Hyp's Hip Hypno Hub

"Care to join us, Frankie?" It wasn't an invitation, even though it might have sounded like one to anyone who walked in on Kimmy and Desiree making out in the hot tub with their tits rubbing together and their tongues dueling whenever they weren't actively speaking. It was a command, and it was a command directed straight at Francine's soaking pussy, and she knew her cunt was listening because she'd been staring dazed for almost a full two minutes at Kimmy's tits bobbing up and down in the warm water while her clit throbbed with sympathetic ecstasy. Just about everybody on the team knew by now that once things started getting hot and heavy between any two people, it wouldn't take long before Francine would feel the need to join in.

Which probably contributed to the free and easy atmosphere around the squad lately, something Francine couldn't help feeling obscurely proud of. Kimmy and Elle weren't even dating, Desiree was part of a polyamorous triad with Elle and Tanesha and Kimmy had a thing for that new woman Siobhan, but both of them wanted to use Francine like a chew toy and they knew they could get what they wanted simply by making out wet and sloppy in front of her. And they were clearly enjoying each other's bodies just as much as they were going to enjoy Francine's. Something that seemed inevitable, as Francine heard herself mumble, "That sounds… nice…." before sliding into the water with a heavy splash.

Both women gave a little giggle at that, clearly amused by Francine's susceptibility to suggestions, and Kimmy took Francine by the wrist and pulled her over to join her with a gently murmured, "Don't worry, Frankie, you know we always take care of our good girl." That was true too, something that helped Francine to relax into the threesome every bit as much as the hypnosis, and she let out a happy little sigh as Kimmy lowered the submissive student's head to rest in her cleavage and Francine's brain simply switched off. The lights dimmed to nothing behind her heavy-lidded eyes, leaving behind only rapt fascination and helpless pleasure, and she barely even registered Desiree untying the strings on her bikini to let it float down to the bottom of the tub.

"You're such a good little toy, Frankie, such a sweet little mascot for us," Desiree purred as she began to finger Francine's cunt, and even though a tiny part of her bristled at that description--she was one of the best scorers on the whole team, more than earning her scholarship even with the extra time she spent after every practice having sex in the showers--but of course condescension and degradation made her pussy wet the same way it always did and she mewled in ecstasy at the thought of being a free-use plaything for any woman who wanted her. Francine had some pretty fucked up fantasies, but the fantasy wasn't nearly as important as how you fulfilled it.

And Francine was getting hers taken care of in a pretty safe way at the moment. Her mouth latched around Kimmy's nipple, guided by the blonde's firm but gentle hands, and behind her Desiree began to thrust harder and faster and more urgently just to hear Francine's moans when she came. "That's our girl," Desiree cooed, and Francine clenched hard around the other woman's fingers as it sank home yet again just how right Desiree truly was.

Deep in the lower reaches of the museum archives, a lowly grad student was searching the stacks. Row by row, Ana browsed through the dusty old tomes, some of them thousands of years old.

Ana’s thesis was on Eastern European paganism during the 9th century. Her supervisor, the renowned Professor Elizabeth Connelly, had told her that she needed a book from the archives to complete her thesis, though Ana suspected that it was really because the Professor wanted the book for her own upcoming publication. It seemed the real work of a grad student was to do the scut work of the professors. Supposedly, the book was akin to a pagan bible, containing a collection of Slovenian pagan beliefs and rules.

Ana found the book near the bottom row of the stacks, almost hidden away in a corner. The book was quite heavy, bound in black leather. She lifted it up and placed it on a table. The front cover was completely blank, just black leather. She opened the book to find the parchment inside surprisingly well maintained. Alongside medieval drawings of pentagrams and magical beasts, the book was filled with ink writings in Old Slovenian. Ana could not read Old Slovenian, but she had a language codex in her dorm room. she took pictures of each of the book’s pages, then returned the book back to its place.

Back at her apartment, Ana printed out the pictures of the book pages and started translating the Old Slovenian into English. It was a long process, nearly three hours to translate one page, but Ana persisted. She was quickly able to surmise though that the book was not the pagan bible she was hoping for. Instead, it turned out to be something even more unique, a spell book. The book was a compendium of eastern European pagan spells and other magical concoctions. Ana was fascinated by all of them. There were spells for cursing your enemies, for curing disease, and for purposes still unknown to her.

After a week of translating, she tried to show her advisor what she had done but Professor Connelly was always too busy. Being the university’s eminent academic on medieval history and the wife of the chancellor meant that Elizabeth was often away from her office at some event or fundraiser. Since Ana was also Elizabeth’s teaching assistant, that meant that a lot of Elizabeth’s actual academic work fell to her. There was a second teaching assistant, Rachel Anderson, but she rarely helped, as the stuck-up rich girl had only gotten the job thanks to her parents’ connections.

Ana lived in an apartment with two girls who also studied/worked at the university, Pauline and Georgia. Pauline was a fitness junkie who spent a lot of her free time either running or at the gym. She was a tomboy from Texas who kept her hair short and never wore skirts or dresses. Despite campus rumours, Pauline was in fact not a lesbian and had a boyfriend. Georgia was a very sweet and bubbly girl who was also very religious, doing her PhD on Christian theology. Ana got along with them well enough, though she did find herself doing most of the housework. She also found that Georgia, while well meaning, could be at times quite judgemental. Her conservative upbringing had led her to look upon Ana’s secular lifestyle with disdain.

After another day of translating the spell book and having her work ignored, Ana was in her bedroom looking over a few of the spells. On a whim she decided to see what would happen if she tried to conjure one of them. She picked a spell that was meant to increase the length and volume of one’s hair. Ana’s hair had always been ratty and difficult to manage so she usually kept it short, currently being in a pixie cut. She wondered what it would be like to have the proper long hair that girls often dreamed about. She read out the incantation, but nothing happened. At first, she figured it was simply because magic did not exist. Then she remembered how earlier in the book it stated that to cast a spell one must be tightly garbed in a certain kind of clothing, specifically leather. Ana did not own any leather clothing, but luckily her roommate Pauline did. Ana figured she might as well try so she snuck into Pauline’s room and grabbed one of her leather jackets. Ana tried it on and found the material quite heavy and overly cumbersome on her. She did have to admit that she looked good in the jacket though, a lot tougher than she usually looked.

Now garbed in leather, Ana once again tried the spell. She read out the incantation as clearly as possible. At first nothing happened, but then she felt her scalp tingle. She rushed to the mirror and saw her hair grow. From its ratty pixie cut, her hair fell down her back, becoming luscious and full. Ana was amazed by how great she looked. She was also surprised by how her hair, originally a lightish brown colour, had turned completely midnight black. It made Ana look gothic and very unlike herself, but she enjoyed it. It was a dramatic change, but one that she felt fit her.

Ana tried out a few more spells. One that made her taller, one that made her lose her pudgy weight, even one that made her breasts slightly larger. She discovered that all the spells would only affect her, no one and nothing else, and that they would only work if she wore leather. the more leather she would wear, the more effective the spell would be. She borrowed a pair of leather pants from Pauline and, after putting them on, tried some spells again. With just the jacket, the spell had made her A cup breasts grew to B cup size, but with the pants as well they became Cs.

‘Finally got breasts worth showing off,’ she thought to herself.

As much as Ana enjoyed improving herself magically, she wondered if any of the spells could affect someone else. Near the back of the book, she discovered a spell that could. It was a spell that, when cast, made someone else think whatever the caster said was true, as long as the caster looked them in the eye and was wearing leather. The more leather the caster wore and the tighter it was, the stronger the persuasive effect.

Ana didn’t want to do anything too big, just wanted to get Georgia to do more cleaning around the apartment. Also, maybe cool it with the homophobia. That seemed simple enough. It wasn’t like she was going to make Georgia think the sky was falling.

Ana waited till Georgia came home from work. Georgia entered the apartment and found Ana waiting for her in the kitchen.

“Hey Ana,” Georgia greeted. “Interesting look you got going on there, are you going butch goth or something.”

Ana was wearing Pauline’s leather jacket and pants and had her now long dark hair falling to her waist.

“Hehe no. Just thought I might try something different.”

“Yeah that’s different alright.” Georgia eyed Ana’s appearance. “Are you wearing a wig?”

“Yeah why not. Look Georgia, you and I have been living together for some time now and I think we should have a talk about how we’re going as roommates.”

“Okay… is everything alright? I didn’t do anything wrong, right?”

“No, no no no. I just think it would be good if we had a talk… about how we live as roommates.”

A bemused Georgia decided to go along with whatever Ana was doing. They both went to the kitchen table and sat directly opposite each other. Georgia did not notice that before Ana took her seat, she whispered something under her breath.

After Georgia sat down, she let out a yelp of shock when she looked at Ana.

“Your… your eyes,” she said in a shaky voice.

“What? Just focus Georgia.”

“Okay,” Georgia replied, immediately calming down.

“Good. Now Georgia, you and I have been living together for how long?”

“Eight months I think.”

“And in those eight months do you think you do you fair share of housework.”

“Of course! I mean… maybe I don’t always clean up after myself but I and I…”

“Stop.” Ana’s voice was firm and sharp. “You will always clean up after yourself.” She spoke each word clearly and looked directly into Georgia’s eyes.

“I will always clean up after myself.” Georgia replied, blankly.

“Whenever you make a mess in the apartment, you will clean it up.” Ana said, which Georgia echoed.

‘Holy crap, is this working?’ Ana thought.

“You always like to keep this apartment neat and tidy, so you make sure to clean it once a day.”

“I always like to keep this apartment neat and tidy, so I make sure to clean it once a day,” Georgia said, drone-like. After a long pause, Georgia blinked and spoke normally. “I guess I’m a real neat freak, but I like, you know, have this need to always make sure where I live is all clean and stuff. Thanks for you and Pauline not being a bother about it”

“Oh no problem,” Ana said, smiling. “Just do your thing. Maybe go clean up the kitchen. I know you like a clean kitchen.”

“I do,” Georgia said, beaming. “I really do. Great idea Ana.” Georgia got out of her chair and started to grab cleaning supplies that she had never touched before. She began to clean the kitchen as Ana looked on in amazement.

‘It actually freaking worked,’ Ana thought. ‘This is amazing.’

Ana got up and admired how diligently Georgia cleaned. She then saw herself in the hallway mirror and was shocked to see that the sclera of her eyes had darkened to an onyx black. Panicking, she rushed to her room and read the spell book. Ana found that to end the spell, all that she had to do was take off her leather clothes. She quickly did and upon checking herself in the mirror, found that her eyes had returned to normal. Sighing in relief, Ana looked back in the kitchen to find Georgia still cleaning.

‘So, when I take off my leather, the spell is cancelled but the effects are permanent,’ she figured. Georgia continued to clean the kitchen, now permanently thinking that this is what she always did.

Over the next few days, Ana continued to play with Georgia’s mind, getting her to take on more and more of the housekeeping duties. Georgia believed that doing all of Ana’s chores was simply her choice and she was happy to do it; it was what she always did. Ana even got Georgia to sing a happy tune as she cleaned the apartment. It was nice making Georgia so very helpful, but Ana wondered what else she could do with the spell.

One day at work, Ana was grading papers when Rachel, late as usual, entered the office.

“Hey girl, still trying out that new look huh. So brave of you. Very edgy.”

Ana had realised she couldn’t just keep stealing her roommates’ clothes, so she had gotten herself a leather jacket and a couple pairs of leather pants. She had been wearing them to work and despite all the magical changes she had done to her body, she still felt insecure in the tight, daring clothes. Rachel noticed and the mean girl pounced with glee.

“It’s so very unlike you, you know? You usually wear clothes that are really boring, like the stuff you get from Target. But here you are, looking like a groupie from an 80s hair band. That takes guts.”

Ana tried to ignore Rachel’s barbs and show no reaction but inside she was seething. Unconsciously, she started to murmur the mind spell, her eyes turning black.

“I mean who would expect that mousy Ana would try to look like a goth biker chick. It’s so random. Just like those false boobs you got.”

Ana slammed her fist into the desk and glared her black eyes directly into Rachel’s.

“YOU WILL SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH,” Ana snarled. Immediately, Rachel closed her mouth, not daring to say another word.

“You stupid worthless cow. You do not say such things about me. I am your superior in every way.”

Rachel meekly nodded, suddenly remembering that she never said anything mean to Ana. Because why would she, Ana was superior to her in every way.

“You haven’t earned anything in your life, you’ve just had daddy’s money. The fact that I have to work with someone as useless as you is a disgrace to this institution.” Ana got out of her chair and moved towards Rachel, pushing her against the wall.

“It’s a disgrace. I know I know,” Rachel agreed, feeling immense inadequacy. “You are so much prettier and smarter than me. I don’t deserve anything in my life. Not my trust fund, not my apartment, not my car.”

Ana was delighted, the cruel rich girl admitting the truth of how worthless she was. Ana was really getting into this now. She had never felt so powerful, so respected. She realised just how powerful this magic was, how she could control ungrateful bitches like Rachel, completely dominate them, and mold them into whatever she desired. She wondered what else she could do with Rachel.

“You know what you really want to do now Rachel? You want to serve me. You worship me and love to do whatever I tell you to do. You want to be my slave.”

“I want to be your slave,” Rachel replied, completely willing to give herself to Ana.

“Everything that is yours, your money, your fancy apartment, your car, is now mine.”

“Yes, yes, everything I have is yours.”

“Even you.”

“Even… even me. I am yours,” Rachel said softly. Staring into Ana’s black eyes, Rachel became lost and consumed by her new identity, an identity based around serving the wonderful, beautiful woman standing before her.

“What do you wish of me Ana.”

Ana smiled. “Well first of all, don’t call me Ana. Call me… Mistress. Yeah, I like that. Mistress Ana. No. Anastacia. Yes, that is my full name. Mistress Anastacia. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress Anastacia.”

“Now get on your knees slave and lick my cunt.” Ana… Anastacia’s thoughts swirled with power and dominance. Rachel was completely under her control and as her former enemy got down and started to unzip her leather pants, Anastacia realised just how attractive she found her. She always thought she had certain bisexual leanings, yet until now she had simply never acted on them. But now, with Rachel about to eagerly eat her pussy, she understood just how much of a lesbian she was.

Rachel pulled down Anastacia’s panties and started to lick, causing her Mistress to moan with pleasure. Rachel wasn’t fond of pussy, being completely heterosexual, but the joyful sounds of her Mistress were encouragement enough.

Anastacia returned to her apartment with Rachel walking behind her like a trained dog. They had taken Rachel’s car, a top of the line Rolls Royce that Rachel’s dad had given as a birthday present. It was Anastacia’s now.

Anastacia was pleased. She just found herself with a devoted slave and access to a large amount of wealth. With her power she could do anything to anyone, though right now all she wanted to do was take her slave to her room and ravish the subservient girl. Maybe after sex she could think of things beyond physical pleasure.

Anastacia walked into her room and was horrified to find someone already there, her roommate Pauline, looking at the translated spell pages.

“What are you doing?” She yelled.

“Hey relax, I were just looking for one of my leather jackets, I thought y'all might have borrowed it or something.” Pauline answered in her thick southern accent.

“I mean what are you doing with my notes.” Anastacia took the notes from Pauline’s hand and shoved them into a drawer.

“ah was curious. That’s all. Hey, what happened t'yer eyes there.”

Anastacia groaned. “It’s not important. Just don’t go into my stuff anymore.”

“All right, all right. You should see a doctor though. Y’all been acting weird lately. You and Georgina. You with your new get up, and those big boobs and hair you got now, and Georgina with her new love of cleaning. She actually offered to do my laundry this morning. Y’all city folk are weird.”

Pauline shrugged and started to exit Anastacia’s room, the latter relieved. But then there was Rachel.

“Is there anything wrong Mistress Anastacia? Can I fuck you now?” Rachel called out.

“Mistress Anastacia!” Pauline exclaimed. “Now what in tarnation is going on here?”

“Look at me.” A panicked Anastacia grabbed Pauline and pinned her against the wall. “Look at me straight in the eyes. You are perfectly okay with my relationship with Rachel. You accept that she is my slave.”

“I… yes. I am perfectly okay with your relationship. She is your slave.”

“You have never cared about what I do with her and you never mention it to anyone.”

“Of course not. Why would ah care. She’s your slave. You do whatever you like.”

And that was that. Anastacia had so easily convinced Pauline that everything was normal, and that Rachel had always been her slave. She let Pauline go, who brushed herself off, wondering why her roommate was acting all crazy over nothing. Pauline moved to get out of Anastacia’s room when Anastacia suddenly cried, “Wait!”

“Huh?” Pauline turned to Anastacia, facing her in the eye. Anastacia knew that she could just let Pauline go. She had already convinced her roommate that there was no problem and she was going to tell no one. She could simply allow Pauline to walk out, but where would the fun be in that.

“That accent of yours is fake. You’re not really from Texas. You’re from England. You’ve never even been to Texas.”

“Yeah. I just pretend. I’ve never even been to Texas,” Pauline replied dreamily, a whole childhood in the Lonestar State obliterated from her mind, replaced by one in the United Kingdom.

“Your real accent is actually English and really posh.”

“Indeed, it is darling,” Pauline said, her natural Texan accent replaced with an obviously fake posh British one. “But I like pretending to be a true Texan.”

“Your real accent sounds much nicer though. You’re going to only use your real accent from now on. You’ve gotten tired of pretending.”

“I guess I have gotten tired. It is a bit silly pretending to be someone I’m not.” Pauline switched back to the fake accent that made her sound like an actress doing Shakespeare in park.

Anastacia continued. “Your whole personality is fake. This whole tomboy thing you got going on, it’s not you at all.” Anastacia’s mind turned as she thought of all the things she could do to Pauline. “You’re feminine. A posh snob as well, and vain as hell. You love wearing fancy girly clothes, wearing lots of makeup, having long stylised hair. You look down at poor people and mock those who can’t afford the nicer things in life. This whole down to earth tomboy thing is just an act you put as a gag when you come to the U.S. But you’ve decided it’s time to go back to the real you. The girly fashionista from London.”

Anastacia could see the gears turning in Pauline’s mind as everything about her changed. She was no longer someone who didn’t care about her appearance or someone who was willing to help other in need. The look of her eyes, the gain of a haughty disposition, they signalled that Pauline was now a selfish vain bitch who only cared for material things, most of all herself. Just the thought of how much Pauline had changed and how she was going to be such a mean sexy vixen made Anastacia so fucking hot. She would treat all her old friends with contempt now and be so cruel to her boyfriend, how fucking sexy would…

“YOU’RE ALSO IN LOVE WITH ME!” Anastacia blurted out.

“I am?” It took a moment for the magic to reconfigure Pauline’s mind as it was creating a new personality. “Yes, of course I am. How could I not be? Everything about you is so sexy. Your soft luscious lips, your large full breasts, the way you dominate your slave Rachel, it makes me so hot.”

“Of course, it would, a massive lipstick lesbian like yourself can’t help but for in love with me. That boyfriend you have is just for pretend. You feel nothing for him.”

“Indeed, I do not. He is a worthless man. I just used him for money,” Pauline said matter of factly. “His penis disgusts me.”

Anastacia stifled a giggle, then an interesting thought came into her mind. If she goes further down the path she is on, messing with people’s minds and making them her slaves, she is going to need some help, someone to organise things, someone like…

“A personal assistant. You are my personal assistant. You love and worship me just as much as Rachel does and you refer to me as Mistress Anastacia. In order to serve me you are my personal assistant.”

“Yes Mistress. How may I serve you today as you play with your slave here?” Pauline motioned to Rachel, who was still standing just outside, dutifully waiting on her Mistress and eager to fuck her.

“I need you to go to the mall for me. There’s a new fetish clothing store that opened and I believe that we all need some new outfits. All the clothes you get for me will be leather. Everything for you and Rachel will be latex. Neither you, nor any other slave I may acquire is allowed to wear leather. Only me. I will also need sunglasses.”

“Yes Mistress.” Pauline bowed.

“Take Rachel’s car, and her credit cards.”

Pauline took Rachel’s car keys and wallet and then headed off. This left Anastacia finally alone with Rachel.

“So… Rachel… or… Raquel.”

Professor Elizabeth Connelly was finishing up for the day when she heard a knock on her office door. Weary after a long day of lectures and meetings with dullard undergrads, she gave a sigh before calling out. “Come in.”

The door opened and Elizabeth did not recognise the woman who entered her office at first. Her eyes widened when she realised it was her teaching assistant Ana, looking vastly different then the grad student usually appeared. Instead of her pudgy and dowdy form, Ana was looking svelte and limber. She was wearing a finely tailored leather jumpsuit, leather gloves and leather boots, very different from her usual outfits of thick sweaters, jeans and sneakers. Elizabeth was most taken aback by Ana’s hair, that had changed from a ratty brown pixie cut, to now being long and flowing down to her lower back, a rich midnight black hue. She was also wearing a pair of heavily tinted sunglasses.

“Ana! Wow ah… you look very… nice. What are you here for?”

“I’m here for you, Professor. We have some things to discuss, you and I.”

“We do? I’m sorry Ana but I was just about to leave. My husband and I have plans tonight and…”

“Your husband can wait. It is more important that you and I talk.”

“Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow, Ana. The Chancellor and I have tickets for the opera and…”

Elizabeth stopped speaking mid-sentence. Ana had taken off her sunglasses to reveal eyes that were completely black. Elizabeth was immediately mesmerized and unable to look away.

“I think you should call your husband and let him know that you are going to be late tonight as some work has come up,” Ana said to Elizabeth.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Elizabeth replied, getting out her phone and calling the Chancellor. As she did this, Elizabeth did not look away from Ana’s black eyes which glared right into her.

“Now that’s settled, let’s sit down. I’ll take your chair. You will sit on the sofa,” Ana instructed. Elizabeth could not believe how her teaching assistant was talking to her, yet she did not react in any other way besides following Ana’s command Being in the place usually taken by her students and subordinates, Elizabeth felt so very powerless, especially as she watched Ana sit on her chair, cross her legs, and look slightly down at her, like she was just a student and not the prominent Professor she was.

“Professor… Elizabeth… I’ve finished translating that pagan witch text you told me about. It has been most every informative. The things I have learned. Though there have been some side effects.” Ana pointed to her black eyes. “The positives greatly outweigh the unfortunate negatives, and they have given me thought about how I live my life. There need to be some changes in my life, changes that only I can make.  I think it is time we talk about our relationship,” Ana explained.

“Our relationship? What do you mean?”

“Don’t be coy Elizabeth. I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you stare, you are very attractive to me.”

“What! That is an outrageous thing to say to me Ana. I could have you fired for what you’re saying.”

“Elizabeth. Look at me. Tell me the truth. You find very attractive.” Ana refocused her black eyes at Elizabeth.

“I find you very attractive,” Elizabeth said, in a robotic tone. “I mean, you’re a young lively woman of course I find you attractive,” She said, more animatedly, as if what she was saying was completely natural.

“You find me very sexy.”

“I find you very sexy,” Elizabeth repeated, again in a robotic tone. “Well how could I not. You such beautiful eyes, and a fantastic ass.”

“It is indeed a fantastic ass.” Ana chuckled. “An ass that you loved to grab onto. Especially when we fucked.”

“Huh?” Elizabeth was confused. She remembered leering at Ana, maybe even fondling her a couple of times, but fucking?

“Stay focused Elizabeth. You and I have fucked,” Ana insisted.

“You and I have fucked,” Elizabeth repeated dutifully. “You have fucked me many times. I love the way make me squeal. Just thinking about it makes me go…UMPH”

Elizabeth then crossed her legs, a small dampness growing in her nether regions.

“You’ve especially liked it when we fucked in the office here. When I’ve worn my big strap on and fucked you right on this desk.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Elizabeth exclaimed, suddenly gaining memories that were unimaginable only moments ago, memories of the prudish professor being railed by her TA with a big black rubber strap on.

“You love having sex with other women, especially me. You love sex with women almost as much as you hate sex with men.”

“Yes! Men are disgusting! Woman are so soft and sweet and tasty!”

“Especially your husband. You despise him and only married him for his money.”

“How could I ever have loved someone like him?”

All love that Elizabeth once had for the chancellor was now replaced with hatred and disdain. Ana was really enjoying this conversation and wondered how far she could push it with the Professor.

“Elizabeth, look at me. Look at my eyes directly and listen carefully. While in public you maintain the decorum of the professional academic, behind closed doors you are my submissive slut. Outside you may refer to me as Ana, but in here you call me Mistress Anastacia.”

“Of course, Mistress Anastacia.” Elizabeth’s usual haughty tone was replaced with a more submissive lilt. “I wouldn’t dare call you anything else.

Anastacia smiled at that. “And I of course call you Betty. Isn’t that right? Sweet Betty, my personal slut slave.”

Each word that Anastacia spoke rewrote Betty’s personality, changing the once priggish and arrogant professor into a perverted and subservient tramp.

“Now I think it is time we mix things up tonight.” Anastacia declared. “You will be wearing a very different outfit from what you planned for the opera.

“What outfit, Mistress Anastacia?”

“Something to show the Chancellor the real you. Rachel, get in here darling!” Anastacia yelled.

The office door opened, and Betty’s other teaching assistant Rachel Anderson walked in, dragging in a suitcase. Rachel was dressed in a very tight and revealing latex French maid’s uniform.

“Oh my god Rachel! What are you wearing?”

“Betty, you know very well that Raquel here is my personal maid. She is simply wearing her uniform.” Anastacia explained.

“Yes, of course. Silly me. For some reason I thought she was my teaching assistant. How are you Raquel?”

“Vairy good Ms Bettay.” Raquel replied in a clearly fake French accent. “Ai ‘ave tonight’s ootfit Meestrez.”

“Excellent. Get undressed Betty.”

“Yes, mistress Anastacia.” Betty began to dutifully disrobe, not wanting to displease her mistress.

“All of it off Betty, I need you naked.”

Betty took off all of her clothes, leaving her naked in front of her two assistants, who she now thought of as her mistress and her maid.

“For a woman your age you have such lovely breasts Betty. Wouldn’t you agree Raquel?”

“Oui Meestrez, such lové-lee tits.”

Betty blushed like a schoolgirl. She never thought she would have her assistants remarked on her breasts like this, or that she would like it.

“But of course you will need to get some implants. My slut slave should really have a pair of big fake plastic tits.” Anastacia ordered.

“Yes Mistress. I will get them right away.” Betty replied.

“It can wait for tomorrow. Now let me show you your outfit for this evening.” Anastacia had Rachel unpack the luggage and pulled out a red latex catsuit. “Put this on, Betty.”

Betty awkwardly took it from Anastacia. “But it’s so tight? I can’t wear this to the Opera.”

Anastacia glared at Betty with a look that would terrify Satan himself, her black eyes staring into Betty’s soul. “Do you defy me… Betty?” She asked, enunciating Betty’s name slowly, full of venom and contempt.

“No, of course not Mistress. I wouldn’t dare, Mistress. Please forgive me, Mistress.” Betty then quickly got on the latex catsuit, with Raquel helping her slip into the tight latex, providing talcum powder where necessary. She also slipped on a pair of gloves, a pair of platform boots, and a corset, all made of red latex. Raquel then did her hair into a strict and elaborate bun.

Betty saw herself in her office mirror. She looked so… so… hot. She looked amazing and sexy and most of all dangerous. She had never looked dangerous before in her life, but now, covered from neck to toe in red latex she looked like a woman to be feared. Anastacia handed her a crop and as they both looked at Betty’s reflection, their eyes meeting, Anastacia whispered in Betty’s ear.

“This is you. This is the real you. Not the repressed academic. Not the boring wife of a boring and unremarkable man. That’s a false mask you have become tired of. It’s time to become who you really. The confident dominatrix. That’s who you are.”. The sex addicted slut who always needs to be on top. Except with me of course.”

“Yes mistress.” Betty softly moaned. Anastacia handed her a crop and Betty grabbed it like a professional dominatrix.

“You need to make your husband see the real you.” Anastacia commanded. “Make him see who is really in charge in this relationship.”

“Yes mistress. I will make that bastard squeal. He will meet Mistress Betty tonight.”

Anastacia chuckled. “Mistress Betty’s a little too cute. How about… Mistress Liza.”

“Yesssssss.” Mistress Liza whispered, her new dom persona now cemented in her mind.

With her plans for tonight now settled, Mistress Liza grabbed a pair of sunglasses, a leather trench coat and her new expensive purse, before heading out to meet her husband at the opera. Her new crop placed in the purse for the evening’s activities.

“That was fun.” Anastacia remarked to Raquel after they watched Mistress Liza head out to meet and torture her husband. “I wonder what else we can do tonight.”

“Le sorority meestrez. Zéy are ‘avéng zéir partay tonight”

“The sorority. Those stuck up bitches. Excellent idea Raquel, have Pauline ready the car. Let’s go pay those sluts a visit.”

It only took a few brief conversations for the sorority to accept Anastacia as their new Mistress and she quickly moved in along with her personal assistant Pauline, and her two French maids, Raquel and Georgiana (formally Georgia.) Their party was cancelled as the sorority girls found themselves no longer wanting to hang around with the boorish men from the nearby fraternities. Why would they when they could serve their Mistress? After a good talk with each of them individually, every single one of the twenty sorority girls had agreed to devote their lives to Mistress Anastacia. It just made sense.

Following the Mistress’s orders, Pauline had all the girls put on a strict exercise regime designed to make them strong and fit. Extensive martial arts and firearm training formed the girls into Anastacia’s personal bodyguards, protecting her from any possible threat and ensuring that she was left undisturbed by malcontents. They dressed in a uniform of black latex catsuit, boots, and gloves, the tight latex showing the musculature of their toned bodies. Anyone who tried to question the whiplash change in lifestyle of the sorority soon found themselves manhandled and taken to the Mistress for a nice chat. They didn’t ask any questions anymore. Some even joined the sorority, becoming clothed in the black latex uniform and devoting their lives to the Mistress.

Mistress Anastacia her discussing plans with her lover Mistress Liza, planning to set up her own department at the University. After a long day of plotting and ambition, she retired to the sorority’s largest bedroom, her personal chambers. Her faithful personal assistant Pauline, often by her side, checked in to see if there was anything else the Mistress required. Anastacia let her know that she was done for the evening and that Pauline could relax and enjoy herself with one of the bodyguards. Pauline bowed and thanked her Mistress.

Anastacia watched as Pauline strutted down the hall, approaching a bodyguard at watch by the stairs. The bodyguard, a tall red head with a firm rear and recently enhanced DD breasts, towered over Pauline who licked her lips before whispering in the guard’s ear. The guard grinned and took Pauline’s hand, leading her into a bedroom.

Anastacia smirked, six months ago Pauline would have never have thought of even kissing a woman. Now she was about to be fucked senseless by one. Pauline had changed so much that people had trouble recognising her. The Texan tomboy was an English fashionista now. Only speaking in a posh English accent for six months had made her impersonation flawless; no one could tell that Pauline had never been to the United Kingdom. She never wore pants anymore, only ever wearing skirts or dresses and all in latex and bright colours. (Never leather of course, that was for the Mistress, and only the Mistress.) She had grown her hair long and dyed it platinum blonde, often styling it in a fashionable bun. Anastacia had convinced Pauline that she had poor eyesight so she now wore thick-rimmed glasses, giving her the perfect secretary look. The boyish and easy-going farmgirl from Texas had become a snobbish and severe English femme lesbian.

The bodyguards outside Anastacia’s room closed the door, leaving her alone with her two French maids. Georgiana and Raquel, reclining on her luxurious bed sans their uniform, eagerly awaited their Mistress. Anastacia slowly walked to the front of her bed and sexily removed her leather gloves and boots. She grabbed the zipper of her leather catsuit and slowly pulled down, letting her large firm breasts out freely. Finally, she removed the leather catsuit, leaving her naked, and got on the bed, in between her two beauties. Georgiana and Raquel had been given extensive plastic surgery from the most expensive doctors, for free of course, and now looked like the sexiest bimbos in the world. They kissed their wonderful Mistress, rubbing her body sensually.

Anastacia luxuriated in their attention, but then she looked up at the mirror she had installed above her bed. While sure it looked nice seeing her magically enhanced beautiful body nestled in between her maids surgically enhanced ones, their large silicone breasts kneading against her natural ones, there was one problem. While not wearing a single piece of leather, Anastacia’s eyes were still black. The spell should have ended when she disrobed but Anastacia knew that with months of using dark magic day in and day out, corrupting people’s minds, enslaving them to her will, it had seeped into her body.

So I’ve been asked for specifics prompted by this ask by @heidi-slave, and I thought I’d share them in a bigger post where I could elaborate more (thank you for the question/excuse to yammer on about my amazing partners being hot).

Pavlovian conditioning is classic, well known, and a really easy thing to leverage. If you start to mix this with hypnosis, power exchange, and the biological head fuck created by orgasm denial, you end up with the hairpin primed machine that is the human brain. (Honestly, the denial isn’t even required, it just speeds up the process and is an added bonus for me). After that all it takes is willingness and consistency.

I’ve had multiple male bodied partners who have dared to feed me the bullshit statement that nipple play for them would be impossible because, as everyone knows, that’s only sexually stimulating on female bodied people. I don’t think any of them ever got to walk away without ending up a total nipple slut to my memory. Lesson learned, and a great improvement to their attitude involving unlearning gendered bullshit over the course of our relationship.

As a control freak of a mindfucker, really there’s no particular thing that is to small for me to want to change in a person. I’ve mentioned before, and it remains true, that my interest in brainwashing and conditioning of my partners has nothing to do with wanting to change them specifically. That, if I like them enough to delve deeply into very long term altering behavior, I like them enough that I really don’t want them different. That’s not the point. So any change I’d make would really be for the sake of the power play, and likely be something that would be changed again at a different point. Examples being: I’ve played with temporarily giving partners a boot fetish (I got new boots and wanted to have them properly appreciated~). I had a play partner who told me no when I was being a brat and licking their nose (and we had a relationship that revolved around a lot of CNC and the negation of their ability to refuse me unless they were willing to safeword), so I made the licking of their nose into something that made them shiver down to their toes and moan embarrassingly audibly. One of my play partners finds pocket watches to be too stereotypical, and they have no real attraction toward them, so they are currently being conditioned to reset that belief to something more in line with my preferences. I’ve made spirals and hypnotic visuals mind melting to most of my partners I’ve had for any length of time, though never a one of them thus far was ever very susceptible to them when we first met, nor had any real pull toward them. I just like the image of slack jawed, blank eyed toys getting brainwashed by cheesy blinky lights. And, almost every single time, I’ve just through the way I play given each and every person who’s spent any real time with me a hypno fetish. Even if they had one prior, I’ve been told that it’s been made oh so much worse.

Min-Ha had gone out with her co-workers reluctantly. She really did not enjoy the "bar scene" but she had just gotten a promotion and everyone was insisting.

She was sitting alone at the bar when Carey came up to her.

"Congratulations on the promotion. You deserved it."

Min-Ha had always had difficulty accepting compliments so she just smiled and looked down. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Can I show you something?"

"What?"

Carey pulled out a quarter and started to roll it back and forth across the back of her fingers.

"Just watch the coin. Watch it as it dances across my fingers. Watch the light reflect off of it. So captivating isn't it?"

Min-Ha couldn't take her eyes off the coin. The fluid movement combined with the light reflecting off of it was fascinating. She'd never seen anything like it.

Carey could see Min-Ha's eyes loose focus. Her lips slightly parted and her breath grew slow and steady.

"That's a good girl. Just relax and watch the coin. Listen to my voice as it guides you deeper and deeper into this wonderful state of relaxation."

All Min-Ha could do was slightly nod her head and sigh. It felt so good to just relax. These past few weeks as the promotion committee had made their decision had been so stressful. This was the first time in a while she could just feel her body relaxing.

"Listen to me. Listen to my words as they bring you deeper and deeper. My words are all that exist right now. Just nod your head if you understand."

Everything in MIn Ha's world faded away, except for Carey's voice. She nodded.

Carey stopped rolling the coin and put it on the bar. Min-Ha continued to stare at the place where the coin had been. "Good girl," Carey said. "It's so important that you listen to my voice and obey. All you want to do is obey. Obey me. Obey my words. Obey my commands. Say the word "Obey" so that I know you understand. Say the word so that it becomes your world."

"Obey," Min-Ha whispered. It was true, she could feel it in the very depths of her being. Her purpose was to obey Carey. Nothing else mattered.

Carey softly stroked Min-Ha's hair. "That's right. I am your Mistress. Obedience to me is your only purpose. No matter what I command, you will obey. Acknowledge your submission to me by saying "Yes, Mistress. I will obey."

"Yes, Mistress. I will obey."

"You're being such a good girl. Now close your eyes and focus on my voice. You will do exactly what I tell you...."

Min-Ha got home and she had to run upstairs and lay on the bed. What was happening? She was so horny. She had been horny before but this was different.

First the level of horniness was off the charts. She had never been this horny before. She could feel her soaked panties.

But even more inexplicable was the fact that she was thinking about Carey. Min-Ha had NEVER thought about another woman in such a way. All of her masturbation sessions had been thinking about men (George Clooney was a particular favorite). But now all she could think about was Carey sucking on her tits, Carey fingering he pussy. Hell, she was even thinking about going down on Carey.

She flopped onto her bed and her fingers were between her legs before the bed stopped shaking.

Oh FUCK it felt so good. Ha-yoon had always had a submissive streak. Maybe a result of the her Korean upbringing, but again it was in overdrive. In her imagination she kneeling before Carey, naked, her head bowed.

"Who do you belong to little one?"

"You Mistress. I belong to you body and soul."

Just imagining herself in such a situation made her wetter than she had ever been. Her fingers pressed against her clit as she rubbed harder and faster.

She came.

At first she felt like she must have passed out from the strength of the orgasm. She could feel herself returning to a sense of consciousness and couldn't tell how much time had passed between the earth shattering orgasm and now. But there was something.....different? Her body was still so relaxed. And while she was returning to a sense of consciousness she could tell it wasn't full consciousness. Her mind was still incredibly fuzzy. Then she heard the voice.

"That's right, you're more and more aware of your surroundings. But don't come out of your trance completely. Remain deeply relaxed, so docile, so open, so obedient."

Min-Ha replied, "Yes Mistress. Relaxed, docile, open, obedient"

She could feel the finger of her Mistress trace a soft circle around her left breast. And then there was the touch on her right cheek. It was incredible as the simple sensation drove her deeper and deeper into her trance. Her Mistress put her hand on her chin and turned Ha-Yoon's face and then planted a soft kiss on her lips.

Min-Ha felt the kiss to the core of her being. It was like being bathed in divine light. She felt a pure joy at the thought of obeying her Mistress.

Carey looked down at the naked woman in her bed. "God I hate you. That fucking promotion should have been mine you bitch. Say it, say you're a bitch and that promotion should have been mine."

Min-Ha felt the anger of her Mistress and she was right to be angry. "I'm a bitch Mistress. The promotion should have been yours" Min-Ha moaned. Speaking the words made them true. She felt such sadness at the idea of disappointing her Mistress.

"That's OK, you whore. You can keep the title. But all decisions must be OK'd by me first. And the raise? All that extra money is mine now. You will give it to me."

"Of course Mistress. I exist only to serve you."

"Damn straight," Carey said as she lifted herself off of her slave and laid back on the bed next to her. She spread her legs."

"Open your eyes slave. Look over at me. I have a new position for you to fill."

Min-Ha opened her eyes and looked over at Carey. It was obvious what the "new position" was and Min-Ha eagerly moved so that she was between her Mistress' open legs. She began to lick her pussy, burying herself into her Mistress' wet cunt.

"Awww, has someone been a good girl for me?" The words slowly penetrated the fog in Cassidy's brain like an alarm clock on a particularly grueling morning, carrying an awareness that wakefulness needed to happen even as the mind and body refused to accept the necessity of the demand. Cassidy sat there on Elle's sofa, her eyes glazed over with the endless swirls of the spiral, unable to tighten her slack jaw even though she could feel the front of her shirt practically soaking through with drool. The last twenty minutes were a blur to her, albeit a pleasant one, and she found that she couldn't really even remember where her blind date had been most of that time.

She came out of the haze a little--but only a little--when Elle took her by the chin and firmly but carefully turned her around; even then, it was a source of quite amazement to Cassidy just how closely her gaze moved to follow the spiral on the screen in front of her right up until it became impossible to do so. "Hope you don't mind, but I went and took a little shower," Elle giggled, gesturing to the towel around her waist. "I thought you might appreciate it if I was at my freshest when we got down to the important part of the evening." Cassidy hadn't really thought there was going to be an important part of this evening, and she'd actually been somewhat disappointed by the date when it began… but now her brain was so soft and mushy that she could barely even think for herself.

She did manage to put just the tiniest approximation of thought into their conversation, stammering 'I' and 'um' to at least try to make it clear that she wasn't entirely sure about the unexpected turn the evening had taken… but all it did was make Elle chuckle mirthlessly at her sluggish attempts to assert some kind of conviction. "Oh, sweetie," the blonde woman cooed, undoing her towel to let it fall away and expose her tan lines and the thatch of dark brown pubic hair that exposed the lie up top. "This isn't a debate, here. You're nice and slow and sleepy for me, and we both know that all you really want to do is eat my pussy and let your brain switch off for a while."

Elle matched word to action, putting her other hand behind Cassidy's head and pulling her forward face-first into her cunt, and Cassidy wasn't sure whether it was the suggestion working its way into her susceptible mind or the delicate scent of Elle's body that made her settle into a submissive groove of languid but diligent cunnilingus. It just felt so much easier to lick than to think, to taste the flavor of Elle's pussy and drift into a quiet reverie of surrender, and she discovered as she closed her eyes that she could still see the spiral in her mind and it looked more beautiful than ever when she was following its commands.

"There we go, sweetie, deeper and deeper now," Elle purred, and if there was a slightly hoarse edge to her coaxing voice now it only made Cassidy feel even more aroused by her descent into obedience. She sank back into trance without so much as a ripple, and the rest of the night became an even more pleasant blur as she allowed her body to hang over the back of the sofa so her tongue could continue its very important work for the woman standing behind the couch.

Rape is violence. Taking what I want simply because I'm bigger and stronger.

I want to hypnotize you.

I want to get your body by seducing your mind.

Turn your brain into mush. Make it so that the only thing you can do is listen to my words and obey.

Then I'll make you offer your body to me.

I'll make you beg me to take you in ways you previously thought was disgusting.

Put my cock so deep into your mouth you can't breath.

Not because I physically forced you.

But because you begged me to.

Your cunt dripping at the thought of me controlling you.

My words just relaxing your body and your mind until you can't resist me.

I could order you to betray your morals, your friends, yourself...and you would do so without a second thought.

No more cares, no more worries, no more stress. Just the pure joy of complete obedience.

"Alright sweetie, we're headed to the store today"

"ughhhh I really don't want to-"

"Change."

"that sounds.. fine"

"Change."

"I'm really excited to go to the store today?"

"Good girl!! It's a good chance to try out your new collar too!"

"but that's way too embarrassing,,,"

"Change."

"I.. i was hoping to save it for a special occasion!"

"Change."

"i-it's going to be so much fun showing off my collar today..!!"

Oh, gawd. She said she had mental powers. I thought she was speaking euphemistically. She wasn’t.

“Mmmmmm,” she said. “You’re delicious, you know that?”

“Th-thanks,” I said. “So you can uncuff me now, right…?”

She laughed. “Soon. After I’m done filling your mind. Taste my fingers, cutie.”

She slid two fingers into my mouth, slowly, sensuously. I found my lips wrapping around them tightly, automatically. Even though I tried to resist, it felt too natural. Instinctive.

“Good girl,” she purred. “You’re almost ready. You’re going to be the oral service girl tonight at my party. Taste my fingers, cutie.”

CW: Hypno, CNC, public play.

As the house lights went down, the murmur in the crowd persisted. The marketing hadn’t been entirely clear on what the show actually was. Words like “Mesmerism” and “See to Believe” led many to assume it would be a magical performance of some sort, even if the images on the online ads didn’t feature any of the standard signs of stage magic: no top hats, no doves, no wands. People speculated about what could be hiding behind the curtains. A water tank for a daring escape, perhaps? An ornate box to saw a lady in half? Something more modern, more avant-garde? They would take anything with little complaint: the show, after all, was free.

Excitement snaked through the crowd with electric vigor as the curtains opened and the spotlight came on. Some started analyzing the stage, as if they were writing a review for the show in their heads, rehearsing for when they would tell the story to their friends and coworkers. Okay, it was clearly going for minimalism: a black box performance, with only a chair as the focal point. A few of the more artistically-minded members of the audience tried out the term “Brechtian alienation device” in their heads, imagining how it would sound during a fancy dinner. Such pretentious musings ended as soon as the Woman walked on stage.

There was something otherworldly about her. Wide eyed, almost without blinking, she glided from the right side of the stage. There was a strange quality to her movements, almost as if she was being pulled by invisible strings, or carried by a warm breeze. Clad in a white nighty, the spotlight that followed her gave her an ethereal aura. There was an innocence to her, to the calm expression on her face. Without a word, she sat on the chair and waited. Seconds stretched uncomfortably as the audience was forced to deal with the absolute silence. Then the Man walked on stage.

Dressed in slacks, a t-shirt and a sports jacket, he seemed to exude the calm confidence that didn’t require the mask of arrogance. When he reached the center of the stage and spoke, it wasn’t in a theatrical tone; if anything, his tone was steady, warm, inviting. He spoke like someone that knew the truth of his every word, and felt no need to try to convince anyone else.

“Ladies and gentlemen”, he began, “thank you very much for joining me this evening. I truly hope this will be an enlightening occasion for everyone, apart from an entertaining one. There is a point to this show, and I feel it would be unkind of me not to state it outright.”

Men and women shifted in their seats. They most certainly hadn’t signed up for a lecture.

“We tend to believe we are, well, who we are. That our mind is solid, our actions of our own choosing. That there is a core there that cannot be changed, shifted, corrupted. That deep down we have this… shining golden orb inside us, our real self, sacred, indestructible. It is my intention to expose that delusion for what it is, and I hope you’ll engage with my demonstration with an open mind”, finished the man. Then he turned towards the woman, lay his hand on her forehead and uttered a single, forceful word.

“Awake.”   

The woman gasped, almost as if she had been torn from a nightmare, only to find herself in a worse one. Her eyes grew wide as she looked around, tried to understand what was happening. As soon as she noticed the audience, a pitiful whimper escaped her lips.

“Help… please… help me…”

The men and women sitting in the hall did nothing. Surely this was all a bit of drama, theatrics to enhance the show. The woman stood up, her face a mask of desperation.

“What’s wrong with you? Do something! Please! Before he… No, no, please no…”

The woman ran to the edge of the stage, only to find herself unable to step off. Her body shook, as if every bit of her soul was willing it to do something it simply would not let her do. She ran toward the left exit, and found herself paralyzed again. She was trapped. The man slowly, with measured tones, explained.

“A cage, ladies and gentlemen. Not a cage of the body, but the mind. Nothing is stopping her from leaving… except the work I’ve done inside her deepest subconscious. So I ask you, ladies and gentlemen, how can you tell you are truly free?”

The woman fell on her knees, shaking, the reality of her confinement hitting her like a sledgehammer. A murmur started to float over the crowd. Was any of this real? Should they do something? No, surely it was all a show. It had been advertised as such, put on in a theater, for Christ’s sake!

“No, no, no, please… please… anyone…” she cried, defeated. The man was on top of her in what seemed like a flash, pinning her to the ground. She squirmed and screamed and tried to get out from under him. The audience grew concerned. This felt… wrong. Evil, somehow. And yet they couldn’t help but notice that, as much as she struggled, the woman didn’t actually do anything that could hurt the man. She didn’t kick him or try to knee his groin. If anything, she seemed more like a tiny prey in the clutches of some predator. That had to be staged, they consoled themselves.

“Stop! Please! Help me! What are you doing?”, she screamed. 

“Stay still”, he commanded. The woman stopped struggling instantly. He stood up, and slowly, deliberately placed a foot on her chest. She screamed, not out of pain but out of impotence. “Tell everyone”, he ordered, “how you feel”.

She looked at the crowd and shouted everything that was boiling inside her chest. 

“I’m fucking terrified! I’m scared! I’m angry! I don’t understand! I feel so small… Why isn’t anyone helping me? Are you all monsters? I hate you! I hate… I hate my body, I hate that it won’t… that it simply obeys… I hate my weakness… I hate this! I hate everyone here! And I hate you most of all, you asshole!”, she finished, still looking at the audience. He had commanded her to speak to them, after all. People shifted in their seats. Maybe this was meant as a sort of social experiment, and indictment on the passivity of the masses… but there was something else, something terrible growing. They tried to push it down, to ignore it. Some men crossed their legs to hide their growing erections.

“Do you want what is happening? What we both know will happen?”, he asked.

“Want it? Want it!? You fucking monster! How could anyone want this? No, I don’t want it, you bastard! I don’t want you anywhere near me! I wish you dropped dead!”

“Ladies and gentleman, I’d say the subject has expressed herself quite clearly. Her desires are patent for all to see, her determination palpable. Surely that’s her core self talking, her words coming from the very depth of her spirit. Such things can not be changed, you must surely think. And yet…”

The man turned slowly, dramatically towards the woman, who remained laying perfectly still right in the middle of the stage. 

“How can you say you don’t want it when you are such a slut?”

The man put special emphasis on that final word, which sent a shiver through the audience. The woman started slowly squirming, her eyes closed as if she was trying to keep something out, like the word was a battering ram slamming against her skull.

“I mean, that is what you are, isn’t it? My complete slut.”

The woman’s hips bucked. Still, she fought with all her might.

“No… please… I beg you… don’t…”

The audience held its breath in a mixture of horror and anticipation.

“Don’t what? Call you my perfect, depraved little slut?”

The woman went on all fours, her face a mask of despair. She pounded on the stage with a silent scream, her entire body shaking, struggling against what, with every passing moment felt like an inevitability. The man lifted her head gently, looked into her eyes and placed a single finger right on her forehead.

“Slut”, he said, his voice calm, firm.

The transformation was unbelievable. The audience gasped as it seemed like a new woman, an entirely different woman was being born in front of their eyes. The woman’s body relaxed, her movements slow, deliberate, sensual. Something between a yawn and a moan escaped her lips as her eyes became full of something bright, something needy. Something almost hungry.

“Mmmm… well, good evening, Master”, she cooed, her voice a symphony of promises. “Oh, I see we have an audience today! Well, that should be… fun”, she added, smiling at the crowd. The audience, for its part, kept quiet, even as a few members tried to subtly touch themselves over their clothes.

The man ignored the woman for a moment, even as she slowly began fondling her breasts, her stiff nipples poking through the sheer fabric. Instead, he addressed the audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve heard her before. You listened to her passionate pleas. They were sincere, don’t you agree? And yet, now, let us ask our subject her sincere desires. Tell them, slut, what do you want?”

The woman turned to the audience, a dramatic, intentionally sensual gesture. She bit her lips and opened her legs, letting everyone see exactly how soaked she was, the stage lights reflecting on her pussy, drawing attention to it.

“I want…” she started, slowly bringing her hand between her legs. “I want… I want whatever Master says I want. I want to be his perfect, depraved, sexy fuckdoll. I want… I want his cock! I want to worship his perfect cock, to suck it, to feel it deep inside me… fuck… I want Master to remake me into whatever his cock wants! I’ll do anything… be anything for that cock… I’ll… I’ll become… fuck, it feels so good… I’ll become dumb or mean or a liar or… anything! I don’t matter… only Master’s cock matters… I am nothing, an empty vessel for him to fill with whatever he wants! I am tits and holes for his cock! My mind is soft and so malleable so he can make me his perfect toy!”

The audience was no longer silent. From here and there small, muffled moans began filling the air. What they were watching was wrong, of that they had no doubt. But morality grew more distant in their minds by the second, surpassed by something stronger, more primal. They weren’t even shocked when the man pulled out his cock. The woman turned towards it, her eyes fixed on it as if it was the only thing in existence. Her lips were wet, eager. And still, she didn’t move. She wouldn’t, unless commanded to.

The man spoke to the audience once more.

“Do you doubt her sincerity now? She wasn’t lying before. She isn’t faking now. What she is is an entirely changeable concept. As are we all. But let us explore further”, he said before turning again to the woman.

“Don’t you feel… desperate?” 

The woman froze in place, her eyes widening, as if overcome by a tidal wave of feeling. Her lips parted and, as she stared at the man’s cock, her tongue started licking the air, drooling over her nighty. There was a moment that stretched in perfect silence before something inside that poor, manipulated mind broke completely. Her hips started bucking wildly, grinding against a cock that wasn’t there. Her hands went into a frenzy, seemingly unable to fully satisfy a myriad needs: they went from groping her breasts to spanking her ass to going into her mouth and taking the place of the cock she needed more than air and, still, was unable to reach without explicit permission. The audience could feel the vile thing that had been growing inside coming out. A few heads went down towards the lap of the person seated next to them; hands reached out in the dark; garments of all kinds came to rest on the theatre floor. And yet, when the man spoke, they all stopped to listen, to look at him, to look at her.

“Ladies, and gentlemen, a moment, if you would. Please, look at our subject. Do you doubt her need? Her desperation? Truly look at her. Would you respect her? Do you, in your heart of hearts, see her as a full human being right now?”, he said, before asking the woman, simply: “What are you?”

The woman struggled to speak. Finally, with a massive effort, she managed to string together something resembling speech.

“C-cock… Cum… Slave! Cockslave! Fuck… Holes. Holes! Fill holes… Cock… Mouth, pussy, ass… Cum… Cum, tits, throat, cunt. Cunt! Fucking cunt! Fucking holes! Use… Use holes. Use, abuse… Cunt. Fuck cunt, hurt cunt, make cunt drool! Tits, holes, nothing more! Slave… Slave… Wet and horny fucking cumslave!”

“I could not have put it better myself. Now… you are released.”

The word hit the entire room like thunder. They were released, as the woman was released. Released from shame. Released from morality. Released from fear. The woman crawled as quickly as she could towards that cock, that perfect cock that was the center of her existence, the sole focus of her life. She used her tongue, her lips, her throat, desperate to please it, desperate to give it pleasure. His pleasure was her pleasure. The audience followed suit. No one cared if the person they fondled, kissed, sucked was a stranger, or a friend, or if they had come with a partner. Such ideas were ridiculous. They were bodies, made for pleasure, made to experience sensation in all its forms. Soon women were riding people they had never met, kissing each other, exploring the tactile wonders of skin on skin. Men didn’t stop to consider if the woman they were bending over to use was a cherished friend, someone’s wife, a complete unknown. There was a purity and a connection in the theatre, as if all their bodies were in fact pieces in one larger organ, entirely focused on the maddening extremes of pleasure.

When the man went on his back and the woman crawled on top of him in a frenzy, few in the audience noticed. She rode his cock savagely, her mind unraveling as she felt the one thing that mattered, the thing that made her whole enter her over and over again, sending shivers up her spine, turning her lips, her nipples, her every cell into an electric fountain of sensation. Her face was the very picture of complete debauchery, of mindless, absolute ecstasy, stronger than any drug, more true than any religion. Her eyes sparkled with the joy of not having to be a person, merely a being that experienced her own pleasure and the pleasure of her master as her own. She screamed and drooled and moved with infinite stamina and vigor, almost trying to coax him cum deep into her womb… but remaining always on the very edge of orgasm, unable to reach that final, explosive release.

The man felt it coming. It was inevitable. The woman was just too good, too perfectly gone, too desperate to please him. He managed to hold back for a moment, just enough to issue one final command.

“Cum.”

He didn’t intend it for the audience, but the effect was undeniable. The theatre became a symphony of moans and screams, conducted by the woman who, with her eyes rolling back, came over, and over, and over again, until she collapsed, unconscious.

***

Backstage, Sarah opened her eyes. She couldn’t remember a thing, but her body, the way she felt, as if floating on a cloud, told her something had happened. Her muscles were, she had to admit, a bit sore.

“Did it work?”, she asked her husband.

“Like a charm, babygirl”, he replied, caressing her hair.

“Really? Every bit?”

“Every single one. Exactly as we mapped it out.”

Sarah managed to sit up, a bit surprised.

“Even the, you know, me hating it and not wanting you at all?”

“Yes, even that. I have to say, I was a bit shocked myself at how well that one worked. You truly, honestly hated me for a while there!”

“See? I told you you could do it! I knew you could! You’ve been improving so, so much lately as a hypnotist, that… Well, you managed to create a… me, I suppose, that hates you! You have any idea how amazing that is?”

“I can’t say I particularly like the idea of you hating me!”

“Oh, you know what I mean! I’d say I’d never hate you, but clearly you can even make that happen! And did we do the… you know, the desperate thing?”

“Oh yes we did. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to not just nut right then and there looking at you so completely lost in the need to worship my cock? I should get a fucking medal for that, love!”

“I’ll make sure you get a… proper reward, daddy. And the audience? At what point did they leave?”

“They… didn’t.”

“What?”

“They didn’t leave, honey. I know we were sort of expecting them to bolt around halfway through at best, but… you know what? I’m not going to tell you what happened.”

“Mean!”

“I’d much rather see your reaction when you see the footage. Excellent job placing the cameras, love. We have so many angles to… enjoy.”

“So… dinner and a movie, then!”, she smiled.

“Dinner and a movie it is, babygirl.”

“I love you so much, daddy”

“And I love you, babygirl. Shall we head home?”

“Yes! And… is it too soon to start planning a new show?”, she said with a devilish glint in her eye. 

The hall reverberated with the enthusiasm of its guests. Lily squirmed in her seat backstage, biting her lower lip unconsciously.

“For those of you joining us for the first time this year, welcome welcome,” the announcer continued, “and for our returning guests, glad you couldn’t stay away. Allow me to go over the how our little auction will work for those here for the first time and those who believe it’s their first time here.

“Tonight we have a lovely assortment of volunteers up for auction. All of them have been given fun little personas to live according to for the weekend. You know, the bimbo, the himbo, the wallflower, and so on. Various flavors of obedient playthings I know everyone in this room is dying to get their hands on. The only thing missing in their programming is the face of the one they’ll be spellbound to for the weekend.

“That’s where you, my lovely bidders, will play a part. You’ll all be part of a friendly competition to bid for the obedience of our volunteers. The winner will be brought backstage and handed the mental reigns of their prize. We politely request our more, let’s say loaded guests, control themselves and only bid on one volunteer. But who are we to complain? All money raised here tonight will be going towards a good cause. So if you simply must bid twice, go all in to make up for it.”

The hall was filled with laughter. Lily swore she heard someone yell ‘don’t hoard again Melodie’ which continued the laughter. Lily felt a part of her brain tickle in recognition to the name Melodie, but it faded.

You are not Lily this weekend. You don't know Melodie.

“One final thing. All of our volunteers have provided the organizers with their hard limits. We will also give these to the lucky auction winner. We insist the winner abide by the listed rules. Failure to respect our volunteers will earn you a permanent ban from our little group. No exceptions.

“But let’s not dwell on rule breakers. As we so often tell our subs, don’t think too hard about it. Let’s instead move on to our first volunteer for auction.”

Lily heard someone rise from a chair to her left. She didn’t know who it was. Part of the gimmick of this auction was ‘the first person they see’ is their owner for the weekend, so all the volunteers were presently blindfolded. Meaning Lily could only squirm in anticipation for her turn to be brought to the auction floor.

“Our first volunteer,” the announcer continued, “is the muscular Jerome. A whopping beast of a man standing at six-foot five with the muscles to princess carry anyone. Hell, he could probably carry our entire staff at once if he wanted. Jerome has been programmed to believe he is your dutiful bodyguard. All the loyalty and yearning of someone who has lusted for their owner for years, but used what little self control they have to look without touching. We leave it to our lucky winner to decide what to do with such a desperate man. Tease him, taunt him, indulge him, it’s up to you. Let’s start the bidding at two thousand.”

Lily heard the bids climb and climb for Jerome. Maybe it was because he was the first of the night, maybe it was this amazing build the announcer was talking up, or maybe it was a particularly interesting role-play scenario for the crowd. In any case, Jerome’s mind went for the price of over fifteen thousand dollars.

“A simply beautiful start to the night. The staff will take the two of you backstage for imprinting. I do hope you have fun with him~ Let’s keep the bids going. Please bring out our next volunteer if you would.”

Four more volunteers were auctioned off. The bidding enthusiasm didn’t wane for any of the options. Lily sighed as she heard some of the fantasies being sold tonight. An advanced sexbot, a doting spouse, a (nearly) mindless puppy, and a roommate with a raunchy set of triggers left in from a stage hypnosis show.

A hand gently tapped Lily on the shoulder before gently guiding her out of her backstage seat.

“I’d like to take a moment to thank everyone here tonight. We’re only a third of the way through our volunteers and we’ve already met our donation goal. Everyone, give a big hand to our wealthiest members.”

Cheers and applause resonated the hall.

“Moving on to our next volunteer, we have Wendy,” the announcer said.

I am Wendy. I have never used another name. I am Wendy.

Wendy felt the hand guide her onto the stage. As she walked she felt a faint light headedness; an intimately familiar post-hypnotic sensation that was her only indication something in her mind had just shifted.

“Wendy is a petite little thing at four-foot eleven,” the announcer continued. “Wendy’s got another persona to play around with. She’ll be a group member for your college project, and you’re free to tell her whatever you want the project to be. A study about toads? Done. A presentation on 18th century trade? She’ll believe it. A hands on practical for sex? Sure, sounds reasonable. Get creative and have fun with it.”

I have a group project I need to do.

“Our dear Wendy’s new persona is the unflinching skeptic who fundamentally does not believe in hypnosis or mind control. No matter the evidence you give her this weekend she will brattily deny it.”

Oh my gods. Hypnosis? Really? They think that’s real? I’m wasting time here. But I’ll stay until I find my project partner.

“Unbeknownst to her, she has absolutely no hypnotic resistance. A single swing of a pocket watch? Under. A momentary glance at a spiral? Dropped deep. No matter how you drop her, or how many times you drop her, or whatever suggestions you give her, she won’t believe you. Let’s start the bidding at two thousand again.”

“Ten thousand,” a voice immediately clamored.

Wendy let out a soft chirp.

“Someone likes what we’re selling,” the announcer said. “I hear ten thousand.”

“Eleven”

“Twelve”

“Fourteen”

The parts of her mind that still responded to Lily’s kinks were being pushed by the rising bids for her free will. She wanted to moan, to touch, to see the lascivious looks on the face of the bidders. Wendy denied any of this was happening.

There’s no such thing as hypnosis. Whoever they think has been ‘reprogrammed’ is just going to play along. It's fantasy. A charade put on by people who like to feel powerless.

Wendy sighed in disappointment as her thighs rubbed together.

“Twenty-two. Twenty-two. Going once, going twice, sold,” the announcer finalized her sale. “If you’d kindly meet the staff backstage, you’re ‘group member’ will be waiting for you.”

Finally. I hope my group member finds all this as much BS as I do.

Wendy felt a hand guide her off the stage. The dots connecting her being on stage to the auction she just heard being forcibly shut down by the programming that had overtaken her mind.

When the blindfold came off she was momentarily blinded by the flood of light backstage. She rubbed her eyes before she could focus on the only other person in the room with her. A slightly taller man wearing a nicely fitted suit.

Who…?

Wendy thought for a moment before a soft feeling flowed into her head. Her thoughts became impossible to hold onto. She couldn’t focus on anything as her train of thought sputtered at the station.

“Wendy,” he said, “It’s me. Matthew.”

Partner… Matthew… Project…

“Matthew! There you are!” Wendy finally said. “What the hell are you doing at this… hypnosis scam?”

“Should I be doing something else?” Matthew asked.

“Hmm, oh, I don’t know. Maybe the group project? The one due in two weeks? Maybe that?”

“The one about the history of cosplay in America?”

Cosplay… project… our project is about cosplay…

“No, the one about former president Lincoln. Yes! The one about cosplay!”

“It’s almost the weekend, can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“That’s what you’ve been saying all semester. I’m not going to let you tank my grade over this so you can go to a show about some… hog wash hypno crap.”

“Oh, I was right to pick you,” Matthew seemed to mutter to himself.

“Excuse you?”

“I’ll enjoy playing with you,” he continued, ignoring her as he held up a pocket watch.

Seriously? A pocket watch?

“What do you… you… …” Wendy felt the words die in her throat.

It’s… swinging… why…

Everything felt so far away. She was faintly aware things were being said. She was agreeing, and walking, and… smiling on command? She might’ve gone back to the auction hall with her partner for a bit, or maybe for the rest of the auction? She wasn’t able to focus well enough to know. It all felt too far away. Like a dream she was continuously waking up from. Nothing stuck. Nothing mattered. She just agreed. Obeyed. Followed.

Wendy felt her senses start to return some unmeasurable time later. The objects around her started to feel more defined and real again. She was sitting in the passenger seat of a car. She was disoriented as she wiped some drool away with her sleeve. She was already forgetting the dreamlike state she’d been in until just a moment prior.

Hypnosis isn’t real

She felt very aware of that fact for a moment, and then it faded back into her mind. She looked around and realized she didn’t recognize the car she was in. A moment of shock took over as she fervently looked at the driver. She felt only faint relief to recognize the driver as her group partner.

When did I get here? Where are we going? What time is it?

Rather than leave those questions unanswered, she began, “Hey.”

“Welcome back,” Matthew responded.

“Back? Did I go somewhere?” Wendy asked.

“Well, you seemed to have taken a bit of a mental vacation there for a while.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Did you drug me?”

“No, I just took out my old pocket watch and you got all distracted by it. I swung it a couple times and you just couldn’t take your eyes off it.”

Pocket watch?

Wendy began to think back. She’d found Matthew backstage. Gave him a quick talking to. She remembered the watch but everything between that and now was missing.

“It was a nice watch,” Wendy stalled.

“You got a beautiful glassy eyed expression when I swung it. I started talking about the project and you just nodded along with everything I said. Remember?”

No? I don’t remember anything like that happening.

“I just got tired of listening to you making up excuses about not doing the project,” Wendy tried to convince herself. “I must’ve zoned out and just given you the ‘damn, wow, that’s crazy’ loop until you were done.”

“Well, in that case should I repeat the plan you agreed to?”

What the hell did I agree to?

“Sure, but I’ll pay attention this time. I might veto anything stupid.”

“First, you’ll be staying the weekend at my place,” Matthew began explaining.

The hell I will!

Matthew continued with, “Isn’t that right?”

Something lurched in Wendy’s brain and she felt her mouth say, “Yeah, that’s right.”

After a short pause she repeated “Yeah, that’s right.”

She then affirmed more loudly, “Yeah, that’s right!”

What am I saying?!

The word leaving her mouth disagreed with her. She barely knew Matthew and she was agreeing to stay with him for a weekend. That made no sense. It’s not something she’d do, and yet here she was unable to do anything but agree.

“You just said ‘yes’ three times, you okay?” Matthew asked.

“I’m fine,” Wendy lied, finding control over her mouth. “So, explain to me the brilliant plan for this weekend? Why am I staying the whole time?”

“To keep me on topic,” Matthew continued. “You agreed having you there to keep me focused on the project would be good. If I get stuck on anything you could help get me going again.”

That makes some sense. I still don’t think it’s something I’d agree to. It’s not my job to babysit a grown ass man with his homework.

“It’s coming back to me,” she continued to lie. “Anything else?”

“Nope, and how convenient. We’re here.”

Wendy noticed they’d parked outside a very nice hotel. A valet greeted Matthew and took the car keys. Matthew led Wendy into the lobby and then over to the elevators.

“You live in a hotel?” Wendy asked almost immediately.

“Not quite, just visiting for the weekend.”

She was about to ask a follow up question but was cut off when Matthew suddenly held his phone up to her face. She was aware a black and white spiral was slowly spinning on the screen before everything around her seemed to melt away. That sensation of being in a dream clouded her mind again.

Then she was standing in the center of a living room in a penthouse suite. Outside the window was a sparkling nightlife city skyline. She looked around trying to locate her partner.

I’m not worried about how I got here. I don’t need to think about it.

“We’re not gonna get started tonight,” Matthew said.

“No, it’s after midnight after all,” Wendy agreed.

He tossed something at her with a command, “Here. Put these on.”

Wendy caught them and furrowed her brow. A little silk camisole and a very short pair of shorts to match. Wendy couldn’t deny they were cute but it was not the kind of thing she preferred to sleep in. Definitely more revealing than anything she’d wear in the company of someone as unfamiliar as Matthew.

“Are there any other pajamas?” Wendy asked.

“Just mine, and I plan to wear them to bed,” Matthew returned.

With a roll of her eyes Wendy moved closer to the sofa in the living room so she could drape the PJs somewhere for a moment. Then she began to undress. She pulled her top off over her head and then shimmied out of her jeans. Only once stripped down to her underwear did she notice Matthew staring at her.

Why am I doing this here? This is normal. Changing in front of him is normal. Really? I guess it must be normal. It’s normal to change in front of him.

She picked up the skimp of fabric passing for PJ pants when he chimed in, “You gotta take your underwear off too.”

“Excuse you?” She responded.

Her hands had already put the PJ pants down.

“I am not stripping down to… my…” Wendy began to argue before noticing her own behavior.

She’d pulled her panties down and kicked them aside. As her mind raced to catch up to her own actions, her independent hands had begun to take her bra off. Confusion turned into heat as she became flustered.

“I - I- I- I- “ she stammered.

What am I doing? How did he make me do that? Hypnosis isn’t real. He must’ve done something to me. I’m not hypnotized. How couldhe get me to do that? Hypnosis isn’t real. There’s no way he MADE me do that. I’m not hypnotized. This is normal. He’s right. I need to be naked. That’s normal. This is all normal.

“I just forgot for a second!” She finally blurted out. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired. I forgot to take my panties off before changing. It happens!”

“Alright, alright,” Matthew conceded, hands raised in mock surrender. “It has been a long day.”

“Thank you,” she said, trying again to put the PJ bottoms on.

She looked half expectantly at Matthew as if expecting him to reveal some other rule about getting dressed she’d forgotten. His eyes were unapologetically tracing the curves of her body, drinking in every inch of exposed skin. Wendy’s near nakedness flustered her in ways she couldn’t consciously understand.

Normal. Normal to change in front of him. So why am I so flustered? This is normal. But I’m so exposed! Normal to change in front of him. Just him? Normal to change in front of him. I just haven’t changed in  front of him before. I must be flustered since it's my first time doing this. It’s normal. There’s no reason to be flustered. This is normal. Just calm down. This is all normal.

Wendy let out a long release of air. She let her eyes close for a moment. Something about closing her eyes relaxed her and it helped her organize the thoughts racing around her head. She then opened her eyes and grabbed the camisole and pulled it on.

“So, who’s taking the bed?” Wendy asked.

“Both of us.”

“Excuse you?”

“Where else would we sleep?”

Wendy looked at the sofa she was standing right next to.

People don’t sleep on the sofa. That’s not normal. You can’t suggest the sofa.

“Um,” Wendy stammered as her mind changed, “I… don’t know.”

“You must be really tired,” Matthew cooed. They continued in a lower tone, “You’re getting very sleepy. Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” the words came out automatically.

Wendy didn’t question her response this time. She was so tired . Her eyes listlessly looked to Matthew. His lips had twisted into a sinister smile.

“I’m very sleepy,” Wendy continued.

“Get in bed.”

The order sparked defiance in Wendy, but the part of her that flared to life was too far down. The spark died as suddenly as it had appeared, and Wendy moved to the bed. She slipped under the covers and felt Matthew follow behind her. He grabbed her and pulled her in close.

His velvety voice whispered directly into her ear, “You’re going to be a wonderful plaything this weekend. Isn’t that right?”

"So I, uh, I dunno what you have planned for this evening," Meredith murmured, giving Ben a sleepy-eyed smile before settling back onto the cushions of his wide, comfortable couch, "but I was thinking maybe we should just, um, y'know, stay in. I'm feeling a little too tired for dinner and a movie, y'know?" She wasn't so much surprised by the words as by the impulse behind them; Meredith remembered taking the stairs by twos to Ben's walk-up apartment, eager to meet the man all her friends insisted would make a perfect match, but now here she was slumped over on the sofa listening to the records on his vintage hi-fi and all she wanted to do was close her eyes and sleep.

She managed to resist the urge, but only slightly; her eyes were so heavy-lidded she could barely see Ben sitting down on the couch next to her, and her voice sounded slurred and sleepy when she muttered, "Besides, it's really, um, cozy in here and… and stuff." She let out a little giggle, embarrassed by her own inability to hold onto a train of thought, and even though Ben looked anything but dissatisfied at having his plans for the night ruined Meredith still felt like she needed to reassure him. "I, um, I'm not drunk or anything. I just, I… sleepy. Had a long day, I guess." She'd fully slumped into a supine position, now, one that gave Ben a pretty good look up her skirt as it rode up her pale, pillowy thighs, but she couldn't really bring herself to care.

Her eyes closed in a long, lazy blink, leaving her alone with just the soft music in her ears for a little while, and when she opened them again Meredith was vaguely surprised to notice her fingers undoing the buttons on her blouse one by one. "Sorry, I guess I just, uhh, I wanted to get… comfortable?" Something in the back of Meredith's brain turned the glib rationalization into a question, as she struggled to figure out why she felt so comfortable already and why it seemed like such a natural decision to strip out of her clothing to increase her comfort levels. But the harder she tried to think, the harder thinking became, and Meredith let out a grunt of arousal when she realized that giving up felt so incredibly good it made her pussy leak.

Ben must have understood what was happening to her, because he helped her wriggle her way out of her skirt and panties without even a word. In fact, he hadn't spoken this entire time, just favored her with nods and caresses and warm, encouraging smiles that made it even easier to relax into pleasure and follow her impulses wherever they led. "This kind of date's more my speed," she mumbled, drowsiness swallowing the end of each word, as she spread her legs and began to rub her pussy. She knew she was giving her blind date a full show, something far lewder and ruder and more demonstratively lascivious than she ever intended, but somehow it felt right with the music setting the mood.

By the time she had her first climax, Meredith's eyes were stuck tight shut, and by the time Ben's fingers joined hers she wasn't really thinking at all anymore. She managed to stammer out a sleepy, "please," when he took over the job of rubbing her pussy, but that was about it for words for the evening. Although Meredith still made plenty of noise by the time Ben was done with her.

"You don't know who's watching, do you?" Amanda asked, even as her fingers tangled into Bethany's mousy brown hair and pushed the blindfolded woman's face into Amanda's soaking cunt. "You can hear the footsteps, you can hear the sound of breathing, maybe you even hear those tiny little nervous giggles because they don't know how to react to watching a brainwashed, submissive rug-muncher eat pussy like it's her last meal. But you can't tell who knows the truth about you now, and be honest, babe. Isn't that making your messy little cunny so, so fucking wet right now?" She pulled Bethany's head away, making it clear that the question wasn't rhetorical.

Bethany's voice was high and soft and meek like a contrite schoolgirl's when she answered. "Yes, ma'am. It's, it's making my messy cunny so fucking wet." She sounded hypnotized, even though Amanda hadn't even bothered with an induction this time--just putting on the blindfold and taking a deep breath of Amanda's pussy scent was enough to drop the submissive young woman after so many months of conditioning, leaving Bethany little more than putty in her co-worker's hands. It was no wonder that she hadn't issued even a token protest when she heard someone walk in on them; she was so dazed with arousal that her fantasies and her desires blurred together, and whatever limits she thought she had proved to be little more than curtains of paper streamers when Amanda actually pushed them.

Which only made Amanda want to push them further. "I don't think it's enough to just tell them, sweetie," she growled seductively, her voice thick with anticipation and lust. "I think you need to show them, don't you?" As she was saying it, Amanda wondered if this was going to be one threshold too far even for a simpering slut like Bethany who craved degradation every bit as much as she craved hypnosis and submission; it was one thing to be caught indulging in her lesbian lusts, and quite another to be exposed to people she didn't even know. But the second the command was uttered, Bethany hiked up her skirt and pulled down her panties to crouch there, face-first in her owner's cunt, squatting in front of the diner counter with her ass out and her pussy dripping down her thighs.

"They're going to check now," Amanda intoned, giving a small nod to Kristin who hesitantly stepped over and gave Bethany's cunt a tentative poke. "They're going to inspect your cunny for me, and you don't even know who they are but their fingers are going to smell like you all night long and wouldn't it be hot if I just made you go around sniffing my friends' hands so you can find out which one of them fucked you in the diner after closing time? Because you can't take off that blindfold, silly. It's loose, it's barely even tied in the back, but you can't remove it because that would be disobedience and weak little sluts like you can't disobey."

She pulled Bethany's head away, and there was a keening whimper of arousal in the young woman's voice as she responded, "Yes, Mistress. Weak little s-sluts like me can't… can't disobey." Her breathy pauses no doubt had a lot to do with Kristin's fingers, which were now sliding in and out in a seductive rhythm as Amanda's friend began to discover her confidence, and Amanda felt her own clit swelling in a massive throb of lust as she realized this was going to be the kind of moment Bethany relived in her head every time she masturbated from now on. It was the culmination of all her dirty fantasies… and with the diner closed for the night, the kinky things they were doing now were only the beginning.

The Stacks

Sylvia adjusted her ID badge, the plastic edges digging into her palm as she descended the concrete steps. The Bureau of Historical Documentation wasn't exactly a prestigious posting; more like a bureaucratic purgatory where careers went to stagnate. Her task today: organize the sub-basement archives, a project that had been delayed for decades.

The air grew cooler as she descended, thick with the scent of aging paper and dust motes dancing in the single bare bulb's glow. The basement stretched before her, an endless labyrinth of metal shelves that seemed to absorb the weak light.

"Row 1, row 2, row 3..." Sylvia murmured, her fingers trailing along the cold metal as she counted. Each aisle was identical, creating a disorienting repetition that made her head swim slightly. The sheer volume of information pressed in on her: decades of bureaucratic minutiae, forgotten reports, and obsolete regulations that no one would ever read again.

"Row 47, row 48, row 49..." Her voice echoed faintly in the cavernous space. A wave of dizziness washed over her, the numbers blurring in her mind. She paused, leaning against a shelf as the room seemed to tilt around her. When had the shelves changes from metal to wood? The weight of all this forgotten knowledge felt physical, pressed down on her shoulders, making her feel heavy and slow.

"Row 50, row 51, row 52..." Shaking her head, Sylvia continued, her determination warring with the growing sense of disorientation. She was supposed to find the 1978 municipal zoning records. Something about a property dispute that had resurfaced after forty years. But surely she'd walked to far? What row was this? What row was she looking for?

At last, she located the correct section. The recording system was even more dizzying than the rows themselves. "File 50, 49, 48..." she began, pulling down heavy leather-bound volumes. The numbers swam before her eyes, merging into an endless stream of digits that seemed to flow directly into her brain.

"40, 39, 38..." Sylvia's fingers moved mechanically, her thoughts becoming increasingly disconnected. What was she looking for again? Something about... zoning? Or had it been tax codes? The numbers continued their relentless countdown, each digit chipping away at her sense of purpose.

"30, 29, 28..." Her breathing grew shallow, the rhythmic counting creating a hypnotic effect. The files became indistinct blurs, their contents meaningless compared to the overwhelming rhythm of the numbers. She was losing sight of Sylvia from the Bureau of Historical Documentation. She was just a counter, a processor of digits.

"20, 19, 18..." Her fingers fumbled with a file, sending it tumbling to the floor. As she bent to retrieve it, the world spun violently. A few buttons popped open on her top, but she didn't notice or care. They weren't numbers, and the numbers were all that mattered.

When she straightened up, she couldn't remember which number she'd been on. Or which row. Or why she was here at all. Best to start from the top, just to be sure.

"50, 49, 48..." She said allowed as she returned the start of the row. Her top snagged a hook that was screwed into one of the shelves, pulling her top open completely. She kept counting without a second thought.

"39, 29, 28..." Her mouth counted. Her fingers tapped each volume as she passed them. Her eyes glazed over as she pulled herself deeper and deeper into self-induced trance.

"10, 9, 8..." The numbers continued their countdown in her head, now disconnected from any external reference point. Her mind went blank, a clean slate wiped clean by the relentless progression of digits that had once meant something but now were just... sounds. Rhythmic, meaningless sounds.

"3, 2, 1... zero."

Sylvia stood motionless, her eyes glazed and unfocused. The badge on her chest might have said "Sylvia," but the woman wearing it no longer recognized the name. Her fingers moved without direction, pulling files from shelves with no purpose or understanding.

"Sylvia? What the hell are you doing down here? Why is your top all open?"

The voice cut through her trance, but didn't fully penetrate it. Hank stood at the end of the aisle, his expression shifting from annoyance to shock as he took in her exposed form.

"Are you...?" he started, then stopped as he met her vacant eyes. Something shifted in his expression; concern replaced by something else. "Are you still looking for the 1978 zoning records?"

"Yes," she almost whispered, head tilting toward him in a lazy gravitational way. Her body responding to a voice of seeming authority here in this labyrinth of rules and regulations.

"Let me help you," Hank said, closing the distance between them. He touched her shoulder tentatively, then slid her open top off, letting it fall to the floor. When she gave no reaction, he became more bold. His hands roamed her body, exploring without invitation. "You've been working so hard down here. You deserve a break."

Sylvia offered no resistance as he slid off her skirt and panties. She made no protest as he pressed her against the shelves. Her mind was too empty to process anything, too pliable to refuse. His hands gripped her hips, positioning her as he entered her with a grunt of satisfaction. The rhythmic motion replaced the countdown in her mind, a new kind of number system she could understand through sensation alone. Counting each thrust. Letting each grunt and groan pull her deeper.

6, 7, 10, 30, 42...

When he finished, Hank tucked himself back into his trousers with a satisfied smile. He held up a small volume and pressed it into her hands.

"It was File 14 in this row, Sylvia, you air-head," he said with a cruel smile.

"Thank you," she said flatly as she took the file. She turned to walk... somewhere. Her task was complete now, she needed to return. But to where exactly?

Hanks voice became firm as he put her clothes back on and made her look presentable. He told her that she wouldn't remember anything from her time down here. He told her that she came down and got the file. He gave her suggestion after suggestion to cover his tracks. Then told her to go back upstairs.

"Upstairs." Of course.

Sylvia nodded, her fingers tightening around the book. The numbers began to fade from her mind entirely, replaced by the final 14 she'd been seeking. She blinked and stretched, file in hand. All alone the stacks were certainly intimidating. She wondered how often she'd be sent down here. She didn't care for it.

She climbed the stairs, file in hand, with no memory of how she'd gotten it. No care for the strange fullness she felt between her legs, or the stranger emptiness she felt behind her eyes. When she got back to her desk, Hank gave her a smile which she returned.

And at the end of the day, he stood with her to leave.

"What do we keep in File 14?" he asked, placing his hand on her shoulder.

Sylvia's felt her mind close like an old book, taking everything about her and sealing it away, leaving only her mindless body behind.

"I am ready to be Recorded," her voice replied, and she allowed him to lead her out and into his car, where he filled her mind with all kinds of new information, received, memorized, and recorded.