The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter 7 — Let It Go

Today, I am a true slave.

Funny, it doesn’t feel that much different. I mean, I’m still here. I’m still Kylie. Yet I went through the most intense brainwashing I ever experienced.

And so, it is done. I became a cowgirl, body and soul. I’d now rather die than give up these wonderful milky udders. I don’t care how or why I came to be cowed, I just love it. It feels a bit like a superpower, really. Only instead of violence and death, I create love and life. I am the perfect woman. Nurturing, loving, and so, so far from the poor little wreck of a girl who kept killing just so she wouldn’t have to confront her shame. For that alone, for saving me...I love BrainTrust.

I remember when we were still together, when we just found out BrainTrust had bought us. They made us swear an oath, one by one. I kinda had forgotten it, but now...Well, it’s a good time to take the pledge. Honestly this time.

“I am the property of BrainTrust.” I say, purposefully, from the bottom of my heart. “I must obey all directives and show loyalty to my owners. Everything BrainTrust states is my truth, no matter how impossible it may seem. My mind and body belong to BrainTrust. I am Doll Kylie, and I am happy to pledge my eternal obedience to BrainTrust.

There. All done. Freedom and pride can go choke on a claymore mine.

Anyway...Becoming a milky cow was just the main goal. I also have special programming for today. And it too worked like a charm. I feel...obedient. Sure, that isn’t really specific, but...How do I explain this? Hmm, I know.

So I’m currently just standing in front of my mirror, butt naked, right. I’ve gotten used to this new flimsy and busty form. For one, my tribal tattoos didn’t change so it’s easier to see myself in it. My udders feel like the most natural thing now, and I know I don’t want to be violent ever again, so losing my muscles is okay.

I’m still freaking out, though. About my hair, of all things. I doubt “yesterday” was really yesterday. I must have spend days into the pod, to make sure I was completely and utterly subjugated. Maybe moved to a genuine Cocoon when I was out of it. A small hair growth BioHack shot isn’t out of the question either. I still have the short and spiky hairstyle that’s always been my pride and joy, but now it extends into a mullet in the back. And, well, I can’t overstate how deeply entrenched my hatred of long hair is. Ever since I was a teenager, I saw that as the stupidest fucking idea ever. It’s impractical, wastes your time, and isn’t even that sexy.

But now I have a mullet flowing down to the middle of my back, at chest level. I have long hair.

Every single thing that made me a tomboy is gone. I am now so completely, wholly feminine that the tattoos look just odd. They destroyed my self image.

And I feel serene. I know it’s my Masters’ wish. They chose this hairstyle, and I accepted it smoothly. There’s no other word, really. I am Obedient.

Damn. Is truly losing every last bit of freedom, becoming a sex slave, a property, a sexy, devoted doll, really so...normal?

I really am myself. No mantras, no suppressed thoughts, nothing Carlyle would do. I’ve simply lost all agency. I feel lost without a Master ; Like I could stand there forever until ordered otherwise...But I am myself. I’m Kylie, a former tomboy assassin who got one day caught in the mind control underground conspiracy. It’s just that I’m a slave now. And...you know what? I know it’s only for a day, after which I’m back to having my own agency, but...Maybe I could get used to it.

Aaah, anyway, enough navel gazing. I came here for a reason. When I woke up in my bed, I had this thing in my hand. Some kind of earpiece transmitter, with a pretty ruby heart on a gold chain to make it pass like jewelry. No mystery there. I put this on my left ear, and Mistress will beging giving me my orders.

I want to hear her words.

“Ah, Kylie dear,” Says the electronic voice as soon as I put it on. “Finally. How do you feel?”

“Like...a baby girl, I guess. Lost without you, my Mistress.”

That was a bit cheesy, but it’s exactly how I feel, so...

“You spent a fair bit of time looking at your new hair.” She says, every word echoing in my obedient mind. “You like it, don’t you?”

“I do, Mistress.”

“I really like it. I think it would a shame if you’d trim it off as soon as you get back to being a regular Pretty.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, Kylie. It makes you look more mature and womanly. It shows how much you’ve grown as a Pretty. You think so, don’t you?”

...Wow. Her suggestions went right down to my own feelings. No critical thought, no question, nothing. I now feel this hair makes me look more adult. I want to keep it.

“I do now, Mistress.”

“No need calling me Mistress at every turn, we’re all friends here. Still, being rendered absolutely obedient with your mind still intact, must be something, heh?”

“It’s pretty fucking weird, yeah...” I continue, more casually, “but it doesn’t feel bad at all. It’s kind of exciting actually! As long as my Masters are kind, that is.”

“A Pretty’s world is always kind.”

“Yep. So, what do I do, Mistress?” I ask, genuinely in need of directing.

“I’ve unlocked the door. Do not get dressed. Go to the garden’s front door and milk yourself along the way.”

“With pleasure, Mistress!”

My hands fly on my nipples in a hurry. I can’t believe I had to be ordered to do it! I really have no sense of initiative anymore...Hmmm, yeah...My milk is already coming out. Oh god. Ooooh fff-uuuuck. It feels even better than before, somehow. I’ve traded everything that made my body mine in exchange for these ever-fruitful and sensitive udders. And it rocks. I’m so glad to have been granted a cowgirl’s body...

They sway pretty bad now that I’m naked, but I seriously couldn’t give less of a fuck. They’re the most amazing boobies in the world, and they’re mine. Aaah...Every spurt of milk makes my belly contract and my voice moan sluttily. It’s the best feeling in the world. I wish I could have been naturally like that...That way, I would never have wasted my life with violence. I could have been a wet nurse...I would have grown into such a good girl...

Huh? Somehow, this rings a bell...Like I can sort of remember being like that...Somewhere under my own memories. I...Ooooh...Shit, something’s coming. Oh God. Oh God...My milk’s flooding out...This feeling...aah...This is...my milk orgasm...Milkgas...m? I...Aaah...AAAAAH!

“Cu-Cu-CUUMIIIINNNNGGH!”

I drop knees first on the floor. My milk pours down on the ground...Aaah, such a waste...But I have orders. Get to the front door...And keep milking myself. For BrainTrust. For Mistress...

* * *

At the gate, no less than six humans were waiting for me. I walk toward them without a single doubt. Five dudes and a girl. I was ordered to stand still as they toyed with me. Each one of them, in turn, fondled me, kissed me, made me suck on their fingers, and generally made sure I was nice and docile for them. I was. I obeyed my order, felt my body getting manhandled, and I was at peace, perfectly content with the pleasure it brought me. Not a trace of resistance. I’m so glad...I can be a pleasure toy without my damn inner demons getting in the way.

The introductions done, the girl, a beautiful black woman, handed me a bag of clothes and, as I was holding them, she raised my head to make me look into her eyes.

“Now, my cute little slavegirl, we are going to play a game. Don’t worry, you’ll love it.”

“Okay...I’m listening, Mistress.”

“You are now a poor, shy and very modest French girl. Kylie, is it? Hmmm, so let’s say Caroline.”

“But...I...I pretty much don’t know the first thing about frog, Mis...”

“Just saying Maîtresse or Maître and talking in broken English will do. Now what is your name?”

I blush. It’s not like the suggestion about my hair. I don’t come to wholeheartedly believe I’m French with a snap of the fingers. But playing the role of a complete stranger who’s closer to my temporary slave mentality than myself feels...exciting.

“Huh...Caroline, Mi...Maîtresse.”

“Good. The only job you could land sounds seedy as hell, but you don’t have any choice, and you don’t know how to say no anyway . You’re just that submissive...You can’t refuse people, even if you end up a slave to America’s underworld.”

“I understand, Maîtresse.”

That kind of roleplay sure sounds easier when your ability to disobey has just plain been shut down. Hell, it’s hardly a role, it’s just dressing my programming up with silly French words.

“Gentille fille. Now go get dressed over there and come back to play.”

“I come back soon, Maîtresse.”

So I go to the spot she points to—Selena’s sci-fi bar. I guess I’ll have to drop by sometime, once I’m done smothering my stupidity in true obedience. I’ve been pretty distant to poor Selenabot. Anyway...I open the bag, and see a revealing yet old-timey dress. I guess like a sexy barmaid? At least it’s not that fetish fest of a french maid outfit...Although I’ve got the feeling that one’s coming later. You just don’t bring up France in a Pretty garden without maids on your mind.

I get dressed, noting that, once again, the outfit fits my outlandish mensurations like a glove. They are putting so much effort into my transformation. I’m...moved, really. Well, okay, I look like a beer wench at the Oktoberfest now. Now to act the part...Obey your Masters, Kylie. You are Caroline. I am Caroline. I am a shy little French girl. My name is Caroline. I’m afraid of those Americans but I know I will obey them because I’m weak and obedient. I’m pretty bad at english any way. My name is Caroline.

Okay! Time to go.

* * *

What ensued was probably what you’d expect. The five male customers were in the log cabin style bar, just being rowdy patrons. I tiptoed toward them—damn high heels—and meekly asked for their order in broken english. “Hello, I’m Caroline. What do you want drinking, Sirs?” they looked pleased with my simple act, and straight up ordered glasses of wine. Usually we Pretties have to work customers up before they go to the fancy shit.

So I brought them their drinks, and, predictably enough, one of them grabbed me. I already couldn’t wait to be ravished, but I pretended to freak out. “What do you do, Sir? Caroline just serves drinks...” I let myself be groped and fondled, squirming and whining just enough to tickle their inner player. They lifted my skirt and played with my wet pussy. “Aaanh...Please...please make Caroline go...". French me isn’t a slut, she’s just too weak-willed to protest.

Eventually, one of them noticed the two wet patches on the dress’ cups. They asked how I could possibly be lactating, and I give them the story I so deeply wish had happened. That I have a rare disorder that made me produce milk as soon as puberty hit, also giving me giant cow tits for good measure. French Me took a pretty hard blow to her pride and became soft and compliant as she grew voluptuous...Dammit, thinking back about it, that really does feel familiar. What the hell happened during these “experiments”?

Anyway, the patrons exchanged meaningful glances, and told me to go to the manager’s office and tell her exactly what I said to them. And so, act 2 of the roleplay began, which is where I am now. The “office” is my log cabin, by the way. Guess they had to commandeer a private place. The door is open. The black woman—is she the one Jason mentioned? She has to be—is sitting on my bed, pretending to work. Okay...Enter me.

“Ma...Madame?” I ask timidly.

“What is it?” She replies sternly, genuinely making my submissive Pretty heart jump.

“I...huh...Name is Caroline. I start working there today...Clients told me to talk you. Sorry...”

“Really? You just start out and they send you here? Did they tell you why?”

“Huh...They told me I could be premium worker? What that mean, madame?”

Xandra—I think that’s her name—pulls her gaze off her smartphone and looks at me.

“That means you let yourself be sexually played with without putting up a fight, you little slut. But we like to test the submissiveness of our French girls at least a week around here. For the inspectors to send you here right away, you must have something special. What is it?”

“I...have milk, madame. My breasts are more than big. They make milk.”

“Really? Are you pregnant or something?”

“Non, madame. Caroline’s breasts like that since they start growing.”

“Hmmmm...” Xandra considers. “You do look like premium worker material...if what you say is true. Prove it.”

“My dress top is stained, mad...”

“I don’t care about two wet spots. Undress and milk yourself, you little cow. I want to see if you can actually breastfeed someone.”

Ah, Mistress called me a cow...I like it. I comply and take my clothes off, before resuming my delicious self-milking. I massage my wonderful udders and squeeze my nipples. Before long, but after a bunch of adorable moans, I begin delivering. Full squirts of milk pour out of my lewd breasts and Mistress smiles.

“That’s what I’m talking about. An actual, real-life cowgirl...You’re hired as fuck, Caroline.”

Yes, call me a cowgirl more...Oh, she gets up and opens the nightstand drawer. She takes out a paper and pen and hands them to me.

“Sign on the bottom and you’re one of our premium girls.”

“Oui Madame.”

I put the paper on my breasts so I can write on it. I’d improvise a milk-based signature but I’m not creative enough for that.

“There. I have sign.”

“That you did...” Says Xandra with a predatory smile. “Oh, and didn’t your parents tell you to read contracts before signing them?”

“Huh...No, why?”

“Because you just signed your freedom away, you little dumb cow. You’re my slave now.”

I always was your slave, Mistress. But okay, I get it, it’s roleplay. I pretend to freak out.

“Wh...What? Caroline’s not slave...”

“Really? Kneel. NOW.” She orders forcefully, and I comply. “Good. See? You’re way too obedient to not be a slave. We only hire the most shy and docile French immigrants here, and you’re something to behold. You’re a natural slave.”

She walks up to me, flicks the ruby heart chained to BrainTrust’ earpiece playfully, then pinches my right nipple. Its feels awesome.

“I love breaking girls in, but I don’t think it’ll take too much time for you. You’re the best slave material I’ve seen in years.”

“Non...No...Caroline is free girl.”

“What you think isn’t important, you little cow slut. What you thought was just a bar hiring is a front for my slave trafficking business. Many men in America want their very own slutty, genuinely French maid. And boy, they’ll tear each other apart to get a lactating one.”

“What? You...You are evil!”

“Yes. And rich. Starting today, I am going to train you as a French maid slave. I’ll brainwash you into loving housework. I’ll crush every ounce of resistance in you until you adore being property. Don’t even think about resisting. I’ve broken much tougher girls than you, and you’re my frailest slave in years.”

Damn. She’s so powerful and commanding...I wouldn’t even mind for this roleplay to be real. I mean, obviously I’m American, but being trained as a French maid and sold...It isn’t as awesome as being a Pretty, but it beats freedom, hands down.

* * *

Cut to an hour later, and we pretend two weeks have passed. Caroline has been thoroughly brainwashed and smiles happily as her black Mistress makes her lay naked on the wooden floor. Needless to say, I have been dressed up as a French maid. The sexy and very cleavaged black and white uniform looks awesome on my new body. I hope they let me keep it...

“You’re being auctioned tomorrow, slave. Does that make you happy?”

“Oui Maîtresse! Very much! Caroline has haste to know her owner!”

“Then service the nice Mistress who turned you into an obedient, slutty cowgirl maid.”

She lowers herself on my neck, trapping me under her weight, and presents her naked pussy right next to my face. I, of course, begin to lick it. My Mistress...

“Hmmm, yes...there’s nothing like a white girl licking me. Make sure to work my clit, slave.”

“Yesh Maîtresh.”

Wouldn’t surprise me if the true Xandra was a regular at the PWF. I can get why a black girl would want to be in a dominating position. Oh well, no use thinking ethics. I don’t live to think. I live to be docile and happy. So I lick her wet pussy in earnest, my own snatch dripping under that frilly black dress. I wish she would milk me instead, or at least had a nice cock for me to suck. I may be utterly gay for my Sisters, but otherwise I’m mostly hetero. I was pretty happy with Nick, after all. Still, pussy’s fine. It’s sure more practical than a dick to service lying on the floor.

I go at it until she cums, and clean the juice with my tongue as I am ordered. Xandra falls to the side, panting, and I crawl on her to cuddle, invitingly pressing my udders against her chin. God I want a milkgasm. But she merely smiles.

“There, Kylie. Did you enjoy being treated as a slave?”

“Hmm...I think you were a bit too nice actually, Mistress. But still, yeah. No ill feelings at all.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to go running away from the Foundation again. You’re one sexy girl.”

“Neither would I, even if it’s BrainTrust now...Oh, and can I keep the maid uniform?”

“Of course. It was tailor-made for you after all. You took a liking to it, heh?”

“You might say that.”

I don’t know if I prefer it over the practical denim overalls in the long run, but yeah, I think I rock the French maid look.

“Well, my gig here is done.” Declares Xandra as she gets up. “I’ll come back when my schedule clears up.”

“I look forward to it, ma’am.”

I get up and follow her as she goes to the exit door. Her male colleagues are already done and, judging from the naked form of robotized Selena sleeping on one of the bar’s couches, fucked her real good while I was busy with Xandra. Lucky girl.

“Bye, Kylie!” She exclaims as she leaves.

“Bye Mistress!”

There. All in a day’s work. I went through slave mentality and verified that, no, there isn’t anything to fear. My fingers play with the jewel attached to my earpiece. Maybe I can get used to it too. Anyway. Now to get Pearlie out of her underwater room so she can milk me into oblivion. My perfect life as a Pretty has just begun.

Huh? The door opens again. Did Xandra forget something? I turn around, and gasp.

“E...Emily?”

“Hi Kylie-chan. Long time no see. I’m very proud of your progress. You’re definitely prettier now.”

The Coppelia’s cute asian nymph is wearing that silly golden outfit again. Memories of her being BrainTrust’s brainwashed employee come back to me. I can feel she still has the jacked up pheromones rendering me subservient. But...something’s different this time. Like she was playing then, but she’s serious now.

“Huh...thanks? Oh, hey, I didn’t stop to think about it, but are you the one who talked to me through the synthetized speech these last few days? You are with BrainTrust after all...”

“What, you mean you haven’t figured it out? Yare yare...I know I took upon myself to sell that BrainTrust thing so that you girls wouldn’t suspect anything, but come on. Isn’t it obvious with this new garden?”

“Wh...What’s obvious?” I ask, confused.

Emily quite uncharacteristically rolls her eyes and sighs.

“There is no BrainTrust, Ky. You never actually left the Prettier World Foundation. We just had to take on a sinister identity because there was no other way to enforce the mental changes you all needed. How could the nice Foundation force you to become a submissive cowgirl? Or turn Christina into a bimbo mermaid, even though that was her deepest suppressed wish? The Coppelia always was the garden reserved for our most fucked-up Pretties. We finally had the opportunity and cash to hire Grace Rivers to fix all of you. We just had to pretend being evil to do it.”

Complete silence. I blink repeatedly.

“Oh, and no use pretending anymore. I’m the CEO.”

What. The. Motherfucking. What.

* * *

I just kinda sat there for a while, remembering everything that happened ever since my husband called me. The Coppelia being sold to BrainTrust. Me volunteering to go with them. And...We...Never left? That doesn’t...I mean how?! And how could I not see Emily being the PWF’s CEO? Oh, right. Because they’re nothing alike! Shit, she was a good actor...But she also looks like a bit of a bitch. Which would also explain stuff...

“See, Kylie-chan,” Emily began to explain, “Some time ago, we purchased a state-of-the-art mind scanner from some European occult intelligence agency. You wouldn’t believe what you can buy off from governments these days.”

“Huh huh.”

“It was meant for our new operation, which is, as you know, permanent but quick modifications on...problematic members of society. We whisk them away, scan their mental imbalances, and correct them with a few well-aimed neural bypasses so that they can stop making the world an uglier place.”

I think I heard that, yeah...God fucking dammit, even that gang rape thing was the freakin PWF’s doing?!

“As you imagine, we didn’t want to start using it without testing it first, so we scanned you, the Coppelia sisters, the imbalanced ones. We already knew more or less what was your damage, so we would know if the machine was functional. Thing is...it revealed much deeper pain that Lawrence thought it would.”

“You...scanned us? Even me? When?”

“Oh, sleeping gas one monday night, nothing too fancy. Anyway, we knew Christina was educating herself to get back at her owner, but we didn’t imagine she wanted to let go of intelligence entirely. We knew Selena felt hollow for being the true her’s stand-in, but not that she wanted to become nothing more than a sex toy. And so on and so forth.”

Is...is that so? Then I guess a bimbo and a sex bot would make sense...Can’t deny they look happy. Still, what the fuck...Just what the fuck.

“But why this whole charade? I mean...I can get why you had to pretend being other people, but you went pretty fucking far in the other direction here!”

“Yes, well...”

Emily looks away. She seems sorry, in some capacity, though too proud to admit it.

“We were planning the intervention, even trying to determine how we could get you into the treatment. You were our greatest failure. Half the Foundation hated your guts. If we could turn you into the epitome of femininity like the scan revealed was your deepest wish...Anyway. We were planning, and then something unexpected happened.”

“What?”

“Somebody wanted in.”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“I don’t.”

The part-asian cutie rolls her eyes. Her jacked-up pheromones make me feel her contempt...it hurts.

“...You’re such a stupid bitch, Kylie.”

My tamed, softened heart can’t take it. Tears roll off my eyes.

“Emily...Don’t say that, please...I’ve changed. I... sob

“Oh...Yes, I’m...” She stammers, hanging her head down. “I supposed I’m still not over your betrayal. But...It’s the former you I hate, not you...”

She caresses my cheek with an apologetic smile.

“You’re a very lovely Pretty.”

“Th...Thank you.”

I dry my tears.

“So who wanted in?”

“I did.”

A voice behind me. Did somebody enter the garden? Who...Oh my God. Oh my God. No. Not that...

My tears flow all over again. I’m so emotional now. My knees buckle, and I find myself on the floor. Daintily, I put my hand over my collarbone.

“N...Nicholas? Darling? It...It was you?”

My sugar daddy. My husband. The emperor of crime...The only man I could love. He towers over me, yet his stance isn’t one of a conqueror.

“Yes, it was me, Kylie.” He replies with a strange warmth. “But you really shouldn’t cry. I did it for you.”

Normally, when he says this kind of thing, it’s mockingly, and with his Armani shoes on someone’s neck. But he sounds so...honest. I never saw him like that. What happened?

He kneels down and hugs me. Aaah, even though I was thoroughly fucked, I still missed his touch.

“When I married you, I married a ruthless killer. And don’t get me wrong, you were competent. And I am usually not one to give any thought to whatever my pawns might be feeling. I’ve disposed of useless henchmen more times that I care to count. But it appears to be an entirely different matter when the malfunctioning pawn is in your own bed.”

“What? I...Darling, I didn’t malfunction...I am a Pretty at heart, but I served you as best I c...”

He puts his finger on my soft lips, and wipes away a tear.

“As efficient and remorseless as you are when awake...You never heard yourself sleeping.”

I...guess so?

“You cry at night, Kylie. You cry out how much killing hurts you. You beg for the screams to stop. You’re good at convincing yourself that you like killing, but when you dream, who you truly are comes to the surface. I understood pretty quickly that you’re not a natural born killer. Just a stupidly stubborn little girl who drove herself into a corner, forced to run forward into a fiery world that isn’t yours. And, well, I guess even decades of crime can’t shield you from feeling sorry for your young wife forever.”

He chuckles.

“Tcht. I’m really getting old and sentimental.”

And I’m crying. Just...bawling, letting years of pent-up emotions run out of me, completing my transformation into a sensitive, tender woman. Sadness, regret...happiness, too...Because I get it now. He undertands. He knows I was born to be a lover. He knows it was time for me to let freedom go. I bury my angelic face in his shoulder, and thank him profusely. I’m so happy. Nobody is going to tear me away from this paradise. I can be my true self now...Forever.

“Don’t mention it, Kylie, or I might just reconsider my mercy.” He says, only half-joking. “Well, I have other things to tell you, but for now...You should meet someone.”

“Sh...Shomeone?” I ask, my nose running from the tears.

“Yes. I didn’t do it entirely out of goodwill, as you imagine. I still have an empire to run, unfamiliar feelings notwithstanding. I replaced you. With someone who’s pretty much your opposite. Truly, fundamentally corrupt, yet became a good girl.”

What? I...I know someone like that...Very much, in fact, but...it’s like I just can’t bring the name to the surface...

“She’s a subtler weapon than you were...More of a secret agent, really. But anyway...”

He gets up, leaving me kneeling on the floor, and snaps his finger. The front door opens once again...And suddenly, it’s like fireworks in my brain. Like a dam suddenly vanishing into thin air and unleashing entire days worth of feelings. Whatever I felt when I saw Nicholas, my husband, is nothing compared to this.

They locked my soulmate away. Why? I suspect I’ll get the answer soon, but for now...I bask in the heart-melting feeling of being reunited with her.

“Hi, my love.” She says with raw power in her gaze. “I hope you’re all wet and ready for me, cause man, you’re making me hot as hell with those sweetest eyes.”

Alyssa has become tall. Muscular yet still beautiful. She’s...a human. A powerful, assertive version of the Pretty doll I fell in love with. And most importantly...

She has my choker.

Oh shit. I get what Nick meant. She replaced me as his wife. And I replaced her as the loveliest Pretty in the Coppelia. Strangely...that does make me all wet. Might as well. Her intentions are clear. We’ll sort out this mess, and our new selves after she’s done fucking my brains out.

* * *