matthew, but the entire wall was a screen, and it was displaying the same thing over and over all along it—many spirals, overlapping. The same thing Matthew blocked was also on either side of him, perfectly visible—coming in from the sides of Tessi’s view—so she was seeing Matthew, and seeing the screen at once—and those spirals turned, and they told words to her.

You are looking at the intelligence drainer now, she understood, though only in the turning—no text had appeared. You are looking at the intelligence drainer for the last time.

She’d been put before it so many times—her body was set to respond. As soon as she was seeing it, she was spilling lust from her center.

But—no—she had to stop looking. She had to close her eyes again so she couldn’t see it. She had been brought before the drainer for the last time—this time, her mind was going to be taken out of her.

But it was making her stupider first. A few seconds of staring—the concepts at the top of her mind, understandings of abstract things in the world—they were gone. There were things that had been lost before this session—but now, all complex concepts that were left—they were out.

And like falling asleep in stages, she was progressing backwards, from most complicated to least. Her eyes were open and the bright colors of the spirals seemed to burn into her brain, burning all knowledge down—she had forgotten almost anything else. She was forgetting basic words—she was forgetting that language existed—that humanity existed. She was a robot with a program—now she forgot even what programming was. She pushed back—regained slight intelligence.

Yes, she did want to suck, so she was focusing her mouth around Matthew’s cock—and slurping it with her tongue—swirling it with her tongue—with every suck, with every lick, she felt a part of her drifting further away. She didn’t know if it was ever going to come back—but she was watching it go. She sucked, she felt her identity removing itself outwards.

She was seeing the spiral inside her mind—she could feel herself getting dumber with each second—as if the sucking motion of her own mouth was the thing draining it out. She didn’t care about anything apart from the sucking right now—and she was hearing her own voice saying that she was drone. She was too dumb to understand.

The dominatrix saw when it happened to Tessi; saw the way her body seemed to collapse, her mouth swallowing Matthew’s dick in fully. There was no sustaining intelligence inside her to keep it from happening.

And the dominatrix scoffed, even though this was her planned outcome—but even the bimbo could think enough to keep herself from flopping out of place. Tessi was pathetic—but it meant that she was ready to be a drone. The dominatrix gave a shove to her bimbo, who immediately understood—she pulled Tessi off Matthew, and started helping her out of the room.

In the end, the surgery was successful. The dominatrix had to partly reroute Tessi’s body into electrical wiring. She had to take out large chunks of her skin and put in synthetic skin panels, neatness over mess—and she fused the drone’s mask to Tessi’s face—so her real face would never be seen again. Tessi’s eyes, visible through the eyeholes, and Tessi’s mouth, visible through the mouthhole—those were the only parts of Tessi left that could be seen.

But it wasn’t really Tessi, or even Tessidrone. It was just. Drone. The dominatrix left the drone in its cell—it always liked to keep itself plugged up with vibrators, and did everything to make sure that happened.

The dominatrix was happy with her acquisitions. The drone was a useful sex slave, and so was weak, feeble Matthew. She was glad that she had made the effort.