The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1.

Stephanie was happy to see Veronica again, of course. The relief hadn’t quite done away with her trepidation, but it was a welcome sight after Ronnie’s prolonged absence.

“I’ve been trying to get in touch, but I guess you’re a tad busier these days.” Stephanie’s cheer sounded genuine enough over the background noise of the cocktail lounge, even if she’d resented the silence she’d met after all the messages she’d left on Ronnie’s machine.

Better to err on the side of caution. This was more of a social call after all.

The woman sitting across from her nodded empathetically. “I’ve been meaning to, Steph. Really, I have. It’s just that things have been a bit crazy as of late... for obvious reasons.”

She allowed herself a genuinely personal smile, as if it was a prized and rare commodity. Which it was, in the middle of a high-stakes election campaign where all the focus remained entirely on the runners.

Stephanie shrugged, a bit sore but willing to let it go. “Maybe we can mix business and pleasure, then.”

She tried not to sound too hopeful, but Ronnie would have guessed that the moment Steph called her specifically, requesting an interview with Bryant on behalf of her station.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, something Stephanie wasn’t used to at all. To her, Ronnie had always been the tall, lanky girl with braces, her partner in crime from grade school to college. Time hadn’t changed either of them very much, even if Ronnie’s stint at Law school had led her to a firm partnership and a six figure salary, while Steph ventured into televised journalism. The hardships they had faced in their respective lives, more severe than twelve-year-olds could ever fathom, hadn’t withered that very bond which had first brought them together so many years ago.

And yet.

“Well, Steph,” Ronnie offered at last, “I’m not sure what you have in mind, but the editorialist of the Bugle is sitting two tables down, and he’s been writing some very mean things about our campaign. Call in a camera crew and stick your foot out. We can have him covered in tzaziki sauce for the six o’clock new.”

Stephanie ceased the drumming her fingers beside the drink she was nursing. A touch of familiarity flickered back into the Indian dark eyes watching her, followed by a crooked grin which shattered all pretense of aloofness. The svelte lawyer shed her polished, impeccable facade, and joined Stephanie in spontaneous laughter.

For a brief instant, they forgot all about the crowded lounge. A few of the executives and politicians huddling around their own tables ventured furtive looks of recognition towards them, before returning to the business of drinks and handshakes.

“We better keep a low profile. Someone might recognize you.”

Ronnie chuckled. “Yah. Like that’s likely. They’re eyeing you, dear.”

As if to accentuate that fact, a passing waitress did a noticeable double take. Stephanie shrugged and smiled, accustomed to the glances she drew from total strangers. The price she paid for chasing stories with a mike, dragging camera crews along for the ride.

The waitress took off with an air of puzzlement.

“Ouch. Not recognizable enough, I guess.”

Ronnie winked at her. “Bet she’ll smack her forehead two weeks from now while flipping channels.”

Stephanie cocked her head to one side. “Will she be catching my interview of Olivia Bryant?”

“Stephanie—”

“I’ve made the request a number of times. Imagine my surprise when my producer mentioned your name. Christ, you didn’t even tell me you’d left the firm for a thankless job with a next-to-nothing salary—”

Stephanie stopped herself short, embarrassed by the sudden outburst. Whoa nellie.

Veronica’s smile never wavered. Her eyes sparkled, as though she found something intensely amusing. She slipped her hands off the table, tugging her skirt while crossing her legs underneath.

“I’m sorry, Steph. I know it would mean a lot to you, but I can’t accommodate you. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t run any story on Ms Bryant for the time being.”

Stephanie blinked. Twice.

“You’re serious.”

“Most assuredly. I can’t guarantee an interview, but I suppose that a gesture of good will would go a long way to get you in her office.”

The constant buzz of conversations around them made it easy for them to speak with near-complete privacy, but it also made it difficult to catch slight nuances in speech. Stephanie could have sworn Ronnie had made a giggling sound.

She leaned over. “Begging your pardon, but Interview or no, it’s my job to report the news.”

Veronica’s smile took on a slight edge. “Mmm... Sorry sweetie, but Olivia’s private life is none of your concern.”

Stephanie kept a tight lid on her swelling frustration. If Ronnie wanted to convince her to do something so utterly senseless, she was pushing all the wrong buttons.

“Private life? Look, I’m aware of your responsibilities, and of our friendship, and to hell with conflicts of interest. Everything about a candidate for Mayor is news. I sure as hell shouldn’t be the one telling you that.”

“I wish I could explain, Steph, but it’s not really up to me. It really would be best if you didn’t try anything... silly.”

Stephanie gaped at her, incredulous. There was no menace in that smile, but Ronnie’s inexplicable glee gave her a chill.

“Ronnie, if this is some kind of joke...”

The sudden ring of a cell phone interrupted her. Veronica continued to smile as she fished the device out of her purse, flipped it open and brought it to her ear.

“Yes?”

She slipped on the edge of her seat. “Yes, I’m with her now... I’ve explained the situation...”

She glanced up, before adding, “I’m afraid she’s not going to change her mind...”

Stephanie observed the spectacle with a frown. Her friend whispered in the receiver, and listened carefully listened to the instructions from the other end of the line. The conversation ended with a hushed breath from Veronica, before she slapped the phone shut.

“Look. Nadine Tugman has been chasing us for a week. She says she won’t rest until she gets an exclusive for station eight. Maybe Olivia’s a little sour. Can you hold off, at least for a little while?”

Stephanie gritted her teeth in exasperation. Tugman?

Letting her main professional rival snatch an exclusive through sheer persistence didn’t sit well with Stephanie. She gave a terse shake of the head, and Veronica sighed, gathering her things. There was nothing left to be said.

She took the time to turn and wave her fingers in silent goodbye as she sashayed out of the bustling cocktail lounge.

Stephanie watched her go, absolutely dumfounded.

2.

She’d already gathered extensive notes.

To label Olivia Bryant a star candidate was to resort to euphemism. She was in her late forties; age had been kind, adding elegance and grace to natural beauty, without the hint of blemish or wrinkles. She exercised remarkable poise and influence in all of her public appearances. Her scholarly background was fabulously eclectic, including degrees in the fields of administration and psychology, which had insured her a very successful career in the private sector. She countered charges of inexperience as a public servant with charm and wit, delighting in photo opportunities where her ease with folks from all walks of life was at once apparent. She seemed born for the galaxy of exploding flashes which perpetually followed her, giving her campaign a glamorous hype which translated as a comfortable advance in the polls.

Stephanie had started off with casual background checks. It wasn’t until weeks later that she’d realized just how many of Olivia’s old acquaintances had joined the ranks of the campaign. Ms Bryant had a habit of sweeping up a lot of people in her wake.

Veronica Holder, evidently, had been one of them.

The picture grew a little clearer night after night. Daytime campaign activities were carefully planned affairs, a sharp contrast with the more relaxed and genial tone of fundraising dinners and speaking events. Stephanie relied on press credentials for entry in the more common events, watching discreetly from a distance. Bryant’s moratorium on the media apparently didn’t include the written press or the televised reporting of events.

Steph seemed free to move about. Without a camera crew backing her up anyway.

Bryant’s entourage struck her as rather peculiar. Almost exclusively female, chic, alluring to the point of drawing appreciative states. Stephanie didn’t think much of it until she found herself whispering reminders in a hand-held recorder, after a long night of hopping about around town following Bryant’s every move. She stood on the sidewalk, waiting beside the crowd gathered for the last scheduled event, and watched while assistants and advisors emerged from Bryant’s security limo.

Stephanie had squinted to make sure. A few of the ladies, Ronnie among them, had swapped dresses during the last trip. A slight flush colored their cheeks.

Bryant’s smile was brighter as she emerged in turn, waving at the cheering crowd. She led two of her cohort into the hotel, and they flanked her with waxing smiles, as though delighted to be near her.

The rumors had been floating about for a while, but rival candidates didn’t seem too eager to fan those fires, terrified of seeing what little public support they enjoyed vanish altogether following scandalous and unsubstantiated claims.

It gave Stephanie a lot to think about. Especially when she watched Veronica from a distance, her empty eyes growing a little wider with every murmur Bryant dropped in her ear.

3.

The Chilton fund-raiser was a strictly black tie affair, no press allowed. Stephanie borrowed a dress for the occasion, and verified her appointment with the hairstyle salon. She’d added a touch of coloring the day before, in case Veronica was floating about.

The opportunity to mingle with unsuspecting guests was too good to pass up.

Stephanie sat in her office, working the phone all afternoon. By four o’clock she had the name of one of the campaign’s lesser known but regular contributors, who happened to be off on a trip to Bermuda for the week.

Luckily, not everyone was privy to the travels arrangements of members of the guest list. A last minute confirmation in the voice of ‘Mrs. Donaldson’s personal secretary’ insured that the proper invitation would be kept aside, until someone could be sent to pick it up.

Stephanie spared a moment to sigh in relief, after putting the phone receiver down. She grabbed her keys, heading for the parking garage.

With any luck, the person holding the envelope aside wouldn’t be around Security by the time she sneaked her way in.

4.

It was a hell of a party.

The city’s wealthiest and most influential gathered for the occasion, politicians and CEO’s chatting of inconsequential things over champagne. The occasional flash of a private photographer would catch pairs and trios of people smiling, their good-natured cheer a ringing endorsement.

Stephanie gathered her shawl around her shoulders as she made her way across the reception hall, the utterance of a prayer of thanks for being allowed in still on her lips. The square-shouldered man who bowed politely as she went through had paid more attention to attire and countenance, casually verifying the name on the invitation card before making a hasty check mark on his board.

With one less worry on her mind, Stephanie scanned the crowd to get a sense of its dynamics.

She spotted Bryant immediately, looking pleased as she held up a giant check for a photo op. Veronica, as well as several advisors stood by her, smiling prettily but watching like hawks. Stephanie had the sudden feeling that they guarded her more closely and efficiently than the oafs hired by security to blend in with the plants.

She snatched a glass of champagne off the tray of one of the waiters, nodding in a dismissive fashion, careful to stick to her part. She was still a bit too nervous to enjoy it properly, the turmoil of her thoughts fresh in her mind. Doubts had not receded, her last few nights spent wondering if she was stooping to the level of tabloid journalism.

It didn’t help to remember that in the end, she felt that Olivia Bryant was the best candidate running. Everything she knew about the woman made her want to vote for her.

The picture of Ronnie’s curious antics flashed back in her mind. That just leaves what I don’t know.

She made her way to the bar at a leisurely pace, listening intently for scraps of conversation. The inevitable interruption came in the form of one of the city’s assistant DA’s, a pup fresh from Law school, exuding all the seductive confidence his blue eyes and sly grin could muster. Stephanie met his bravado with a mixture of amusement and aloofness, humoring him with small talk long enough to be certain he didn’t know Olivia personally.

She regretted brushing him off, gnawing her lip in disappointment, but she had to wander off in order to match Bryant’s sweeping movement across the room. She took great care in keeping as much safe distance between them as possible.

She lurched when she caught sight of the figure standing next to Veronica, and almost went sprawling. There was no time to curse her heels as her eyes flashed in anger...

Nadine Tugman?

There was no camera about, no microphone anywhere in evidence, but the inference was clear. The reporter was making idle chatter with Ronnie, hanging back while Olivia shook hands with guests.

Nadine was positively beaming.

Stephanie watched, powerless, as the candidate finally left her supporters with thanks, and stepped aside. Ronnie led the introductions; handshakes and smiles were exchanged, the words unheard, but their meaning quite plain.

Olivia made for a nearby exit, Nadine and Ronnie trailing along.

The fund-raiser would go on without the star attraction for a while. Stephanie swore under her breath, wondering how quick her rival would hammer out the specifics of her exclusive.

She dropped her glass on a nearby table, and took off in the direction of the vanished trio.

5.

The maze of corridors failed to deter her resolve. She tightened her grip on the hand-held recorder in her palm as she navigated through it, a flurry of questions simmering in her mind. She didn’t know which one she’d open up with, but since Bryant would probably summon security once she realized what was going on...

The whole place seemed deserted. She turned a corner and slowed her pace, glancing back and forth between an office door and the entrance to a ladies’ room.

The thumping of blood in her ears echoed dully, but not loud enough to mask the muffled cries that grew more distinct with every step she took.

Stephanie felt a sudden spark of unease as she approached the washroom. She stood there, puzzled by the peculiar noises, and finally pressed her ear against the door.

Olivia Bryant’s voice was instantly recognizable. “Yes. Much better Nadine. Much, much better.”

Giggles. Moans. Then, “Thank you.”

Stephanie held her breath.

“Don’t stop on my account, Nadine. You may continue. Maybe I’ll let Ronnie’s tongue enjoy a taste of you when she’s finished here...”

The groan that followed prickled the back of Stephanie’s neck when she recognized it as the purest expression of sexual pleasure. Despite herself, she raised a hand and gave the door a slight push. It opened up a smidgen, and she lined her eye with the tiny crack.

A long mirror was positioned near the entrance, stretching for the length of the room itself. The view wasn’t great, but Stephanie beheld a number of stalls and bodies, all dipping at an odd angle...

“Ooohh... thank you...” Nadine’s voice chimed, clearly this time. “I’d looove Ronnie’s tongue in my pussy... but I love pleasing you even more... I can just cum thinking about it...”

It didn’t sound much like her on-camera voice at all.

A flash of silver reflected in the mirror. Stephanie squinted and saw the shape of Nadine’s naked ass swaying back and forth, slick with sweat. Fingers danced underneath, caressing flesh... shoving something back and forth in her-

Jesus... she’s masturbating... right in front of...

“I see you’re a quick learner,” Olivia noted. “Mmmm... yes, already accepting your newfound role... I’ll definitely let Ronnie eat your slick pussy now... she’s such a gifted little slut... it’ll be so much more than you can even imagine...”

Stephanie struggled to manage a better angle. Her mouth was dry, the constant moaning spilling into the corridor, making her queasy. She suddenly wished she’d stayed behind, fuming over champagne...

She covered her hand with her mouth, her eyes widening in shock as she cocked her head and glimpsed Olivia, leaning back against a wall. Her black, glitter dress was parted, her legs open in depraved welcome while Ronnie’s face pressed between them. What bliss the older woman derived from the tongue tracing slow paths up and down her wet slit was overshadowed by the passion of the act itself; Ronnie’s moans intermittently spiked into sharp cries, as though furious orgasms assaulted her in sweet torment, while she tirelessly pleasured her boss with kisses and licks.

Stephanie tore herself from the spectacle, shuddering in a cold sweat. She choked of a scream when Olivia’s gaze intersected with hers through the mirror.

The door quickly fell shut as Stephanie reeled back. She swung around and dashed back down the corridor, looking to trace back her steps as she fought off the irrational fear that she’d been recognized.

There was no sound of scrambling behind her, only the rise of cries heralding an impending, collective climax.

They followed her, echoing through the deserted corridors. She had to struggle to keep her pace casual.

6.

Thankfully, events had conspired to bring an early rush to the six o’clock prep. Dozens of people moved across the newsroom with tapes and transcripts, while others remained at their stations, hammering at keyboards or barking on the phone to be heard over the commotion. Stephanie made her way across the chaos like a fretful gazelle, pacing through savanna with an eye out for the roving lion. She slipped by, expecting the voice of her producer, Isaac Welsh, to shout at her any moment. She breathed a sigh of relief when she made it to her office unnoticed.

Maggie popped up from behind her door, scaring her silly.

“Jesus!” Stephanie practically yelled.

The camerawoman, as she insisted on being called, folded her arms and pouted, clearly insensitive. “I’ve been on loan to Jett Hawkins, chasing ambulances and firetrucks for the last two weeks. Tell me we’re go on a shoot, cuz I need to be rescued from this hellish existence.”

Stephanie smiled despite herself. They were known as an inseparable duo ever since Maggie had been hired by the station two years back. It was a rare thing for Steph to keep anything from her colleague, but with there were no words to convey what she’d seen the night before. In fact, her left arm was sore from all the pinching, the now permanent throb serving as reminder she had not imagined the whole thing.

“I... I may have something soon, Maggie. Gimme a bit more time to gather background.”

Maggie sighed heavily. Clearly, she knew something was up, and had expected Steph to own up.

“Mail’s on the desk,” she muttered, before shuffling out.

Steph hung her coat and went for it, having to go through the handful of envelopes twice on the count of distraction. Nadine Tugman’s lust-filled voice kept whispering in her ear.

Bit of a conflict of interest, she mused sarcastically. She remained unconvinced that Nadine would be so unprofessional as to indulge in a sex fling with a high profile figure, to say nothing of the fact that she apparently “swung” that way. The shock of that surprise made Bryant’s involvement almost trivial.

She couldn’t begin to analyze her feelings when it came to Ronnie.

She slumped in her chair and swept her hair back, closing her weary eyes and trying not to think of-

Tongue. Licks.

She’d gone through her old class pictures in the morning, thinking back to high school and college, trying to remember hints or clues she might have missed. Maybe Ronnie had wanted to tell her something important, all those years ago...

I’m a lesbian sub, Steph. I get off on eating pussy. I’m a gifted little slut. My owner says so...

Steph pursed her lips, unable to shake her skepticism. Christ! Ronnie hadn’t once hinted her preference for anything even remotely like what she’d witnessed.

A touch of the fear she’d experienced during her swift exit retreat trickled back into her, and she broke into goosebumps.

“Hey there, Steph. Looks like the mailman left something extra for you.”

Isaac stood at her doorstep, waiting politely to be invited in the office. He held a brown, square box under his arm. His sagging cheeks were pleasantly rosy, and he made an effort to suck in his gut while holding his chin up. The lines around his eyes, accustomed to his fits of vexation, had smoothed out in the wake of his open, carefree smile.

Stephanie was instantly struck by her boss’ affable manner, spending a number of seconds trying to come up with a comeback. She improvised hasty thanks, which he took as his cue to come in.

He waddled in like a penguin, his respect for her personal space approaching bashfulness. Stephanie looked on curiously, and remembered some offhand comment by Maggie about Isaac’s doctor telling him to keep his blood pressure under control.

He tiptoed forward and gingerly dropped the box on the desk.

“Everything going your way, Steph? Anything I can do?”

“Uh. Not yet, Isaac. Maybe later. Still working on nabbing Bryant.”

The all too brief answer appeared to assuage his curiosity. “Well, just let me know when the egg’s ready to hatch.”

He made to leave but she held him back. “Uh, Isaac. Have you heard of anything brewing at channel eight? A big interview lined up?”

She bit her lip, knowing she was letting on more than she’d wanted, but her producer had an uncanny ability to gauge the pulse of the opposition, especially when there was a major scoop brewing.

“Nope. Not a thing.”

Steph nodded, a trifle relieved. “Uh. Ok. Thanks.”

He shambled off, his back stiff, and Steph felt he might soon need to add a chiropractor to his list of appointments.

She turned her attention to the box, puzzled by a return address she didn’t recognize. It was an express package, mailed and delivered on the same day.

She cut through the packaging tape, and looked inside. A letter sat atop a spill of Styrofoam bits. She took it out and opened carefully.

The script was handwritten, sharp but flowery.

Ms Woodruff,

It would seem that your determination is matched only by your cleverness. I won’t fret over the details that lead you to observe last night’s activities, and I congratulate you instead on managing to obtain such a choice seat. I trust you’ve enjoyed our spirited little interlude.

I feel I’ve unfairly slighted you by consistently refusing offers for an interview. Ms Tugman, though obstinate in her attempts to convince me to grant her an exclusive, has lost the objective edge I feel the voters deserve when it comes to the presentation of candidates. She would no doubt object to my giving you a copy of the impromptu conversation we did share on camera, but perhaps it will make up for the silence you’ve met from me so far.

Stephanie dropped the letter at once to rummage through the box. She pulled out a videotape labeled ”O. Bryant—Takes 1-4“.

She went to toss the box and noticed a rattling noise inside it. She stuck her hand in again and pulled a metallic tube out-

Stephanie stared mutely at the shining, smooth-shaped vibrator in her hand, before picking up the letter again...

You’ll forgive me for the indulgence of my other gift. Ronnie, sweet girl that she is, suggested it some time after you departed, hoping that the sights and sounds you’d witnessed might endear you to contemplate new and interesting paths of sexual discovery. I wondered if it would be proper, but she was rather insistent, and I found myself unable to resist the plea of eyes for very long.

Looking forward to our meeting at ten o’clock tomorrow morning to discuss the particulars of-

The letter slipped out of Stephanie’s fingers.

Ronnie? Sweet girl that she is?

She reached for her phone and keyed in three digits.

“Maggie? Tell Isaac you’re back with me. Get your gear ready, We’ve got something lined up for tomorrow morning.”

7.

“I’m sorry if I was unclear in my message, Ms Woodruff, but I am not exactly ready to grant an interview on the spot. I’m sorry your colleague had to drag her gear all the way to my office for nothing.”

Olivia Bryant kept a placid smile as she spoke, unruffled by Stephanie’s decision to bring Maggie along. Both had argued for several minutes with the secretary outside, until Steph finally agreed to enter alone for a private chat.

The office was a study in contrast, the paneled walls of sand-colored maple clashing with an asymmetric desk of sycamore and bronze that belonged in an art deco gallery. Steph’s chair had short legs and a curved back; she sat stiffly in it, already set on staying in it until security dragged her out.

“With all due respect, Ms Bryant, you seemed very intent on talking. I have a responsibility to bring what you have to say to the public, and that’s exactly what I’m here to do...”

Her voice trailed off, her heart not altogether in the charade she was playing. Olivia knew what she’d seen-God, she practically flaunted it.

What next? Bribes? Threats?

Mmmm... yes, already accepting your newfound role...

Steph slipped a hand inside the jacket she hadn’t bothered to take off, and traced a finger along the ‘send’ button of her cellular, the number to Maggie’s portable already keyed in.

Sex play aside, it seemed even less of a paranoid notion now than it did in the drive over.

Olivia settled her elbows on the arms of her chair as if it were a throne.

“I apologize again. Perhaps I’m too distrustful of the media. I’m of the opinion that it looks only after itself, its agenda dictated by the hype it creates. The message often gets lost, altered along the way, shaped by the desire to make a story more shocking or riveting for the readers and viewers.”

Stephanie scoffed.

“Some might think that’s a bit of an arrogant position. Candidates are expected to play by certain rules. Whatever evils you ascribe to the Press, it plays a role in democracy, and you seem to think that’s a danger to you.”

“Really? I’m surprised by your naïveté, especially after seeing the lengths to which Ms Tugman resorted to secure my promise for an interview. I thought things might be different here, but I sense in you a willingness to match hers. You would do anything to avoid the humiliation of loosing an exclusive to her.”

Stephanie felt the blood rush to her cheeks, despite the preposterousness of Olivia’s inference.

“If you’re referring to the smut you’ve recorded on that tape, I’m afraid you’re quite wrong.”

Her voice trembled a little as she spoke. She’d watched the whole thing the night before, in spite of her revulsion. Nadine had done a few poor takes, a series of asinine questions which went on for twenty minutes, until Veronica showed up on camera.

Before long, the whole thing turned into an exchange of lewd innuendoes. Olivia, suddenly camera shy, slipped away, leaving her companions alone for the viewer’s pleasure.

The display of obscene, lesbian porn hadn’t been far behind.

“Smut? On the contrary, I think it’s very educational,” Olivia retorted.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Educational. Both as a demonstration piece, and as a first step towards realigned, proper thinking. A reporter’s words can only be informative once she’s been taught what to say and how to say it. The truth comes out naturally, easily, her understanding of notions such as obedience and a willingness to serve plainly apparent to those who listen... those who have always longed, secretly, to be convinced...”

Alarms sounded in Stephanie’s brain. Her finger froze over the button that would warn Maggie something was wrong...

“The theory is simple, really. The human brain is too dependent on its senses, wired to interact with the environment. Feeding visual stimuli to trigger specific reactions that have no connection to memory is the key, and few would believe how easily it is turned. You can be engrossed in deep thought, in problem solving or meditation, while your body responds to outside stimulus. Much like driving a car for miles while thinking of some random childhood incident, you can snap out of your reverie minutes later, without remembering a thing about the rather intricate task you were performing.”

Stephanie shivered in her seat, blinking as though an invisible veil was being pulled from her eyes. She was both fascinated and horrified by Olivia’s lecture, and quite embarrassed by the flush that was now slipping down her entire body. She didn’t want to take the jacket off, but the heat was moistening her skin and burning the tips of her nipples.

Olivia was only too happy to go on. “We’re still in the recording stage, since local stations lack the proper equipment to transmit on the proper bandwidth. Eventually, we’ll be able to key in to the proper frequencies, delivering bursts matching specific keywords. We are still limited to the delivery of specific commands, but luckily, our facilitators exist to insure deeper conditioning.”

The flash-flood of arousal washed over Stephanie, barely matched by the rising panic. The glint of silver she’d spotted in the ladies room mirror, sliding in and out of Nadine...

Oh God. A metallic shape... just like-

“The vibrator... in the box...” Stephanie hissed, trying to keep herself from squirming on her chair.

The seat underneath her ass was becoming wet.

Olivia grinned in happy surprise. “Ah. Yes. Very good, Stephanie. You’re catching on quickly. Ronnie is partial to the term “Rods of Teaching”, and I must say it’s growing on me, especially when I’m watching video feed of our latest recruits, powerless to stop themselves from using it on each other.

“They have three settings of intensity... it’s best to be gradual about it, but we were a little rushed in your case. The tape you watched was geared to take you through all three levels, so you’ve no doubt achieved near-complete conditioning at this point...”

Stephanie moaned in her chair, unable to escape the vision of herself stretched on her home couch, blank faced as images of lesbian depravity flashed across her television screen. She could almost hear the voice-over, whispering over the speaker... she made up the words her memory wouldn’t recall... Obey your lust... Yield to pleasure... Olivia is Truth... Olivia is Love... Proceed to level two...

In her mind, hands moved to the slick, warm shape buried inside her pussy, turning the knob that would reward her with new, more powerful waves of pleasure... she fancied her legs up and apart, her knees touching her shoulders as she grabbed hold of the device, shoving it in and out with one hand while the fingers of the other ground into her begging, screaming clit.

“Take the phone out of your pocket, Stephanie,” Olivia beseeched softly.

Stephanie’s legs quivered as she orgasmed. She didn’t even hear the dull thud of the device hitting the floor.

“You’re not quite ready to serve, of course. All impure thoughts must be eradicated before you have that honor. The process is impossible with portable equipment.”

She was reaching for the intercom on her desk as she spoke. Her look of apology for the interruption was pure reflex, but she followed it with a wink to focus Stephanie’s attention.

“Veronica, dear, how are things with Ms Woodruff’s colleague?”

The voice answered back with pride and enthusiasm. “She is restrained, Mistress. We have already moved her to the realignment chamber. She is being prepped for her initiation into the Glory and Pleasure of your service.”

Stephanie couldn’t restrain herself.

She slipped off her chair, her hands struggling feverishly to hike up her skirt. Taking her panties off would take too long, so she pressed her fingers against them, and slipped hot, wet satin into her slit.

Flames of ecstasy shot up her cunt, and consumed her.

8.

Stephanie stood in the center of the vacant room, the harness insuring correct posture by pulling her shoulders back. The thin band of leather also bit in the underside of her breasts, but the pain was as easy to ignore as the throbbing of her ankles. The sharp incline of her high-rise heels locked her knees in places while forcing her ass out, but the display she made of herself aroused her, knowing that Mistress was watching.

Warm, trembling breaths washed over her shaved cunt, and Stephanie gasped. It was hard enough to think of herself like this, naked and standing obediently at attention, without dripping all over the floor. She yearned for a tongue to lick her clean, knowing it would only further open the floodgates of her desire.

“The profession of Faith shall now begin,” a voice told her. It sounded near to her, a whisper inside her ear. She had grown used to the tightness of the earphones secured on her head.

“Who are you?”

Excitement coursed through her limbs. “A servant of Mistress’ Will, and the instrument of Her Purpose.”

“What is your designation?”

“servantslut, Mistress.”

“What is the name I have given you to mask your true designation?”

“Stephanie Woodruff, Mistress.”

“Very good servantslut. Now what is the name given by me to the servantslut who has brought you into my service?”

Stephanie lowered adoring eyes to the woman kneeling before her. She smiled and shuddered when the brunette kissed her pussy with loving attention.

“Veronica Holder, Mistress,” she answered breathlessly.

“What is the First Law of Obedience, servanslut?”

“To Pleasure Mistress. To obey Her every wish. To fulfill Her every desire. To satisfy Her every yearning.”

Stephanie moaned while Veronica’s tongue played with her netherlips, as if to reward her for every good answer she gave.

“What is are the Second Law of Obedience?”

“To bring more servants to Mistress. To make them willing and obedient. To gift them with the Glory and Pleasure of Her service.”

“Excellent, servantslut. What is the Third Law?”

“To free womankind from impure and improper thoughts, to undermine the sick perversions of male-dominated society in every way possible, and to bring about Mistress’ eternal rule over All That Is.”

“How do you feel about men, servantslut?”

Stephanie’s lip twitched, but her revulsion was quickly overcome by Veronica’s tongue floating on her clit.

“There is no feeling, Mistress. There is nothing but the need to shape their will into submission, and use them until the time of Cleansing is upon them.”

Fleeting memories came to her then-the image of Isaac, unwitting pawn and slave to Mistress, stumbling along because of the Rod of Teaching firmly inserted inside him... rewarding him with throbbing pleasure as he mindlessly followed Her instructions.

Males bodies were unsuited for the Glory of the sacred devices, requiring constant stimulation to obey. That cold fact elicited no pity in Stephanie as she contemplated her boss’ inevitable fate as a brainless automaton. His mind would eventually be overtaxed and subsequently destroyed by pleasure.

She didn’t hold on to the thought for long, Veronica’s probing of her pussy reminding her of the divine, womanly pleasures Mistress had ordained.

Veronica’s tongue fucking grew more fierce, as if to echo in agreement. Stephanie’s legs buckled, the climax nearing...

Stephanie’s hands grappled the head between her legs, pressing, grinding Ronnie’s face against her cunt as she came...

“Yield to the pleasure,” the blessed voice told her, “and embrace me forever...”

Missssstreeesssss

9.

Maggie’s heartbreaking plea was full of hope and fear. “You remember our friendship, don’t you?”

Stephanie emerged from the shadows with a reassuring smile, but Maggie heart sank at the sight of her trusted partner’s naked form. She wore the fetish harness with pride, and chuckled softly as she traced a finger along the restraints that kept Maggie firmly secured on the x-rack.

“You-you told me to trust you, Stephanie, remember? You told me it would be all right.”

“Everything is all right, dear. Or will be, shortly.”

Maggie struggled through panic and tears. Her voice grew more strident, like a guitar, gently weeping. “Stephanie, God, please! Get me out of here! Get me the fuck—”

She groaned when Stephanie lowered her head and sucked one of her nipples into her mouth. The cold metal under her didn’t strain as she arched her back, powerless to resist the explosion of mind-numing bliss that coursed inside her.

“Your cunt has tasted the pleasure of the Rod of Teaching,” Stephanie whispered. “It hungers for the greater, more sacred pleasures now. Let the feel of my tongue wash across your body... let it deliver you into the arms of Sapphic bliss... you know it’s what Mistress wants... you can’t resist Her Will... you don’t want to resist Her Will...“

Maggie struggled harder, her nipples inflamed as Stephanie continued her sucking. She bucked against the rack, the strain of the orgasm making her cry out when Stephanie lovingly bit into her breast.

“Yesss... accept it... we have so much work ahead of us... so much pleasure... so much joy as we serve Her... as we make others serve Her...”

Maggie’s voice broke, her supplications coming between helpless cries. “God, Please Stephanie... don’t... don’t—”

But Stephanie’s tongue was already trailing down, leaving warm saliva pooling between her breasts... inside her navel... hot... moist...

Friend... Trust... don’t...

Don’t resist.

Don’t resist Mistress.

Maggie’s eyes widened, the stars of countless, invisible Heavens exploding inside them. She came in Stephanie’s mouth, blinded by the searing pleasure that fired up into her clit, burning away all the mindless, shallow drivel of an existence spent apart from Mistress... cum... numbing... endless...

The pain of her old life vanished, replaced by Stephanie’s tongue... by the soft, sensual organ, sliding deeper inside her... she strained to pull her legs apart, to show her acceptance and joy... only wishing for the moment when she, too, would guide others upon the right path.

She opened her mouth eagerly to accept Stephanie’s pussy when her fellow servantslut climbed upon the rack, spreading wide. She teased it, slowly, gently, while her own cunt flared... their convulsive spasms shared as they swirled deeper... together... in the abyss of overwhelming surrender.

The merciless assault of ecstasy did not cease.

It would never, ever cease.