The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Imagine Richard Attenborough with a Texas tan and blue eyes that could do fairly well as laser scalpels. That’s Doc. As usual, he was in the living room, sitting in this massive brown leather chair that looked like it should’ve been in a men’s club, with a journal of some kind open on his lap. From my position, I could see an upside-down graphic of a brain on one page. “You should put these in the refrigerator,” I told him, handing over his cans.

He blinked at me. “Dear me, Charles, whatever for?”

“Sorry, I forgot. You’re supposed to drink English beer warm.”

Doc smiled, and combat began. “Not at all, dear boy. Warm British beer is an American exaggeration, I’m afraid. Beer should be kept at the right temperature. In my youth it used to be hand pumped from vats in the pub cellar—Britain is a cold country, dear boy, and I assure you it arrives anything but warm. The problem you have here is that you overcool your beer. It’s a man’s drink, not some fizzy beverage, and it should be treated with respect.”

I’d heard it all before, so I just shook my head. “Still as grouchy as ever, I see.”

He laughed a little. “One of the benefits of age, I’m afraid. In another fifty years you’ll see it’s attractions.”

I poured the beer into the glass he offered and sat back. “Well, you wanted me, and I’m here. So what’s so damned important?”

He had the courtesy to look a little embarrassed. “Ah yes. I’m sorry to drag you from your holidays, but something of an emergency has come up. I’m doing a special job for one of our New York clients, two girls to be prepared in advance of some office outing. Very good money, obviously, but due to some mix-up the date’s been brought forward.” I sipped the beer. “Are they ready?”

“Oh, yes, have been for a few weeks. I’ve just been holding them here until the client was ready. It’s really sort of a strange deal—apparently he wants them to do something at this party of his, then he wants us to dispose of them.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Dispose?”

Doc chuckled. “I keep forgetting your training. No, dear boy, we’re simply to make sure that they disappear into some nice bordello somewhere. I’ve already spoken to Juan, and he’ll be happy to take them. Teressa has also expressed an interest, although I don’t know yet if she wants both. As you’ll see, they’re more valuable as a set but there are problems with Mexico at the moment. Still, with the training paid for we could almost afford to give them away.”

“Seems straightforward enough. I can’t see that there’s too much of a problem.”

Doc shuffled uneasily. “Yes, well, the truth is that there are some problems,” he admitted.

“Such as?”

“It’s rather complicated. I know you are familiar with my techniques, Charles, and you know that some have taken fifty years to develop. I admit to having some failures in the past, but for perhaps the past thirty years I’ve been sure enough of my findings to be able to draw up certain axioms.”

I nodded, having gone through something similar in the Marines. My “special training” essentially meant that I went through torture by professionals, all trying to find my breaking point in order to give me the necessary tools to resist torture by an enemy force. I know from personal experience that with constant physical and mental abuse, almost anyone will break. The Marine trainer’s job was to gauge that point before the subject—yours truly—was irreversibly damaged.

Compared to Doc, those guys had been in the Stone Age. I once picked up this crackhead runaway who gave me a nice set of scars on my neck and chest—I almost had a matching set of fang marks to go with them before I dosed her with some chloro. Two months later, I saw the same girl turned into a accomplished, willing, and perfectly compliant whore. Doc claims his technique makes the slave actively need sex; they develop this enormous appetite for fucking and seem to genuinely enjoy every moment. Pleasure, he says, is a much more effective persuader than pain, and his girls are the proof.

Doc scratched his nose. “The problem is this: our client wanted one of the girls to maintain most of her original personality. That is, he wanted her aware of what she was doing and able to respond in a characteristic way to her environment. Now, as you know this implies that we need to condition the girl with various desired responses rather than simply break her. She would appear normal, but when given a trigger event or an order from the master she’s been conditioned to obey, she would perform the desired task.

“All my research shows such a thing requires between three and six months, depending on the subject. I’ve never produced such a girl in less time, not with total success. The problem is that our client’s time scale has left a little under six weeks for training.” He shrugged. “That was barely enough time to break her friend. I have made an excellent start on our specialty case, to the point where I feel that she’ll do the job he requires, but our control of her is very unstable. I’m afraid that for the most part you must consider both of them hostile and transport them accordingly.”

I sighed, but accepted it. New recruits were usually “hostile”—if they weren’t tied down, they would try to run away. Under normal circumstances, moving one of Doc’s girls after processing was easy. No escape attempts, no bonds, you just drove them somewhere like they were regular people. In fact the only downside was that if you didn’t fuck them every night they had a tendency to be moody in the morning. “Okay, I can handle that,” I said. “But what about this ‘party’? If she gives us any problems there, we could have witnesses.”

Doc smiled. “I’ve thought of that. I’ll give you a drug, a tranquilizer that acts as a fairly effective will suppressant. Simply inject her with it about twenty minutes before you arrive, and she won’t give you much trouble for the next few hours. Let the girls do their thing, then pack them up, ship them back and let me worry what to do with them.”

The plan seemed reasonable, though the risks involved in transporting an unstable slave had to be worth double. Then it hit me. “Hey, Doc,” I said, keeping my voice casual, “do you remember when you offered to process a slave for me?”

“Yes?”

“Well I’ve found one. I recruited a couple of hitchers tonight and one of them is perfect.”

“Recruited?” he repeated, frowning. “Not around here, I trust?”

“I’m not that stupid. I grabbed them at least twenty or thirty miles away.”

The old man snorted, shaking his head. “I’m surprised at you, Charles. I thought I had made it perfectly clear that we do not recruit around here,” he said crisply. “And ‘around here,’ dear boy, includes a twenty to thirty mile radius. For God’s sake, not even a dog pees in his own basket.”

“It’s not as if I went out there looking for them,” I said defensively. “But circumstances. . .look, when you see her, you’ll understand.”

He looked at me for a long moment, then finally nodded. “Very well. I suppose if they’re here already, it’s a little too late to say no. We’ll need Kitten for this—you’d better get her.”

I was already out of my seat. “Where is she?”

“In her basket.”

“Basket?” I was surprised. “Is she being punished?”

“No, our little Kitten simply has a few more kinks than even we knew. Go get her and you’ll see.”

Doc keeps his slaves in hidden underground cells and dungeons. In fact, nothing to do with his illicit career exists above the surface. This means that if we got unlucky and the place was raided, it was unlikely to yield any clues. However, Kitten had been a problem—a house slave has to wash, clean and look after her master. Which is all well and good, except that a sudden raid was likely to find her above ground. With this in mind, Doc and I had built Kitten’s “Basket,” a small hidden cell concealed within part of the fireplace. At night she slept underground with the others, but during the day when she wasn’t needed or if the security system reported an unexpected visitor, she could be locked up in the basket until Doc was ready to let her out.

I gently pushed the hidden latches and swung the basket’s door open. Large enough to take a bound thirteen year old, the little alcove was now barely big enough for Kitten to lie down in it. But lying she was, dressed in a leather basque and bikini brief set that made me forget to breathe for a moment. The black stockings and high heel pumps were an additional touch, one of Doc’s favorite fetishes, as were the long leather opera gloves that fit like a second skin. She was gagged with a large leather pad gag of Doc’s patented design, and her ankles were fastened to a spreader. I couldn’t see her hands but figured they were bound behind her. A length of white cotton rope had been used as a crotch strap, going once around her waist, then passing between her legs, pushing the leather panties deep into her damp twat. I noticed the small movement of the knots she’d tied as they teased her clit through the panties. Even with the teasing, the whole thing looked frustrating, and I had serious doubts that she could get off on her own.

“She did it herself a few hours back,” Doc said from behind me. “I think it’s her way to get you to fuck her. I’ll go out and see to that girl of yours. You’ll find the keys on the small table, as well as a condom. And do please use it, Charles, old man.” A dry chuckle. “Not that I don’t trust you, but you are peeing in the well from which I drink.”

He shuffled off as Kitten’s eyes twinkled above the gag. She’d been leading me on for months, cock teasing me until I could think of nothing else, and it looked like she had finally chosen her moment. Now, Doc ran an open house policy—the few of us in direct contact with him had almost unlimited access to the slave pens. The only exceptions tended to be if a client specified that they wanted exclusive use or if sex would somehow interfere with training. Other than that, any girl in the place was fair game—except Kitten. As part of her apprentice status, Kitten only fucked the men Kitten wanted to fuck. Oh, I have no doubt that Doc could order her to do it (after all, she was still a slave) but I doubted he ever would. So Kitten had played with me for the last few months, and this was the payoff. I couldn’t see the bondage angle, though. Doc keeps all his girls bound and gagged as a security measure, and all of his slaves have been fucked in bondage at least once. But Kitten was the exception, so I could only figure that this kink was entirely of her own choosing.

Of course, I didn’t really care if she wanted me to fuck her in bondage, rubber, or Scottish tweed—I just wanted to fuck her, and hard. By that point, I’d gotten my pants off and was trying to roll on a condom with trembling hands. Kitten just watched, amused, tugging occasionally on the crotch strap to keep things cooking. When I was latexed and ready, I fished my snap knife out of my jacket pocket to cut the cord above her snatch, slowly pulling on the strings to release the bikini briefs. Kitten moaned very faintly as I removed the panties—Doc’s gags are extremely effective, so I doubted she would get much louder. She trembled with anticipation, and the overpowering smell of her sex hit me as she shivered, making my rubber-coated cock swell even more.

Pulling her legs so that she was rotated towards me, ass slightly raised off the basket floor, I put my cock on the entrance of her pussy and pushed in, just a little, then stopped when I heard her muffled squeal. Even though she was dripping, she was still impossibly tight. I heard the spreader drag for a second as she adjusted her position. Then, amazingly, she thrust up, engulfing me in tight heat that was beyond belief. Her muffled scream was surprisingly loud in the tight confines of the basket. She thrust again and I finally got the point. I started fucking her in earnest, feeling her muscles at they grasped my cock and pulled me deeper inside. The tightness was incredible; it was like we were joined at the waist. I felt her orgasm building deep inside her body, feeling it wash over my buried cock like a tidal wave. When she came, her hot cunt sucked deeply on my cock, pumping, draining me dry as I seemed to cum for hour after hour.

Finally, I fell back, feeling relieved I still had some body fluids left and wondering for some strange reason if Mi Lin knew what had happened, as if a woman can somehow know when she’s suddenly no longer “the best.”

I managed to stagger to my feet and get the keys, one for the spreader, one for the cuffs and one for the gag. I freed her slowly, allowing myself the opportunity to tease her bound body before finally letting her go. I left the gag ‘til last so that I could remove it when she was standing, then pulled the mouthpiece free.

Still breathing heavily, she licked her lips. “Hi, Master Charlie,” she said, voice hoarse and sexy. “I don’t know about you, but I really needed that.”

“Hi, Kitten.” Honestly, I didn’t know what else to say. It was pointless asking if it was good for her, and I couldn’t even say I loved her because she belonged to someone else—literally. In the end, Doc interrupted the moment.

“Here we are!” he chortled, guiding a staggering Maria in front of him. She “looked” around the room with her blindfolded face, gag and upper body bonds still in place. She was joined a second later by Beth. On her, Doc had removed both the leg bindings and the sleep mask for some reason, leaving her looking oddly normal except for her taped eyes. “Ah, Kitten, all finished are we? Good girl. Now take this one down and start processing her straight away. I want a full workup, virginal swabs, urine test and a blood sample for the HIV test.”

Kitten sighed—from bondage babe to private nurse in a few minutes. She recovered her bikini briefs as I put on my pants, flashing me a smile as she grabbed Maria’s arm and pulled her towards the hidden dungeon door.

Doc pointed at Beth’s concealed gag. “Not still doing this, are you? It’s going to get you caught one of these days.”

I grinned. “I think it’s pretty good myself. Squeeze a nipple if you don’t believe me.”

He shook his head. “I have no doubt that the gag is effective and I agree that it isn’t easily noticeable. But the fact remains that while a slave is in public view, she has too many opportunities to draw attention to herself.”

This was another one of our running arguments. “First up, I only use it at night and even then only for short trips. Second, the alternative was to put her on the back seat. I accept that there is less chance of her being seen that way, but if someone does see a girl bound and gagged in the back of your car, the shit will truly hit the fan.”

He grunted. “And if you’re stopped?”

I threw my hands up. “If she’s tied up in the back it’s all over anyway! This way, I just show her the gun and make it clear that if she draws attention to herself the cop dies. In poor light you can’t easily notice it, even close up.”

I don’t think he’ll ever be convinced. “It’s your choice, I suppose. And I also suppose this is the one you want processed?”

I nodded.

“How much?”

“Full treatment, the works.”

“Expensive!”

“Oh, so your offer was only good for a six week fuck toy?” I asked innocently.

“Holding me to my word, I see,” he chuckled. “And I am a man of my word, after all. Full treatment it is, then.” He reached over and pulled off the wig, letting Beth’s natural blonde hair cascade down. “Hmm. Isn’t she—?”

I put a finger to my lips and shook my head. He looked surprised, but went along with it. “Well, then, we had better get Kitten up here to process this one, as well,” he said out loud.

I shook my head again. “There’s a problem—I want to save the uniform. That means we need to actually strip her rather than just cutting the clothes off, and Kitten can’t manage that on her own.”

The old man smiled. “Never underestimate Kitten, Charles. She’s far more talented than you can imagine. But she has her hands full at the moment—I suppose we can help out.”

We each took an arm and guided Beth down to a dungeon room where we stripped her, ignoring her struggles. I showed Doc the special solvent solution that allowed the hidden gag to be removed; even he had to admit it was ingenious. When we were finished, Beth hung from the ceiling, arms and legs separated by spreaders, blindfolded with a conventional leather blindfold and chewing happily on one of Doc’s gags. Satisfied that she was ready for Kitten, we headed off in search of Maria.

Doc smiled as we walked through the dungeon complex. “Charles, old man, I must confess I never realized you were so ruthless. You can’t take the mother, so you take the daughter. I am right—Beth is Jane’s daughter, isn’t she?”

I nodded. “You can imagine my reaction, on tonight of all nights. I didn’t realize who she was until she took her jacket off and I saw her in the full uniform. I mean , it’s been four years since I last checked up on Jane—Beth was just a little kid then. You must see why I took her, it seemed like fate. I can’t imagine what Jane Walters’ daughter would be doing hitching to Worcester, but as far as I’m concerned it’s totally perfect.”

Kitten appeared in the corridor. “I think I can answer some of your questions, if you’re interested?” she said.

We followed her into another dungeon area to find Maria hanging naked from the roof, bound identically to her friend. Over the years Doc had developed a set of standard practices—binding the girls like this allowed for a full medical exam with minimal fuss. Kitten gave Doc a clipboard and pointed to some results. “HIV and micro bacteriology will have to wait of course, but this bitch is definitely pregnant.”

Maria stiffened as Doc checked the clipboard, “You’re sure?”

“Checked it twice. She’s either pregnant or has some form of ovarian cyst. Given her age, the later seems unlikely.”

I looked at Kitten, amazed.

Doc noticed the look, “Come now, Charles, you shouldn’t be that surprised. Surely you didn’t think I’d developed the technology just to have an endless supply of willing pussy? The same techniques I use to make a sex slave in two months can make a pretty good doctor in a couple of years.”

“Pretty good?” Kitten said, outraged. “You know my grade point average!”

“Yes, my dear, but it doesn’t count unless you actually graduate from medical school.”

Kitten pouted and stormed back towards Maria. I watched her go, amazed, as Doc bent over and whispered conspiratorially, “I told you not to underestimate her.”

Kitten removed Marie’s gag. “OK, you bitch,” she said cheerfully, “who got you up the spout?”

Maria seemed confused. “Up the spout?” I whispered to Doc.

“Pregnant. I’m afraid too many years living with an Englishman has played havoc with Kitten’s idioms.”

The confusion seemed to loosen the bound girl’s tongue. “Let me GO, you bitch!” she screamed.

Kitten stiffened. “Wrong answer and wrong name,” she hissed. ”You are the bitch. You will call me mistress, or by God I’ll make you suffer!”

I felt my blood run cold.

“May I suggest that we adjourn off to the snug for a whisky?” Doc suggested. “I let Kitten do most of the discipline these days because quite frankly she has a certain talent for it, and I get the feeling things are about to get a little unpleasant. ”

“Oh, please stay,” Kitten said, without taking her eyes off Maria. “This won’t take a second.”

Fast as a snake, she grabbed Maria’s nipple, twisting it viciously. Them, dragging the girl in by the stretched nub, she hissed in Maria ear, “Hungry bitch? Arms getting a little tired? I’m the one who decides when you come down. I say when or if you eat. So tell me slave, what do you say?”

She gave another twist and Maria’s will dissolved. “S...sorry.”

“Sorry what?” Kitten asked.

“Sorry, Mistress.”

I smiled. It wasn’t easy for a St. Mary’s girl to apologize, but apparently Maria was a realist and understood that survival meant not messing with Kitten.

“Good girl!” Kitten said. She turned and smiled. “See, that didn’t take long, did it?” Turning back to Maria, she gently massaged the injured nipple. “So, tell us how you got yourself pregnant.”

Even with half her face covered by a blindfold, Maria looked sheepish. “It was Carl. A. . .a boy who works on the grounds,” she muttered. “I bought him condoms and hid them, but one must’ve had a leak.” She slumped down, miserable.

Then it clicked. “You were going to Worcester for an abortion, weren’t you?” I asked.

She nodded and sniffed. “One of the girls knew about this place there. I mean, we couldn’t use a legal clinic in town, ‘cause they have to take your name and I’d have to have my parent’s approval. So we thought about Worcester, but we didn’t have transport.”

“And Beth?”

There was a tiny movement of her shoulders that had to be a shrug. “The girls said someone would have to come with me, in case there were problems. So they drew straws.”

I whistled. Suddenly, a thousand to one shot became ten thousand to one. . .

And then a plan started to form in my mind, a way to shift suspicion away from here and back towards Worcester. “This guy you were going to see, what was his address?”

“It’s in my jeans pocket.”

Kitten had cut the jeans off with a knife; fortunately the pockets were intact. I reached down and picked up the remains, working through them methodically until I found a piece of paper. Doc read it over my shoulder and winced. “My dear young lady, I know that things may seem quite desperate for you now, but I can assure you that you’ve had a fortunate escape.” he told her. “This man is a scoundrel, a quack and a butcher! I shudder to think what would have befallen you at his hands.”

Maria “looked” up. “Really?” she asked weakly.

“Really,” Doc said firmly. “Kitten, help our young mother down and find her a nice private cell away from the others. Minimal bonds, no gag and double rations. She is eating for two, after all.”

“Two?” Maria whispered.

“Yes, my dear. I think we will let you come to term on this one. Don’t worry—both myself and Mistress Kitten are well qualified. You will get the best in private care, I assure you.”

“B...but I don’t want the baby,” she whined.

Doc smiled. “No, but we do. Now hurry along, Kitten dear, and do make sure that our mother-to-be is nice and warm.”

I watched as Kitten dragged the still reluctant Maria away. “Black market, I assume?”

“Oh yes,” Doc said cheerfully. “A good, healthy white baby can easily pull in twenty thousand if you can find the right adoptive parents. That’s a tidy profit on nine months room and board. Further, it will establish Maria as having a good reproductive track record. There are societies were that is a highly valued property in a slave.”

“You’re a bastard, you know.”

“And you are. . .? Anyway, while we’re down here I may as well introduce you to your cargo.”

We wandered through the pens. Doc’s place was originally built to handle twenty girls or more, back in the sixties when there had been an almost infinite number of Flower Children to choose from and HIV was a far-off nightmare. These days he keeps maybe ten at a time, a number he and Kitten can handle easily between them. The corridors are always quiet, since the girls are bound and gagged at all times to “discourage mischief”. I must admit it works. It’s hard for any group to plan a mutiny when they can’t talk to one another.

We stopped at a cell occupied by two girls. Unlike the occupants of some of the other cells, these two wore clothes. The older woman was in her mid-thirties, with long brown hair and dark brown eyes. She was dressed in a fairly expensive female business suit complete with stockings and sensible pumps. She mumbled something into her gag and tried to move forward, but the steel collar around her neck stopped her getting any further.

Doc pointed to her. “That’s the one we were talking about,” he explained. “Her name’s Myra. This one,” he said, pointing to the younger blonde girl, “used to be called Joanne, but these days we call her JoJo.”

JoJo was dressed in the most incredible outfit I’d ever seem—a latex lace up basque, latex thigh high five inch heeled boots and shiny latex gloves. “This is their outfit for the party. We kept them in it after today’s practice so that they can give you a demonstration,” Doc added, opening the cell door and handing me a key. We unfastened both of them from their assorted bonds. “Right, ladies,” he said when we were finished. “Go to work.”

Myra straightened up from her slump and sat as if she was at a desk. A pair of glasses had appeared from somewhere and she sat pantomiming reading papers. Pausing, she pressed a button on an invisible intercom. “JoJo, come in here, please,” she demanded.

JoJo flounced over. There was something in the way she moved, in the vacant look in her eyes that told me she was a six week special. Doc had broken her, destroying completely the woman she used to be and programming the husk as a simple sex toy. I could see how Myra could be a problem—there was still a flicker of self awareness behind those brown eyes—but for JoJo it was all over. All she could wish for now was a kind master and an easy life. It was unlikely she’d have either.

“JoJo! Fine personal assistant you are,” Myra said harshly. “I was looking through these accounts and I’ve found a problem.”

“Really, ma’am? What’s wrong?” Even JoJo’s voice lacked any personality. It was as flat and impersonal as a recording.

“There’s still money in them, you little bitch!,” Myra snarled. “Why do I employ you!”

JoJo squirmed, pushing her latex covered cleavage in the older woman’s face. “I dunno. Because I lick slit good?”

At that point, Myra stood up and threw off her jacket and the glasses. Doc pressed a button, and the music started. I’d seen lesbian displays before—most erotic dance shows have at least one if they can get away with it. They’re pretty boring as soon as you get the feeling that the girls are just play acting. This however, was different—it had a weird sort of energy and rhythm to it, a side-effect of Doc’s training. Each woman latched on to the other, eagerly licking, fingering, and teasing in time to the music. Methodically they stripped each other; underneath Myra’s blouse and skirt was a latex top and a pair of matching bikini briefs, leaving both women dressed almost identically.

At that point the women dragged each other to the floor, pushing up skirts as they squirmed into a 69 position and started lapping and sucking at each other’s snatches. I could hear the wet, juicy noises of tongues busily working away on clits, and the little moans and squeals as the stimulation escalated. There was a strange urgency to it all as each woman tried desperately to get the other to come. The vacant look in JoJo’s eyes had been replaced by a desperate, unearthly hunger. I saw its reflection in Myra’s eyes, but I also saw something more; a horrified self-loathing and disgust. The emotions hovered just below the surface, suppressed by Doc’s conditioning, but they were definitely there. Somewhere, the real Myra was aware of what she was doing, totally aware but unable to stop. Then suddenly JoJo came with a squeal, and moments later Myra followed her with a screaming, mind-stunning orgasm that left her twitching on the floor.

“I think that’s enough,” Doc said quietly. “Be a good chap and help Myra up, Charles. ”

I did. The vacant look had crept back into her eyes, as if the orgasm had somehow crushed the last vestige of her personality. She didn’t struggle as I rebound her and shoved the gag back into her limp mouth.

Locking them in the cell, we went back upstairs in silence. “Just what the hell was that all about?” I asked.

“That was one hundred percent what the client ordered,” Doc said defensively. “He even scripted it and chose the music. There’s even a gimmick—I’ve made it so that each woman has an orgasm that is perhaps a tenth of it’s usual potency. Except, if she comes just after another woman, then it’s more like ten times the usual potency.”

“So each tries to make the other come first.”

“Exactly. If you come first, you get a little tremble. Come second and the world explodes.”

“So Myra won just now.”

Doc nodded as we reentered the sitting room. “She usually does, one of the advantages of not having been broken yet. The whole setup was the client’s idea.” “But why?”

He handed me a whisky. “Myra worked for a major Manhattan bank in their foreign trading desk. Quite senior, a VP I believe. Joanne was her PA. Our client was another VP whose department used the Foreign Desk a lot. He started to notice some irregularities, which at first he put down to some over ambitious trading. Gradually, he started to find evidence of a widespread securities fraud being run from somewhere inside Myra’s department. As was common procedure at the bank, he approached the board in Myra’s absence and was ordered to investigate fully. One weekend, he and some of his people entered Myra’s departmental records and started to do an audit.”

I could see where this was going. “And the culprit turned out to be Myra.”

“Precisely. She had embezzled several million dollars in the past three years and he was able to prove it. He called her in and asked for an explanation—apparently, she just laughed in his face. Told him not to be a stupid little boy, that they couldn’t go to law because after Barrings and that Tokyo scandal any publicity would bring down the bank. She even threatened to go public herself if he pushed it. Then she handed him her resignation and just left, laughing at him as she went and taking Joanne with her.”

“So he hired you to get revenge.”

“Mmm, in a way,” Doc said. “You were in London that week, so Martin and Ray picked up our two young friends. The bank has managed to bury the loss through some careful accounting. In the meantime, the office has a tradition of going out to a cabaret evening once a year. This year, our man will provide the entertainment.”

“How’s he going to explain it?” I asked puzzled.

“He’ll claim that Myra agreed to do it in exchange for not being reported to the police and the federal authorities.”

“Seems a little thin,” I said. “If I’d stolen a few million, I’m sure I could find a better way out”

“Ultimately it doesn’t really matter. Our man will get his few minutes of revenge and the public humiliation of Myra, and he’ll be happy. Let him explain it.”

I wasn’t satisfied but I let it ride.

“In any case, the party is tomorrow night in a club in Manhattan.” Doc added. “You will take them to the show and bring them back here afterwards.”

I didn’t like it and I told him so, but I think he felt I was overplaying things as a bargaining ploy. In the end we agreed on a price.

Then Doc paused. “By the way Charles, in nine months it will be Christmas, I believe.”

“About then,” I agreed.

“Let’s have a party of our own, then! Maria will be having her baby, and in nine months I can turn your Beth into the most perfect slave you’ll ever see!”

“Sounds good,” I said standing. “But right now I need to get some sleep if I’m driving into Manhattan tomorrow.”

“Excellent idea. You know where the towels are—sleep well, dear boy.” He picked up his neurological journal again as I got up and headed down to the dungeon to say goodnight to Kitten. That look in Myra’s eye still bothered me. I had a friend who worked one summer in a slaughter house. He had no problems “processing” hundreds of cows a week; hell, he even joked about it. Then one day he just upped and left. When I asked him why, he told me about an accident they’d had with a cow that had somehow survived the killer blow. He’d had to watch it die in agony, fully aware of what was going on.

Usually I didn’t worry about those we processed. It was quick and simple and there seemed to be little pain apart from Kitten’s disciplinary actions. But Myra was different. We were slowly destroying her, and like that poor cow she was completely aware of what we were doing to her. I shuddered.

Below ground, Kitten was in the dungeon with Beth. The girl’s position had hardly changed since I left her, although her shaved cunt showed that Kitten had been busy. Slaves have no sexual contact until the results of the health checks come back, but of course this didn’t include mechanical items. When I arrived Kitten was just about to slide a large, intricate vibrator into Beth’s pussy. Not wanting to interfere, I waited until Kitten had finished.

Kitten looked up and smiled at me. “Slave, your master is here to see you.” She reached down to switch the device on, and I watched as Beth began to squirm. “He gives you this gift of pleasure in recognition of your obedience, as well as the gift of pain if you disobey.” Beth’s hips quaked as she tried to get a better position and her moans increased in volume behind the gag.

Kitten walked over, swinging her hips just a bit. “Come to see how the slut’s doing?” she asked lightly.

“Actually, I came to see you,” I said.

“Oh. Doc told you, then?”

“Told me what?”

“That I’m to supervise the processing of your slave?”

“You?”

She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Yes me. You haven’t been here much recently, master. I do most of the training these days.”

I pursed my lips, thinking. So Doc hadn’t been kidding when he’d called her his apprentice. “Okay, fair enough. But what I wanted to talk to you about was that lesbian act. Do you know who the client is?”

She shook her head. “Doc works on a need to know basis and I didn’t need to know. Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you. Compartmentalization is essential if our security is to be maintained.”

She was going to take a little persuading. I leaned in, carefully, and brushed my lips along her cheek. She shivered. “The intermediary, you must know him,” I wheedled.

“Master, please—”

“Just a name?” I pleaded, moving down to trace my tongue along her neck and shoulder. She sighed, arching her chest forward, her nipples hard and visible through the basque. “Even a hint?”

“You know I can’t say so—”

“Pleeeease?” I gave her my best puppy dog look, big eyes up and adorable as I caressed one perfect tit through the leather.

Finally, she gave in. “All right, but if I end up scrubbing kitchen floors naked again I’m going to hold you responsible” she murmured. “It’s Sam Turner. And now, why don’t you put that tongue where it’ll do some good?”

I kissed her, and she dragged me down to the floor. We made love then and there. Above us, in a world of her own, Beth swung backwards and forwards, moaning into her gag and thrusting her hips as she chased an illusive orgasm.