The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Rania stood very still, as she had been ordered, while Cicely applied gloss to Rania’s lips.

“There,” said Cecily. She stood back and observed her work, turning Rania so she could see her in the powder room mirror. “Rania, make your mouth into a little bit more of an O shape.” Rania obediently pursed her lips. “That’s really cute. Would you be able to keep that expression all the time? That would be perfect.” Rania’s face remained exactly as Cecily had arranged it. But a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh, don’t ruin your makeup,” said Cecily, dabbing the tear away. Rania had gotten a fairly thorough makeover from Cecily: tasteful, but bold. Her already dark eyes had been lined to make them look bigger. A touch of eyeshadow and mascara on her lashes pushed the exotic look to the limit, but not quite to the point of parody. “Your eyes look fine without any makeup at all, but this is very dramatic,” said Cecily.

Rania’s short hair had been neatened up a bit, and she was wearing gold earrings with dangling garnets. “Actually, this hairdo is nicer than your old one,” Cecily had said while wielding the scissors. “Your hair used to be all over the place. But, with those boobs of yours, the long hair is better, isn’t it. Oh, well. Maybe I’ll look around for a wig sometime.”

Cecily looked Rania over. “Beautiful. Now for the nips.” Sitting down, she pulled Rania over to her and began rouging her nipples with a small brush, trying to give the unruly areoles a bit of shape, and to add a little red to Rania’s purple-black coloration. Rania instantly started squirming under the brushstrokes, and melted toward Cicely. “No, dear, just stand still and enjoy yourself, and watch what I’m doing,” said Cicely, who was finding that the job needed two different colors of rouge. She felt Rania’s hot breath on her forehead, and hear the helpless girl moan softly as her stiff nipples quivered under the brush.

When she was finished, Cicely playfully pushed Rania’s nipples to and fro with the brush, giggling. Then she said, “I think I feel like messing up our work.” Giving into temptation, Cicely pulled Rania toward her and dove into her breasts. She did everything to Rania that she could think of: sucking, biting, licking her breasts from base to tip, taking as much of them into her mouth as she could, flicking the nipples with her tongue and nose, gathering the flesh around her head like pillows. Rania’s cries became louder, and Cicely’s breathing also became more labored.

Finally Cicely tore her mouth away and leaned her forehead against Rania’s breastbone. “Oh, my,” she said. Her pretty face and Rania’s breasts were both covered with rouge smears and saliva. “We’d better stop,” she said, then impulsively started nipping at the soft insides of Rania’s breasts. “We’d better stop,” she said again. She took a deep breath. “Okay, clean yourself off and do your nipples exactly the way I did. I’ll watch to see if you’re doing it right.” Flushed and on the edge of orgasm, the miserable Rania cleaned herself and rouged her nipples again while Cecily washed her own face.

“Good job, Rania,” said Cecily when the rouge had been applied. “Stand back and let me take a look.” The very naked Rania stepped to the middle of the powder room. Cecily’s vision was coming together. Rania looked a bit like a sex doll with her wild curves, emphatic makeup and red, O-shaped mouth; and yet she also had a soupcon of chic and sophistication.

What to do with the bush, thought Cecily. Shaving it seemed all wrong, somehow. Cecily opted for a gentle trim to the edges of Rania’s sex hair, leaving it thick but nicely defined. As for jewelry, Cecily thought that less would be more. She had bought two simple gold toe rings for Rania, which she placed asymmetrically: and two finger rings, both gold but of different styles.

That’s it, she thought. “Okay, Rania, this is your all-purpose outfit. I want to do yourself exactly this way each day.” Rania stood obediently, hands by her sides, mouth O-shaped. “Now let’s try on some clothes for specific occasions,” Cicely said.

Cicely had been busy on the phone and Internet, spending a small fortune on Rania’s ensembles and mobilizing an army of delivery boys. First she put Rania into a two-piece French maid outfit, with a little frilled hat and black stockings with elastic bands at her thighs. The short skirt skimmed Rania’s hairy sex; Cecile didn’t like the effect, and squeezed Rania into a very cute little pair of lacy white panties. The dangly earrings had to be replaced with faux-diamond studs, and a black choker was added.

“For this outfit, your short hair works very well,” said Cecily. “Still...it’s all a little boring, isn’t it?” Rania didn’t reply. Cecily pondered for a moment, then said, “Okay, off with the shirt and bra!”

They were off in seconds. There was something a bit terrifying about Rania as a bare-breasted French maid. Cecily giggled, and said, “I like it. Okay, this is what you’ll wear when you’re serving meals, and for light housework. You’ll remember all the details, right?” No reply. “Now this next dress is for messy housework.”

Rania stripped and put on a tiny, flimsy beige shift that barely covered her. It was not quite transparent, but every detail of her body indented it. No underwear, no shoes, no jewelry, no nothing.

“This is for scrubbing and mopping, and for heavy cleaning,” said Cecily.

Next came the more festive costumes. For a nightie, Cecily had found a sheer white babydoll with spaghetti straps and white maribou trim that made perfect circles around Rania at the neckline and hemline. Rania’s massive chest pushed the fabric well out in front of her, and it dropped straight down in gentle folds, partially obscuring her sex; in the back, the bottom of her ass cheeks peeked out. Her dark coloration ensured that the filmy garment concealed nothing.

“Hubba-hubba,” said Cicely. “Make up when you wear that, but you can skip the nipple rouge—that would be a little too obvious. Okay—I have just one more thing for you, which I couldn’t resist, though I don’t know when you’re going to wear it.”

First Cecily put Rania in an old-fashioned black corset that left her breasts and sex bare, and pulled on the laces until Rania’s slightly thick waist was greatly reduced.

“Have you ever worn a corset? From the first time I saw you, I thought that you’d look amazing in a corset,” Cecily said.

Cecily was onto something. Rania was a beautiful girl, but with her waist narrowed, her body became spectacular. Not only did she take on an hourglass shape, but the corset also pushed some surplus flesh to her upper body, so that her already-imposing breasts were thrust even further up and out by this new layer of cushioning. Her every small movement set in motion a complicated system of jiggles in her chest. Cecily put her ear between Rania’s breasts to make sure the corset didn’t impair her breathing. “Oh, you’re okay, right? We can probably even make it a little tighter next time.”

Cecily produced a pair of very high-heeled, strappy sandals. Rania did not complain as Cecily fastened the shoes to her feet, but Cecily thought they were too tight. “Your feet are a little too wide for these, aren’t they? Do they hurt? Oh, you can’t tell me anything. Okay, l’ll return them and get a new size.” In fact, the shoes had hurt quite a lot, and Rania was relieved to be barefoot again.

The corset and heels were accessories for a very tight strapless wine-colored evening dress. Cicely put the dress over Rania’s head and worked her into it inch by inch, like fitting a sausage into a casing. “I thought of this dress because you remind me of Marilyn Monroe with that sexy walk you do now,” said Cicely, who was perspiring a bit from the effort of squeezing the dress over Rania’s hips.

Finally Rania stood before Cicely in the dress, a symphony of curves. Her legs were so constricted that she could barely put one bare foot in front of the other. “We really need the heels for this dress,” mused Cecily. Built-in underwiring made Rania’s breasts look as if they were floating and about to escape the bodice. The situation didn’t look stable at all. “Hmmm...” said Cicely. “Try bending over, as if you were picking up a drink from the coffee table.” Rania bent forward, and fell heavily out of both cups of her dress, sending Cicely into gales of laughter. “Oh, Rania, I’ve never seen anything so outrageous!” she yelped. “I wish you could see what you looked like.” Rania had stood straight again and waited for Cecily’s laughter to subside, breasts completely out of her dress, mouth O-shaped. “Please, do it one more time,” said Cicely. “Put yourself back in the dress, then do it again.” Rania obeyed, once again tumbling free as if the dress weren’t there at all. “Wait! Stay in that position,” said Cicely, who thought the maneuver was just as funny the second time. Rania remained bent over, her hanging breasts pushed out most suggestively by the underwire cups. Still laughing, Cicely reached out with her foot and tapped Rania’s breasts. A little noise escaped Rania’s lips as Cicely’s toes rippled over her nipples.

When her laughter had subsided to a chuckle, Cicely stood up and tucked Rania back into her bodice. “For social occasions, you’ll need to be careful,” she said. “Can you just dip your knees and stay straight when you pick things up?” The dress was too tight for a normal knee bend, but Rania could manage a dip by swinging both knees to the side. “Okay, good,” said Cecily. She dabbed at Rania’s eyes with a tissue. “Why do you cry so much?” she said. “This mascara is going to run all the time. We’ll have to come up with something else.”

A little while later, Cecily led Rania into her spacious kitchen. Rania was wearing her topless French maid outfit.

“You’ll have to get up early with me, or maybe a little earlier, to make breakfast,” said Cecily. “But after I leave, you can go back to bed and sleep in for a while before you do the rest of your chores.”

Cecily told Rania what to make her for breakfast each morning, giving her a few variations and choices. “Now, here is a special request,” said Cecily with a wicked smile. “Use these big, wide glasses for orange juice. And before you serve me, I want you to stir the orange juice with your nipples. Each nipple, one at a time. Then, at the table, present yourself, so I can suck the juice off of you before I eat.” Cecily thought for a moment. “I guess that means no nipple rouge in the morning. You can apply it after you get up again.” With that resolved, Cecily said, “After you serve the food, you can sit down with me and eat. Make enough breakfast for yourself as well. Or, if you want something different from what I’m eating, feel free to make it. If you don’t know where to find anything in the kitchen, don’t worry—I’ll be here to help you.”

The next stop was the living room. Cecily handed Rania a feather duster that came with the maid outfit. “Every day, everything in the apartment should be dusted. Show me how you do it.” Rania instantly started dusting the items on the dresser next to her. “That’s good, Rania, but—could you do it a little prettier? Like, maybe, I don’t know, hold your other hand out like this? And maybe you can stick your ass out a little?”

Rania knew exactly what Cecily was getting at, and started dusting like a comic- opera French maid, arching her back and extending both arms like a ballerina. “Oooh—that’s perfect,” said Cecily. “It sends shivers up my spine. I know I won’t be here when you do your chores, but I want to think about you doing them just like this.” Cecily watched Rania’s heavy breasts sway as she flounced around with the duster. “How can you be so smart that you figured out exactly what I want, and yet you can’t even talk?” she asked. Rania just kept dusting the room prettily. “OK, that’s enough, Rania,” said Cecily. “Now go put on your messy cleaning clothes.”

In the bathroom, which was the size of most New York living rooms, Cecily had Rania draw a pail of water, and gave her a hand brush and a bar of soap. Hopping up on the washer, Cecily said, “The floors in the bathroom and kitchen should be scrubbed every day. And I’d like you to do it on your hands and knees—because I think you’ll look really hot that way.”

Rania’s shift barely covered her lower torso when she was standing, and as soon as she started scrubbing the floor, her ass and hairy sex were completely exposed. Cicely watched as if hypnotized. Then she said, “Splash the water around a little. Get wet.” The flimsy shift became transparent on contact with water, and clung to Rania’s twisting body. “When you push the brush—go all the way down,” said Cicely. Her breathing was becoming audible. “Until your tits hit the floor. Then—just—move them a little. Scrub the floor with them before you come back up.” Rania descended into the soapy lather on the floor, using her breasts as a mop. Her wet ass and legs were facing Cicely; her bare feet slipped in the soap as she tried to get traction. “Oh, God,” said Cicely. In a few seconds she had slipped the buttons on her jeans and started fingering herself. “Keep going,” she said. “Get yourself all wet.” Rania was covered in soapy water from her face to her toes; the dark wrinkles on the shift were the only way you could tell where she was clothed and where she was naked. Her sopping breasts made a squeaking sound when she pushed them over the slick floor, and a smacking sound when she pulled them away. “Oh, Jesus,” said Cicely. “Rania, I’m coming! I’m coming....” Cicely’s orgasmic grunts were drowned out by the noises of Rania’s splashing and scrubbing.

Rania was almost finished with the floor by the time Cicely recovered her senses. “Stop, Rania, you can stop,” she said. She buttoned her jeans and eased herself gingerly onto the wet floor. Rania stood before her, looking as if she’d emerged from a washing machine. “Don’t get me wet, Rania,” Cicely said, then carefully kissed her dripping slave on the cheek. “That’s exactly the way I want you to do it every day, " she said sweetly.

After Rania was cleaned up, Cicely gave her a few other daily chores. “These won’t take you all day, so after you’re done you can just relax, have a bite to eat—whatever you want,” she said. “Now, I’m usually home between 5:45 and 6:15 each day. So, by 5:30, I want you all made up, with the jewelry I gave you, and I want your little ass in my bed. And while you’re waiting, play with yourself a little bit, to get yourself hot. But don’t go all the way. And then we can unwind together after work.”

During the summer, Cicely was a paid intern at a big midtown publishing company. (She had taken the better part of the summer for travel, which caused no major problem with her employers: the New York publishing industry is familiar with the work habits of the very rich, and tries to be accommodating.) At work on Monday, Cicely was so stimulated by the idea of Rania working in her apartment that she got absolutely nothing done. She liked the idea that, even though no one was watching or would ever know, Rania was wiggling her ass as she dusted, or scrubbing the kitchen floor with her heavenly breasts.... She had promised secrecy to Carling, and meant it when she said it, but now she could not resist picking out a few like-minded coworkers, some of who knew Rania from school or society, and excitedly babbling the whole story.

Cicely was home from work at 6:05 in the afternoon and went straight to her bedroom. A split second before she turned the corner, the odor of sex hit her nostrils. Rania lay on her back in Cecily’s bed, naked and restless, her rouge-tipped breasts rolling softly from side to side. Cecily eagerly kicked off her shoes and jumped into the bed.

“You look completely, completely adorable,” Cecily said, holding Rania close to her. Rania thrust her mouth onto Cecily’s, but Cecily pushed Rania back onto the pillows, not wanting to rush her pleasure. One of her fingers found Rania’s upward-pointed right nipple, and traced circles around its soft base. Rania twitched, and her mouth fell open.

“What is it like to be you?” said Cecily dreamily, moving Rania’s breast around by the nipple. “I’m so fascinated. I wish I could be like you for exactly one day, just to see what it feels like.” Rania’s face looked swollen with sex; she couldn’t be far from the edge. Cecily leaned down and worried Rania’s left nipple with her tongue, still keeping the right nipple between thumb and forefinger. Rania let a low, growly sound escape her mouth. Cicely saw that Rania’s face was awash with tears.

“Oh, sweetheart, why are you crying?” said Cicely, kissing some of the tears away, and shaking Rania’s tongue out of her ear. Somehow the tears excited her, and she sank her left middle finger deep inside Rania, working the heel of her hand against Rania’s clitoris. “Things aren’t so bad,” said Cicely, starting to get aroused. “It’s better than being with that fuddy-duddy Charles, isn’t it?”

Rania had infinitely preferred being owned by Carling. She no longer held out any hope of recovering her free will: she assumed that she would always be a sex thing, always belong to someone. Under the circumstances, Carling was almost ideal, despite his occasional brutality: he generally left her alone, and he didn’t give a damn about the inside of her head. But to be at the mercy of Cecily Scott, who loved Rania’s debasement, who excited herself by reminding Rania every minute who she used to be.... A flood of tears blurred Rania’s vision, as Cecily made just the right pinching-squeezing-pushing move down below, and Rania felt herself start to dissolve. She was just a sex now, a slippery, spasming thing in the palm of Cecily’s hand—she was coming....

To liven up an endless Wednesday afternoon, Cicely had devised a game, and had drafted her prep school friend Joanna as an audience. At their afternoon break, Cecily and Joanna barricaded themselves in a conference room, put the phone in speaker mode, and called Cecily’s apartment. When the answering machine began taking a message, Cecily said, “Rania, are you there? Pick up.” After a few moments, Cicely and Joanna heard the phone taken off hook.

“Hello, Rania. I hope you’re having a good day,” Cecily said. There was no reply, of course. “How do you know she’s there?” said Joanna. “She’s there,” said Cecily. “Rania, if you’re wearing panties, get them off your little butt right now. Then, do you see that leather belt lying on the phone table? Put the phone down, cinch the belt around your waist, then pick the phone up again.” The girls heard a few rustling sounds, and then the sound of the phone being lifted from the table.

“Now, there’s a black dildo on the table. Pick it up, turn it on, hold it right up to the phone for five seconds, then turn it off and get back on the phone,” said Cecily. More rustling. “You have to tell her an exact amount of time,” Cecily told Joanna. “If you just say ‘a few seconds,’ she gets really agitated.” A loud buzzing sound issued from the speaker phone, then subsided.

“Rania, my good friend Joanna is here with me, and I want to show her what a sexual person you are,” said Cecily. “So, put the dildo in your puss, hold the phone down there, and just work the dildo around inside yourself for...ten seconds. Then put the phone to your ear again.”

The girls listened carefully. Sure enough, a loud squelching sound started coming from the speaker phone. Joanna howled with laughter, and Cecily giggled along.

Someone tried the door handle, then knocked. “What do you want?” yelled Cecily. “We have a meeting in this room,” said a male voice behind the door. “Okay, we’ll be right out,” yelled Cecily. “Go away! We’ll be out in five minutes.”

“Did they hear any of that?” asked Joanna.

“No,” said Cecily, not really caring. “Ranya, are you there? Okay, clench tight and hold the dildo in for a while. Now, see the butt plug on the table? Hold it up to the phone and turn it on for a second, just to make sure it’s running. Then get back on the phone.”

A quick buzzing sound followed, less frantic than the dildo’s.

“Okay, honey, now put the phone down, use your puss to lubricate the butt plug, put it in, and get back on the phone.”

“This is going to take a while,” said Joanna.

“No, it won’t,” said Cecily. “Why, does it take you a long time to put your butt plug in?”

“Never touch the stuff,” said Joanna.

The girls heard the phone being picked up from the table.

“We’re almost done, Ranya. See that little chain on the table?” asked Cecily. “Thread it through the slots on the dildo and plug, clip it to the rings on the front and back of the belt, then get back on the phone.”

“Is there a lock?” asked Joanna.

“No. I don’t need a lock with her. She won’t touch it unless I tell her,” said Cecily. “Are you there, Rania? Now turn the butt plug on, and put the dildo on high—no, on medium—then get back on the phone.” There was a longish pause before the phone was picked up again. “Rania, put the mouthpiece next to your asshole for five seconds, then next to your puss for five seconds, then get back on the phone.” The girls heard a muffled buzzing sound. “Mmmm,” said Cecily. “That’s so hot.” The dildo’s buzzing sound was more audible. “I can hear her saying something,” said Joanna. “She’s not saying anything—she’s just making love noises,” said Cecily. “She’s very passionate.”

The buzzing stopped. “Rania, we have to get back to work,” said Cecily. The girls distinctly heard Rania whimper into the mouthpiece. “You have fun with those toys. Don’t do any more chores today. I’ll be home in a few hours, and then I’ll get you out of that contraption. Now hang up.”

The phone clicked, and the line was dead.

Cicely’s evening ritual included a relaxing hot bath. Her tub was big enough for two, and so Rania was trained as her bath servant, and learned quickly how to clean all the nooks and crannies of her classmate’s body. Afterwards, Cecily would recline in the tub and supervise Rania’s own ablutions, delightedly pointing out spots Rania had missed, like the mother of a three-year-old.

After the bath, Cecily would put on a white nightgown, relax in bed, and let Rania minister to her. Tonight Rania crouched at the foot of the bed in her transparent babydoll, sucking Cecily’s toes. Cecily had an inordinate, rather secretive love of this form of attention, though she only permitted it immediately after her bath, when she was not self-conscious about possible foot odor. “Oh, Rania...that feels wonderful,” she sighed. She had never known as skilled a mouth as Rania’s, no matter what purpose it was put to. More than a little turned on, Cecily rolled her head back and forth involuntarily. To no one in particular, she said, “I wonder if this means I’m a lesbian?”

Cecily soon found a pair of dressy sandals that fit Rania and matched her evening dress. And it seemed a shame to have such a terrific ensemble and no place to wear it. So, a few days later, Rania found herself serving refreshments to a small gathering of her old college friends in Cecily’s living room.

No one in the room had been Rania’s true intimate. Cecily had invited her childhood and prep school pals, the students who were friendly to Rania (who wouldn’t be friendly to a beautiful, charming girl who was also royalty?) but somehow too enclosed in their class and upbringing to make a real social connection with an outsider.

All of them had heard about what had happened to Rania, but it was quite another thing to see the young princess, breasts barely enclosed by her outrageous dress, serving them silently. The ones who had the nerve to look at her face saw her plainly offering herself with her eyes, which were incongruously splashed with tears.

Cecily’s freshman roommate Emily broke the silence. “How does she stay in that dress?” she said. The room giggled in response. The ice was broken.

“She doesn’t, always,” said Cicely. In this brittle company, Cecily unconsciously acted less affectionate to Rania.

“And she does whatever you tell her to?” asked Jake, who was two years ahead of the others at Princeton, but dated their friend Justine, who was sitting next to him.

“Anything,” said Cecily. “Try it—give her an order. But be careful, because she’ll do it.”

“Rania, kiss my hand,” said Emily, extending her hand regally. With a careful dip to keep the top of her dress in place, Rania knelt low and kissed Emily’s hand, putting a little tongue into the kiss and looking longingly at Emily, who fidgeted as Rania remained at her feet.

“Stand up now, Rania,” said Cicely.

“Does she always act like such a slut?” asked Emily, with a hint of distaste.

“Yes,” said Cecily. “She was trained to please men. Or women.” Cecily smiled.

“Mostly women right now, it seems,” said Helen, who had taken a number of government classes with Rania. Cecily just laughed in response.

“What happened to her hair?” asked Justine.

“I don’t know,” said Cecily. “It’s a shame.”

“Does Paul Robbins know about her?” asked Annie, Cecily’s childhood friend. Paul had been very publicly in love with Rania at Princeton, and had gone out with her for a while. Rania had tried to discourage him, but in such a friendly way that he continued to have hope. When Rania didn’t turn up for school last year, Paul had turned the campus upside down trying to get contact information for Rania, without success.

While asking the question, Annie looked at Steve, a close friend of Paul’s who was sitting quietly at the end of the room.

“I certainly didn’t tell him,” said Cecily. “And no one else should either. This is supposed to be a secret.” Cecily too looked at Steve.

“Got it,” said Steve. “Doesn’t seem like much of a secret, though.”

“I’ve told only a few trusted people,” said Cecily. “Please don’t let this get around.”

“Got it,” said Steve.

“Cecily, could I get another glass of wine?” asked Justine.

“Ask Rania,” Cecily said with a smile.

Justine looked distressed, but turned to Rania, who was still standing in the middle of the living room, where she had been left. “Rania...” said Justine. She stopped and turned to Cecily. “Cecily, I can’t. We were friends.”

“I was her friend too,” said Cecily. “She doesn’t mind.”

Helen said, briskly, “Rania, get Justine another glass of what she was drinking.” Rania turned and undulated into the kitchen. Helen smiled at the room, pleased at the effect.

“Why is she crying, then?” Justine asked Cecily. Rania returned and dipped her knees sideways to deliver the drink without exposing herself.

“She’s always like that,” said Cecily. “It doesn’t mean she’s sad. She’s been trained to enjoy what she does.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that’s a blessing,” said Justine.

“Cicely, you know what’s on everyone’s mind, don’t you?” said Annie playfully.

“No, what?” said Cecily.

“We want to see what they look like,” said Annie. The room broke out in chuckles.

“Then tell her,” said Cecily, taking a carrot from the crudite dish.

Annie turned to Rania, eager and a little nervous. “Go ahead, Rania, show us,” she said.

Rania wriggled her upper body ever so slightly, and her breasts fell out of the cups of the dress like water over a dam.

There was a low whistle. “Oh, my God!” said Justine. “How did she do that?” said Jake. “Look at the size of those babies,” said Annie.

Emily’s brow was furrowed. “What’s wrong with you?” said Cecily to Emily. “I don’t know—they’re kind of ugly, aren’t they? They look like they belong on a cow.”

“She can hear you, you know,” said Cecily, irritably. Emily’s face kept its curdled expression.

“Tell her to shake them,” said Annie, who was getting excited. “Rania, put your hands over your head and shake them!”

This triggered one of Rania’s exotic dance moves. Hands on the top of her head, she made the tiniest little movements of her upper body, timing them to amplify each other, so that in a few seconds her breasts were flying into every corner of the room. The crowd went wild. “Jesus Christ!” said Jake. “Tell her to stop!” said Justine, alarmed.

“OK, Rania, that’s enough,” said Cecily. Rania’s chest kept moving for five seconds after she stopped.

“I want to touch them!” said Annie. “But I dare not!”

“Go ahead, Annie,” said Cecily.

“I’m scared,” said Annie.

Helen jumped in. “Rania, come here and sit on my lap,” she said sternly. Rania walked over to Helen, her breasts bobbling from the difficulty of walking in the dress, and sank into her lap, pushing her breasts near to Helen’s face. Helen grabbed a breast rather brusquely and started to squeeze it like a rubber ball, until she realized that Rania was administering little wet bites to her neck.

Sitting bolt upright, the startled Helen slapped Rania hard across the face and pushed her to her feet. “Don’t you ever do that again, do you hear me?” yelled Helen, her index finger in Rania’s face.

“Don’t hit her!” said Cecily sharply. “She can’t help it.”

“I don’t believe that,” said Helen angrily.

Cecily laughed at Helen. “I don’t care what you believe,” she said. “There’s no need to hit her. Just tell her what you want.”

To dispel the bad vibe, Cecily said, “Just watch me. Rania, come here and sit on my lap.” Rania obeyed. “Now sit still, Rania.” Cecily reached up and started playing with Rania’s nipples, swirling her fingers softly from one to the other. Rania moanly rather loudly, but did not move. You could have heard a pin drop in the room.

“There, you see?” said Cecily, continuing the gentle nipple massage. Rania moaned again, then suddenly dropped her head and began a series of small convulsions that rippled her soft skin. She was coming, after only a few seconds in Cecily’s hands.

“My, my,” said Cecily softly, surprised and pleased. Rania gradually stopped writhing. “She’s got to be faking it,” said Emily.

“No, she doesn’t fake it,” said Cecily. “But this is unusual, even for her.” A big smile lit up Cecily’s face. “She must really enjoy being here with all of you.”

Rania looked longingly at Cecily with heavy-lidded eyes and O-shaped lips. There was a sheen of perspiration on her shoulders and breasts.

Steve stood up and cleared his throat. “Uh, Rania, would you mind following me?” he said. Rania jumped to her feet and headed toward the bedroom after Steve, who turned and deadpanned “Excuse us for a few moments, would you?” before closing the door behind them, amid much giggling and exclamation.

In the bedroom, Steve unzipped his fly quickly, while the topless Rania looked on. “Nothng personal, Rania,” he said. “I’m really sorry what happened to you and all, but...” He was already three-quarters erect. “Go ahead—suck it.”

Rania threw herself on Steve’s cock as if it were the last one on earth, dispensing with warm-up maneuvers and going straight to maximum suction and full-shaft head action. The strategy worked: “Oh, Jesus, Jesus, Rania,” Steve muttered. After one more “Oh, God,” he shot his load down Rania’s throat. It all took less than a minute.

Steve collapsed into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, with Rania clinging to his legs, caressing him and licking his sex clean. “We have to wait here a while,” he said, “or else they’ll make fun of me.” Steve wanted to light up a cigarette, but he didn’t know if Cecily would be angry. “Remember when I hit on you at the Brown football game, and you shot me down?” he said. Rania looked up at him provocatively from his crotch, licking him like an ice cream cone, tears in her eyes.

The gathering never completely degenerated into an orgy: it was more like a pre-teen spin-the-bottle party, with occasional back-room indiscretions and the palpable aura of things fantasized but left undone. At one point Annie summoned up her courage and had her first lesbian interlude: shut away in the bedroom, she somehow got Rania’s tight dress up high enough to perform cunnilingus on her for a dreamy half an hour, punctuated by Rania’s moans. Annie emerged from the bedroom sheepish and glowing, and sat quietly for the rest of the party, lost in reverie. Most of the time, however, Rania fetched food and drinks, and listened to people talking about her as if she weren’t there. This was a group that had a nuanced sense of how to wield social power, but was in general not highly imaginative when it came to sex.

Rania’s state of mind through the ordeal was mostly a desperate hypervigilance, a fear of leaving some order unobeyed. Later that night, when the party was over, after Cecily had dropped off to sleep and the babydoll-clad Rania was left alone with her thoughts, she began to realize how utter and total had been her debasement. She had once thought that, having being used for sex by her own brother, all other misfortunes would pale in comparison; but life had found new and interesting ways to degrade her, and none more fiendish than this endless afternoon as a live sex act for the prep school clique of her college class. Each face she pictured from the party, each memory associated with that face from her college life, each obscene act she had performed to or in front of those people, sent physical shocks of humilation through her body. And her poor tampered-with brain betrayed her by sending those shocks to her nipples and her sex, turning her moist and urgent. The little princess slave could not think clearly when she was aroused. Her nearly naked body stretched and twisted in the bed, trying to find relief.

Steve went straight to Paul Robbins after the party and told him everything about Rania, except for his having borrowed her for a blow job.

Paul was an idealistic, sentimental boy who had put Rania on a pedestal. At first he was unbelieving, and made Steve repeat everything. Then he cried. Then he became angry and threw things.

“We have to get her out of there!” he cried. “We have to find a way to deprogram her!”

“That won’t be easy,” said Steve.

Paul started hatching plans to break into Cicely’s fancy doorman apartment building.

But fate was to intervene, making a break-in unnecessary. The next day, Charles Carling was reading the newspaper in his penthouse after breakfast. Dorina was locked in her room, and N’dour was kneeling naked on the carpet. No doubt Carling intended to fuck her after he finished the paper.

The cook had left exactly five minutes ago, and would not be back until noon. This was the opportunity N’dour had been waiting for for the last two weeks.

She rose from her appointed position and headed quickly toward her weapon of choice, a metal pipe in the corner that had been used as a bondage device, to attach between her and Dorina’s legs to keep them spread open.

Carling spotted her as soon as she moved without permission. Panicking, he reached for the remote control, pointed it at N’dour, who was now moving quickly toward him with the pipe, and pressed the button. N’dour’s collar clicked, but no electric shock followed.

With one blow from the pipe, N’dour shattered Carling’s skull.

Throwing the pipe down next to the body, N’dour headed to Carling’s bedroom. She knew that she had to call the police quickly: if an alarm went off, it would summon the private operatives who provided security to slavers. But she felt an urgent, almost physical need not to be naked. After finding a sweatshirt and a pair of shorts that she could wear, she picked up the phone and dialed the operator.

A few days later, Paul and Steve entered Cecily’s apartment, where they had been summoned by an urgent phone call.

Cecily paced the living room, a nervous wreck. “She has to get out of here,” she said. “This thing is in the papers. They’re going to come after me.”

Paul said, “Where is she?”

“Rania, come in here,” Cecily yelled. Rania entered, wearing her maid outfit, including the blouse. Paul stood up. “Rania,” he said. Then he walked over to her and gently took her in his arms. Rania instantly glued herself to Paul, nibbling and licking his neck.

“Oh, Rania,” Paul said, holding her tighter, then finding her lips. Rania started moaning and sliding her hands under Paul’s clothes.

“Do you understand the situation here?” said Cecily irritably. “This is not a tearful reunion for her. She was brainwashed to behave that way. She’d give tongue to a dog if he jumped up on her.”

Paul looked Rania in the eyes. “Don’t worry, Rania,” he said. “We’re going to find a way to help you.”

“Where should we take her?” Steve asked Cecily.

“Anywhere,” said Cecily. “Far away. Just don’t tell anybody anything, please. The police are going to come.”

“Why are her lips that way?” said Paul.

Cecily snapped,“Rania, you don’t have to keep your mouth that way anymore.”

Rania’s mouth abandoned the O shape that it had been holding for weeks, and relaxed into its normal position.

The police did indeed come, and, along with a number of other people, Cecily eventually spent time in jail. N’dour found her way to London, where she made a new home with some family friends who had emigrated from Senegal. Dorina returned to Bucharest, where she soon drifted back into a life of prostitution.

And, in the here and now, Rania sat quietly in the shotgun seat of Paul Robbins’ rented car, with Steve stretched out in the back, heading southwest on I-81, somewhere between Roanoke and the Tennessee border...