The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The phone rang in her subterranean office.

Jo picked it up. It was Mr. Klaw, of course. No one else ever used the phone to communicate with her and there was no way to dial out on it.

“Jo?”

She felt her jaw clench and a light sheen of perspiration cover her forehead. She was never entirely certain what her boss (’Master’ was so formal and she was a coordinator for him, he had graciously pointed out) wished or expected of her.

“Sir?” It was a little voice with him, always questioning and timid.

“How is your guest?” There was good humor in the question and she relaxed. A bit.

Jo looked down at the woman, crouching on her fours beneath her legs. She idly caressed the woman’s bare ass with her riding crop. “Emily Slidell makes a fine footstool, Sir.” The long haired brunette on her fours heard her trainer’s compliment and looked away, her mouth puckered in carefully restrained rage.

“Good. And the other aspects of her re-education?” Klaw was all business—the customer must be inquiring. Emily Slidell had been, up to recently, an up and coming political commentator on a major television network. The brunette’s combination of haughty beauty, political correct outlook and acerbic wit had attracted ratings—as well as the wrath of a particular tobacco company.

That company’s CEO had hired GC Enterprises to “re-educate” Emily. Shortly thereafter, Ms. Slidell announced her resignation from the network. For the last month, she had been learning, under Jo’s tutelage, how to perform the duties for which she had been purchased.

Jo replied promptly. “Emily has been taught Striptease, Pole Dancing, and Stage Masturbation, Sir. She should—” No, that wasn’t affirmative enough for her boss, “I mean WILL make excellent entertainment for Tobaccco Road’s international sales meeting, Sir.”

Klaw chuckled. “Excellent. And she’s been shaved?”

“Oh, yes Sir! The first day Sir! Permanent depilation below the neck, as per your request Sir.”

“Just a few more items, Jo and I’ll let you go. Emily’s to be pierced. Mr. Petersen... oh, no, I forgot. Terrible thing, that.” Petersen had died the previous week. Heart attack. “Mr. Hynde will arrange as usual, but make a note that she’s to have her ears pierced three more times—”

Emily could evidently hear Klaw’s voice from the receiver, because she shifted underneath her trainer’s legs at those latest instructions. Jo punished the movement with a short crack of the crop. The brunette stifled a cry and returned immediately to her inert state.

“...her belly button done, the nose too and the tongue. The client would like an extra heavy stud inserted in her tongue, so as to prevent speech but still allow oral servicing.”

Jo swallowed hard. “Y-yes Sir!”

“Good. I’d like to see you later Jo for a fuller report on your progress with our other ‘guests.’ Wear your topside outfit for me. Four o’clock.” The connection was abruptly terminated by her superior and she returned the phone to its cradle.

Great.

Now she’d be nervous all day.

Was the meeting to be yet another reminder that Mr. Klaw was her controller in ALL things? Or simply a business meeting? Damn it! She kicked the brunette bitch over with her high heels angrily and rose from her chair. She had to get to work. Mr. Klaw liked to get value from his girls.

All his girls.

The brunette rubbed her ass, looking up in a rage.

Jo glared back. “Don’t you DARE open your mouth bitch! You’re nothing but a cheap stripper now and don’t forget it! Now go put your pasties on—it’s time to practice. Your big debut is just a week away! And I want more smiles this time—you’ve got to look like you’re enjoying strutting yourself up on stage for these men. They paid a lot of money for your pretty ass and they’re going to get their money’s worth!”

Sullenly, the brunette obeyed.

After coaching the ex-commentator through her stripper act—she required so much work that Jo despaired of ever having her presentable for her new owners in time for their meeting; why didn’t Klaw just Condition her, the way Jo had been Conditioned—she made the rounds of her other “students.”

Her first stop was always brought on a profoundly ambivalent feeling. She stood before Tawanda Campbell’s cell. The feminist attorney looked so pathetically betrayed and sold out every time Jo came to inspect her. As if she, Jo, were the cause for the woman’s current situation! It was true that Mr. Klaw had told her to set up the initial meeting with Tawanda. From what Jo had witnessed regarding the power of Conditioning, she supposed that there had to be some initial physical proximity to allow it to take effect. Theoretically, then, she might be responsible for her former lawyer’s servitude. But if not her, then Mr. Klaw would simply have used one of his other female pawns. Why didn’t the stupid twit understand that? They were ALL in his thrall, after all. Just because Jo had a few more privileges than her trainees didn’t mean she wasn’t any more of a slave than Tawanda was!

Still, Tawanda didn’t see it that way. Jo inspected her through the bars of the cell. The black woman had assumed a quiet, thoughtful position, her body clad in black lace bra, panties, heels, garters and sheer black stockings. A metal collar hung around her neck and an attached chain lead was locked to the cell floor. Normally such restraint would have indicated a discipline problem, but that was not the reason for the links in Tawanda’s case. In her case, it was more of an acculturation to her new role.

“Hello Cocoa.”

The proud black woman didn’t respond at first. Jo knew she hated the new name. But as she slowly raised her crop, there was an acknowledgement.

“Hello... Mistress.” The woman had to spit out the word.

“Your new master will be picking you up soon. Aren’t you excited?”

The woman continued to look forward, staring at the floor. “Oh, yes... Mistress. I can’t wait to go to New Orleans.”

Cocoa had been bought by a real estate speculator successful in launching casinos in Vegas. He thought there was a market for horny, well-heeled male tourists. He had set up an elegant antebellum whore house for Southern men that was entirely period-authentic, down to the costumes of the girls and an actual auction block. Cocoa was to be the first of many “yellow girls” available for a price. The purchaser had thought Tawanda perfectly suited to the job of an expensive, submissive negro slavegirl.

Jo frowned, fighting off an attack of conscience. “It isn’t my fault! I have to do this! If I don’t train you, Mr. Klaw will—” Jo stopped screaming, feeling instantly angry and ashamed. Cocoa remained churlishly silent and she strode quickly past the caged black woman. To hell with her—I hope they give it to her hard down there, Jo thought spitefully.

She had herself under control by the time she had reached Erica. She unlocked the girl’s cage—she would be leaving Gilded Cage later that day. After two months, Jo’s first ‘student’ was ready to be presented. It was important that the girl was ready for the man who had sent her here for training. If she was not in a proper state of mind, it would reflect badly upon her own talents as a trainer of females and, more importantly, upon GC Enterprises. She knew that Mr. Klaw would not tolerate embarrassment, especially in this case.

“How are we today Erica?”

The girl, no more than seventeen, shivered. Her blue eyes fixed automatically on the crop with which Jo caressed her thighs. She looked ready to burst into tears at any moment.

“F-fine, I g-guess. Mistress.”

“Do you know what happens today, Erica?”

The redhaired girl, nude but for virginal white cotton garters and stockings, nodded in a daze. “Yes, Ma’am. George is coming to get me today.”

Jo flexed the crop. “Now Erica, we’ve discussed this,” she began threateningly.

“I mean Daddy! Daddy! My Daddy! Please don’t hurt me any more!”

Jo smiled. “Better. That’s right. He is your Daddy. Why are you so stubborn about it?”

The girl was on the edge. “H- he’s my step-father, not my real father! He’s dead—”

“Like your mother,” Jo pointed out. Erica’s ‘Daddy’ was one of Mr. Klaw’s personal friends. This training mission was a courtesy to him. After the untimely death of the girl’s wealthy mother—a scant month after their marriage—George had evidentially pressed his stepdaughter to reciprocate his affections. Jo had managed to get this information out of the hysterical girl when she had first been brought in. And so George sent her to Klaw, who wanted her returned with a “complete mental makeover” vis a vis her new legal guardian.

“Please don’t send me back to him! I know I’m suppose to behave now, and I will! Make me a prostitute! I’ll do ANYTHING! Just please don’t send me back to him! He hurts me, he likes to do it to me—”

Jo cut the sobbing girl cold. “You’ll be a good, little bitch for him when he comes and if he wants to fuck you up the ass every minute of every day, you’ll bend over and take it—UNDERSTAND? Or do we need a reminder of how much worse it can be for you, my sweet darling?”

The teenager’s blue eyes went wide with fear. “No, Ma’am,” she responded shortly. Jo knew she’d have to keep an eye on her. Leaning over, she hissed in her ear. “If you fuck up you stupid little cunt, I swear to God you’ll come back to me—and I’ll fuck you up the ass with a strap-on that will make your Daddy’s cock feel like a thimble!”

Erica recoiled and shook her head wildly. Jo sniffed. This one wouldn’t give her any trouble now.

She continued the inspection.

There was Jillian, the blonde accountant she was turning into an accomplished geisha for a Japanese businessman who had met with her on a trip to the US.

Helen was coming along well—the college junior would make a pretty cheerleader on the field and a willing fucktoy for the players in the locker room (now there was a team owner who had a vision!).

Joyce was, after a first week, beginning to buckle under quite nicely. The electronics firm vice president was starting to make a real effort at learning harem girl etiquette—her firm had surreptitiously given her to an Arab potentate in order to close a major deal.

Then there was Janet. Bad, naughty, misbehaving Janet.

“Hi Jan.”

The ponytailed woman bucked her head up from her petfood bowl. “Hi Mistress!” Her face was smeared with grease, which she would soon wipe off on the straw in her cage. Her wrists were cuffed behind her back and her ankles bound together.

Jo reached in and patted her on the head. She had to admit that Jan really was trying hard to be a good slut now. Jo had been hard on her because they were close to the same age. It was important to establish authority over girls your own age, otherwise they assumed a familiarity that made it hard to overcome.

Her old management techniques served her well as a slavegirl trainer.

“Mistress, will my husband come to get me soon?” Her whine was as predictable as it was pathetic.

“I asked mr. Klaw the other day about that. I’m afraid your husband is quite happily fucking his secretary Tracy, Jan. The one you caught him with? But there are some plans for you.”

Janet’s smile evaporated, replaced by a sour, surly frown. Little did she know that after discovering her husband’s indiscretion and filing for divorce that it would be her and not him to suffer the consequences. Her husband, another of Klaw’s friends, had asked that she be “bitch trained” while he decided what should be done with her.

“Plans, Mistress?” The enslaved wife was wary.

Jo nodded. “It seems your ex-husband’s—oh yes, you’re officially divorced—wife Tracey gets nervous when her hubby is off travelling for business. So he’d like to have you trained to be a guard dog for them.”

The anguished woman screamed, even as Jo entered the cage and strapped on the ball gag. Her tongue would have to be removed after all—just as Mr. Klaw predicted.