The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Gala’s Gift

by Captain Eazy

(mc, ma, ff, mf, md)

7. Changes

Over the next seven days, little if anything changed in Gala’s outward life. She still put in her twenty hours a week at the bookshop, still had lunch on Fridays with her friends, still shopped and ran errands. Although her home life had been completely transformed, although she had become totally dependent upon Dan and totally under his control, Gala kept up appearances and successfully maintained the outward shape and tenor of her former life, the life that now she recalled only distantly, and (to be honest) with some distaste for the prudish, repressed, silly woman she vaguely recalled being. She had been so burdensome to Dan! Now that she had completely discarded all vestiges of shame, this was her only lingering regret: That she had not given herself, her will, to Dan sooner.

In one way, though, Gala was not quite the same as she had been, and people around her could detect that difference, although they did not completely understand exactly what had changed. Unlike ever before, people around her had begun in subtle and obvious ways to regard her as a sexual being. Outside her home, Gala dressed no differently than she always had. She offered absolutely no encouragement, no casual hint of flirtation, no sly rises of an eyebrow, no subtle lick of her lips, to anyone. Outwardly, she was still as formal, though friendly, as she had always been. She did not try to tempt, to lure anyone. And yet. . . .

A very respectable older gentleman, Dr. Marner, a retired history professor, hit on her one morning. He had to be at least seventy. Trim, dapper, with a full head of shining white hair and a gray mustache, Marner always dressed in tweedy three-piece suits and looked just a little like the photos of William Faulkner on the jackets of his novels. The retired academic presented himself well, had an endearing, fuddy-duddy kind of courtliness in his demeanor, and was soft-spoken and unfailingly polite. Gala knew Dr. Marner fairly well. He dropped into the shop at least once a week, usually buying a few magazines and now and then a book on some historical subject, the Boer War, the end of the Victorian era, the buildup to World War I. On slow days he would chat with the bookstore clerks for a while (Gala had the sense that in his retirement he found life a little lonely). She and the courtly old man had often enough exchanged pleasantries over his purchases, and he had two or three times expressed his gratitude to her for her occasional help in locating or ordering a book for him.

Not quite a week before Thanksgiving, on a Wednesday morning, Dr. Marner dropped by and bought a thick paperback and a hardcover. He gazed at Gala through his horn-rimmed spectacles as she rang up his purchases, his brown eyes twinkling roguishly behind his thick glasses. “Here you are,” she said brightly, dropping his receipt into the bag with his books.

“Thank you, my dear,” Dr. Marner had said, taking a half step closer and tilting his head to one side like a friendly, inquisitive beagle. “Forgive me for asking an impertinent question, but have you changed something? Your hair, your makeup? There is definitely some difference. You have a wonderful kind of rosy glow about you this morning.”

She smiled at him. “No, I’m just the same old me,” she said. “But you’re very sweet to give me a compliment.”

Dr. Marner glanced around. No one else was near the cash register. “Gala,” he said, reading her name tag—he knew her, but he seemed always to have trouble recalling names—“Gala, my child, if you happen to be free for lunch, I’d be delighted to treat you.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t date customers,” Gala had told him. “That’s against our store’s policy. But thank you for the offer, Professor. It’s very kind of you.”

“Oh, I wish you would reconsider, my dear,” he said in a disappointed voice. Then he added as if on pure impulse, “My cock isn’t all I could wish it to be these day.” He heaved a sigh. “But then again, I can perform quite astonishing feats with my tongue, my dear,” he confided, and then looked shocked as if belatedly realizing just what he had said. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Gala. I didn’t mean to—just an old man, I fear. Forgive me! Mind wandering.” He took up his bag and hurried out, glancing back in an abashed and apprehensive way.

Gala had smiled and waved in a friendly way to show him she had taken no offense at all, feeling nothing but a warm amusement for the old fellow, though she did speculate a little wistfully about those tongue tricks. Not that she would have accepted his offer, not even of lunch, let alone his obvious desire to have her in bed. Dan had ordered her never to give herself or offer herself to another man, and the very idea had become absurd, a physical impossiblility. She could no more offer her body to any man other than Dan than she could flap her arms and fly. Still, she could imagine the sheer exhilaration of flying free—and in her impish, pixie-like curiosity, she could wonder.

And among other things she wondered why so many people now flirted mildly or wildly with her each day. Did she give off some kind of sexy vibe? Did she emit some subtle musk, some fine heady fragrance of rut, that they picked up on, even unconsciously? Pimply teen boys buying manga or gaming magazines would hand their selections to her and stand there stammering and shuffling, and more than one had bent suddenly at the waist, trying unsuccessfully to conceal a bulge in his jeans as she handled the sale. An expensively-dressed woman had lingered for minutes in the check-out line until she could be waited on by Gala, not by Nancy, the other girl at the counter. The woman had leaned forward and had confidentially asked Gala, “Are you a working girl, dear?” as she paid for a fashion magazine.

“Only here,” Gala had answered truthfully, not even fully understanding what she had been asked. “And that’s only part time.”

“If you want to earn a little real money, just call me,” the woman had said, passing Gala a business card on which she had penned a telephone number, marking it “private”. Gala had not called her, but at their next lunch, Jane had hooted in raucous glee when she told the story and showed them the card. “I know her name! She’s a call girl!” she said. “Very high class, too! Gala, if you take her up on her offer, she’ll make you a rich woman. And you’ll have more cocks than you can handle!”

“Dan’s cock is enough for me,” Gala had said calmly, tearing the business card into a dozen pieces of confetti.

Gala resisted all offers of sex at work or out in public, but at home . . . ah, at home.

As though savoring his sweet release from a long cruel sentence of sexual deprivation, Dan wanted to explore sex in all its variety, in spontaneous, complete enthusiasm. Gala willingly and eagerly serviced him in every possible way, and no matter how bizarre the position, she came with an intensity that seemed to increase every single time. She met him naked every evening, and many nights before they even ate dinner, before they did anything else, he took her in some exciting way. He fucked her hot tits, she cradling them and pressing them together around his warm, moving cock, looking up at him adoringly. When he came, his jism shot with surprising force against the underside of her chin, and the heated sensation of it splashing hard against her skin was enough to get her off. He fucked her on the dining-room table, in his armchair, on the stairway. She sprawled over the sofa and he did her doggy-style, or grasped the tops of her thighs and fucked her up her ass. And she ate cock, oh, she loved to go down on him, she passionately adored the taste of his dick now. His cum seemed like ambrosia, and when he thrust himself into her mouth, she felt exalted, honored to be the receptacle for his sperm, like a temple virgin to whom a glorious, lusty god had appeared. There was no question of what she wanted. Gala desired what Dan desired, and in making him happy, she felt ecstasy herself.

Dan was her unquestioned master, but his commands were her utter delight; her service was a joy, not a burden, and her life’s meaning lay in her knowing that she pleased him, that he used her and felt pleasure in doing so. And every time he took her, he cuddled her and stroked her afterward, called her pet names, and they slept gloriously naked, twined together. She liked to wake him in the morning by taking his limp cock into her mouth and sucking and licking until it engorged, filled her, and she felt its tight bulge under her tongue.

They did things that, a month before, she would have regarded as sick and kinky. She masturbated him with her feet, making her toes almost prehensile as she leaned back, fingering her own spread, dripping cunt as she watched his balls bounce and appreciated the smile that spread on his face as he got a good view of what she was doing with her toes and fingers. She took his cock under her armpit, in the crease of her ass, and felt the hot spray of cum over her naked back. Best of all she loved fucking in the old-fashioned way, but in a kaleidoscopic range of positions: she took him in her pussy from any angle, every angle; she lay back on her shoulders, ass raised high in the air, and he pounded into her like a pile driver. She stood with one foot on the floor, one thrown high onto the kitchen counter, and he stood to fuck her. They fucked in the bed, with him lying crossways, her legs thrust up into the air, thighs pressed tight together, and he fucked her from behind. It was good, all good. He ordered more toys for her from Sensutech, more than six thousand dollars’ worth of dildos and vibrators. She felt lucky to belong to such a kind and considerate master.

* * *

Thanksgiving came, and after it Black Friday, the American retail national orgy of the year. As though persuaded Christmas wouldn’t come if they stayed home, floods of people jammed frantically into the stores, bargain-hunting, competing with each other, achieving a frenzy of shopping. Victoria had once emerged from such a bout of commercial hysteria with ripped hose, disordered hair, and the wry observation, “I’ve been malled!”

This year was as bad as always, if not a little worse. Though all of their bosses wistfully offered overtime if they’d stay, none of the six girls cared to face the buying public one second longer than they had to, and they all left at lunchtime. Because every restaurant in town was so crowded on that hectic day, instead of dining at a restaurant, the six girlfriends went to Jane’s condo for lunch. Gala had never visited Jane’s place before, and she found the apartment charming, decorated in white and accented with glass and chrome-coated steel. Jane kept the place immaculate—she had no long-term partner just at present, she said carelessly, and the last one had been such a slob that she was satisfying herself with one-night stands for the time being. The girls kicked the shoes from their aching feet, settled down around her table over take-out Chinese, and bemoaned the crazy day in retail. All of them had been run ragged.

“God,” Louise groaned, helping herself to some spicy General Tso’s chicken. “I thought I was gonna scream. I swear, every year I mean to avoid working the Friday after Thanksgiving, and every damn one finds me back at the same old stand.”

“Tell me about it.” Veronica delicately seized a shrimp between her chopsticks. “Harry will bitch at me tonight because for a change I am going to be too tired to screw him. But I am too tired, and that’s that. And if he doesn’t like it, he can jerk off, for all I care.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t refuse,” Gala said. “You should never refuse.”

Veronica laughed. “When did you get to be the big sexpert, Gala?”

Sara was spreading hot Chinese mustard on an egg roll. “Don’t tease her,” she said. “Haven’t you noticed she’s a lot different lately? I think Dan’s turned her all the way on.”

“He has,” Gala said. “He showed me how much I was missing by being afraid of sex. Now we do everything.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Diane said, lifting her cup of green tea in a mock toast. “Gala, it’s wonderful you finally loosened up. Seriously, the other girls and I used to talk about trying to find a gigolo to teach you the basic steps, if you know what I mean. I hope Dan is good to you.”

“Oh, he is,” Gala assured her. “He’s such a great lover! I love what he does to me.”

“Good for you,” Jane said. “Does he lick your pussy?”

“Oh, Jane!” Sarah said in a tone of dismay. “Don’t talk about going down on other women. Not while I’m eating my Mu Gu Gai Pan!”

But Gala answered Jane serenely: “Yes, sometimes he does. And sometimes we do each other at the same time. I like that. Don’t you like to have a man’s cock in your mouth and his tongue on your clit? Doesn’t that make you feel wonderful?”

“I’ve never had a man’s cock in my mouth,” Jane replied with a laugh. “And never want to. And I’ve also never had a man eat me out, but I imagine it would be uncomfortable, all that beard stubble.”

“Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it,” Veronica said with a snort. “You’re kidding, aren’t you, Jane? Haven’t you ever fucked a guy, at least once?”

“I knew I was gay from the time I was twelve years old,” Jane returned. “Men just don’t turn me on. Never have.”

“You should try a man at least once,” Gala said.

Shaking her head and smiling, Jane returned, “You should try a woman at least once, Gala. You might like it.”

“Here’s an idea,” Diane said. “Why don’t you both try switch-hitting? This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship!”

“I’ll ask Dan if I can,” Gala said seriously.

At her unexpectedly straightforward tone, as though she really meant to ask Dan for permission to go down on a woman, the others exchanged an uncomfortable, rather puzzled glance. Diane smiled brightly. “Well,” she said. “If we can change the subject from cocks and clits for a moment, who’s started their Christmas shopping?”

Everyone began to talk about that. Gala noticed, though, that Jane was giving her a very direct, almost challenging stare, with a little smile playing on her red lips. She gazed back coolly, giving Jane no encouragement whatever, though in truth she felt herself, well, not aroused exactly, but certainly curious. Maybe, she thought, it was true that being with two women at once was every man’s fantasy. If so, might Dan like to see her in Jane’s arms, watch them as their lips found each other’s clit, as their tongues explored each other’s depths? If the occasion came up, she thought she might ask him. He could tell her either yes or no, and she would accept his decision. She was curious, but Dan’s happiness overrrode everything.

But, she wondered, why was Jane being so open, so brazen, about wanting her? It was just like her experience with the old history professor, as if she had thrown off some signal that said she was interested and available. Gala wondered again if she was giving off some aura that made other people desire her. She had not intended to encourage Jane, or Professor Marner, or anyone. Only Dan. He had made that clear. She was to be forward and eager only with him, with no one else, and that was the way it had to be.

Still, what were people sensing about her? She stirred from her reverie as she felt a nudge. Like the others, Jane had slipped off her shoes. Her foot, clad only in her hose, stroked Gala’s ankle beneath the table. Gala did not react, but neither did she move her foot out of reach. Curious. Maybe there was a lingering aroma about her. She had heard of pheromones.

She would have to try to solve the mystery. If Dan permitted. Dan’s word would be final.

Gala smiled to herself, thrilled to be the slave of such a generous and loving master. Jane must have misunderstood. Her foot glided up and down, up and down, a pleasant friction on Gala’s ankle, hidden from all the others. Gala did nothing to stop her.

* * *

Technically, Dan had no pressing business on that Friday. The bank was technically open, but they weren’t taking applications for loans. He was catching up on end-of-the-year paperwork, though, and so he put in a full day behind his desk. His phone rang at three-twelve that afternoon, and expecting it to be the Loans Manager telling him to take the rest of the day off, Dan lifted the receiver. “Fieldwell here.”

“Mr. Daniel Fieldwell?”

A woman’s voice, unfamiliar. “Yes, that’s right. How may I help you?”

“Did you recently place an Internet order for Sensutech devices in the amount of six thousand, three hundred, and twelve dollars and”—a pause as though she were consulting a spreadsheet“and thirty-nine cents?”

Dan lowered his voice: “Yes, but this is my place of business. I can’t really discuss that here.”

“Am I correct in saying that about three weeks ago you also purchased a basic Ruby Red vibrator along with some supplies?”

“Yes, I did, but this isn’t really the time or place to talk about that,” Dan said. “Look, I know I’m nowhere near the credit limit on that card.”

“Please hold, sir. Mr. Gerrard wishes to speak to you.”

“Who’s Mr. Gerrard?”

“Mr. Gerrard is Mr. Gerrard, sir. Please hold.”

Dan spent an impatient twenty seconds before a man’s pleasant baritone came on the line: “Mr. Fieldwell. This is Gardner Gerrard. I am the CEO of Sensutech, Incorporated.”

“Yes?”

“And we have a problem, I’m afraid. You purchased a vibrator from us, which we shipped at the end of October and which you received early this month. It was a Ruby Red instrument, and it carried the serial number S201 V61 0009. Am I correct?”

“I don’t know about the serial number, but yes, I did order the vibrator.”

“We are certain of the number, Mr. Fieldwell. Have you used the vibrator?”

“Yes, my wife and I used it. It works very well.”

“And has it changed your wife’s personality, Mr. Fieldwell?”

“It’s made her more enthusiastic, if that’s what you mean. She’s enjoyed it. But I don’t like talking about her to a stranger.”

The voice sighed. “We really should have recalled the first few instruments in that series. The resonator chip was miscalibrated. In its current configuration, unfortunately if a woman uses the device at full power, the resonator chip can create an extraordinarily high level of submissiveness. Have you noticed any changes in, ah, that direction?”

“Well . . . yes.”

“Oh, dear. I’m afraid that the change is irreversible, Mr. Fielding. We managed to catch the other twenty-nine before too much change had occurred, but—you did press all six buttons, did you not?”

“Yes.”

Moments of silence, and then Gerrard said, “I really need to consult with you personally, sir. Say next Thursday? Come prepared to spend two nights, and we’ll do what we can.”

“Both of us, you mean? Gala and me both?”

“No, for many reasons it would be inadvisable for you to bring your wife, Mr. Fieldwell. Just the proximity to the woman who imprinted the resonator . . . no, it’s best not to bring Mrs.Fieldwell. Do you feel confident she will obey you?”

“Absolutely,” Dan said. “Like the instructions said, she’s become enthralled.”

“Deeply, if I know J-201,” Gerrard said mysteriously. “Very well. Leave Mrs.Fieldwell with very strong instructions to keep to herself, and assure her we’ll have you back to her no later than Saturday afternoon. The other products included in your initial order are quite harmless, so enjoy them as much as you want, but don’t let your wife use the vibrator on herself again. There could be serious consequences.”

“Consequences?”

He heard Gerrard sigh before answering: “Loss of her core personality. Loss of interest in the everyday world, loss of ability to interact with anyone except on a purely carnal level. The assumption of an almost robotic persona, except when in the act of performing sexually. Loss of the ability to speak coherently. Actually, there’s not a very strong risk of these things happening, but if you overdid it, if you used it too much, there is a slight though admittedly real possibility that your wife could pick up so much of the resonator chip’s imprinting that such personality losses could occur. Leave the vibrator alone until after you’ve spoken personally with me, and we’ll try to make sure that your wife will remain herself, as much as possible. We will gladly replace the instrument with an equally pleasurable but more expensive model, entirely at no cost to you. The new one will have a properly calibrated resonator and will cause no further problems. But I’ll tell you more when you come to see me next week.”

“I can’t just pack up and go!” Dan objected. “I have a position with—”

“Yes, I know of your position with the bank. Leave that to me. I will e-mail you instructions on where to meet our private airplane. You will need to leave both Thursday and Friday free.” As though sensing Dan’s continuing hesitancy, Gerrard said, “I’ll give you the grand tour of the factory, Mr. Fieldwell. I promise you, it will be a memorable experience. Good-bye.” The line clicked, and Dan hung up, thinking he’d be damned if he were going to ask Mr. Thornton for two days off.

The phone rang again, and Dan picked up the receiver. “Fieldwell here.”

“Dan, glad I caught you.” It was Robert Thornton, the Loans Manager for this branch. “Clear your calendar for next Thursday and Friday, my friend. I’m sending you out of town.”

“What? Why?”

“Big out of town loan opportunity, Dan. I mean big: five million. And the CEO of the company asked for you personally to negotiate the deal.”

“Which company?” asked Dan, already suspecting he knew.

“Sensutech,” Thornton said. “Supposed to be a big Internet presence.”

“Sensutech,” Dan replied flatly.

“I’ve checked their credit rating. They’re gold, Dan. We’re lucky they decided to come to us. I’ll have everything drawn up for you. We can give them a good rate—they’re good for it. You’ll need to fly out to get the signatures. Take Thursday and Friday, and—hell, I tell you what, you take the next Monday off, too. You deserve it. How did you get to know this Gerrard, anyway? He insisted on you.”

“I don’t really know him,” Dan said. “I’ve spoken with him, though.”

“Well, do a good job and I’ll see if I can’t arrange a little Christmas bonus for you, Dan.”

“Thanks, Bob.”

He hung up and stared at the receiver. What the hell had he gotten himself and Gala into?

8. Fantasies and Dreams

Gala got home, stripped, and masturbated until she had come three times in a row. She licked her fingers contentedly and thought about what to prepare for dinner. She had to get dressed for that—cooking naked entailed certain discomfort. But she chose a long, silky kimono and wore nothing under it, absolutely nothing. Humming, she prepared two game hens, a mixed salad, risotto, and steamed vegetables. They still had a bottle of the delicious Chardonnay that Dan loved.

Dan’s car rolled in a little after six, and Gala removed her gown, carefully folded it, and laid it over a chair. She opened the garage door for him and stood with her head bowed submissively as he came in. “Hi, hon,” he said, taking her into his arms.

She pressed against him, feeling his cock swelling inside his pants. Her heart quickened. Even after days of exhaustive sex, just knowing that she did this to him, that she made him hard, that she would be commanded to take that hardness inside her, excited her. “Do you want to take me now?” she asked quietly. “Or do you want dinner first?”

“Let’s eat first,” he said. “Then we can have all the rest of the evening.”

She smiled and led him to the table.

Dan complimented her on the meal, but through it all she noticed that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her body. She held her shoulders back, displaying her tits to better advantage. When they had finished eating, Dan said, “Let’s take the rest of the wine upstairs.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

In the bedroom, he said, “You may undress me now.”

“Thank you,” Gala said. Her anxious fingers trembled as she unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his belt and pulled down his trousers. She knelt to remove his pants and underwear, and she nuzzled his already impressive erection with her cheek, enjoying how springy it felt. “How do you want me?” she asked.

“Lie back on the bed,” Dan said with a smile. “Wait right there.”

Gala obeyed, lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, seeing in her mind’s eye a million dirty, delicious things the two of them could do together. When Dan came back, he brought a stack of three or four thick, fluffy towels. He had her raise her ass and put them under her, like a pad, and then he told her to spread her legs. Gala did, then squirmed and shivered as Dan poured a stream of wine over her open pussy. She quivered, knowing what he was going to do and knowing that even Jane would feel just as pleased if she only knew how wonderful Dan could love a woman with his lips and tongue. Dan leaned forward and slurped, lapping up the wine, and incidentally driving Gala half out of her mind with his firm, pliant tongue.

“Tell me if you like it,” Dan said in a thick voice.

“I love it,” Gala said, reaching to ruffle his hair. “Oh, God, I love it when you eat my pussy!”

Another trickle of wine, and Dan went back to his task with renewed fervor, slurping and smacking. Gala came twice from the attention, gasping at the intensity and shuddering from an overflow of pure pleasure. “You’re having too many orgasms in a row. I need a chance to catch up,” Dan said with a chuckle. “Want a little wine, Gala?”

“Yes, please.”

Dan lay back on the pad of towels and Gala rose to service him. “Tell me what you’re going to do,” Dan commanded.

Gala took the wine bottle. It was still nearly a quarter full. “I’m going to pour this wine over your big hard cock,” she said seductively. “And I’m going to suck it off until you come in my mouth. And then I’m going to swallow your hot cum. Is that what you want me to do, Master?”

“That sounds good. Go ahead, my slave.”

Gala twitched and panted. That was such a powerful word, slave. Whenever Dan called her that, the mere sound of the word always gave her a small, though powerful, orgasm. He did not need to touch her or to offer any stimulation other than the word itself.

Slave, she was a slave! She was what she had been born to become, and just knowing that was joy and release. Delicious word, slave: she belonged to someone! She could enjoy every perversion, every wickedness, with no blame attached, no lingering guilt. No wonder her pussy clenched whenever Dan called her that! But not wanting to deny Dan her attention any further, she took no selfish time to savor her feelings.

She gripped the head of Dan’s cock—loosely, because she didn’t want to cause him any discomfort—and poured a little of the wine into the hollow made by her fingers. Then she bent forward and licked it up with her tongue, swirling it over the bulging dome of his cock head, sipping it through pursed lips, and then stimulating his cock. He sighed in pleasure, and she repeated, this time letting some of the dribbling wine overflow and run down his shaft. Gala followed it with her tongue, licking and sucking, down his cock and onto his balls. She loved to tease him like this, to get him all wound up so that when he came the spurt of cum would be a copious, hot, tasty explosion. The next time she started to suck wine from the tip of his cock, she felt his hand on the back of her head, so she took him into her mouth, shifting her position slightly so that she could let him fuck her all the way to the back of her throat if he desired. She reached down to play with her own clit—Dan had given her permission always to do that if she were giving head—and made herself come again. God, how she loved to come! She loved the shudder of it, the electric release, the spasm that shook her from her naked toes to the crown of her head. And she had such an endless capacity for orgasms now! Even when Dan had made love to her and then had pleasured her with the vibrator for hours, even when her pussy lips were sore, she could come and come and come. And Dan was so generous! She only wished that his capacity matched hers. She fantasized Dan coming in a flood that would cover her whole body, her boobs, her stomach, her long legs, in gooey, shimmering cum!

Dan was clearly enjoying her sucking him off right now, though, so she concentrated on that. He had shown her that, once he was nearing the edge, what really set him off was not deep-throating, but her loving, close attention to the engorged head of his cock, cunning darts and licks of her tongue around the glans, under the little circular ridge that marked the boundary between shaft and head. Now Gala concentrated on that with her tongue, while her free hand lovingly stroked Dan’s shaft, drifted down to caress his balls, urging him to release. “I’m coming!” he groaned after a few moments, and Gala caught the full blast of his ejaculation in her mouth. It made her come, too—she adored the taste of his cum now—and she swallowed and gulped, but he was so excited that she lost control of his cock and the second jet splashed across her cheek before she could recapture it. She felt the liquid dripping off as she sucked the last of his juice from him, and then she nuzzled his belly, her tongue seeking out the white drops. She looked up at him, a glazed, dazed smile on her face, and he wiped his thumb over her sticky cheek. Gala took his thumb in her mouth—like a tiny little cock!—and gratefully, gleefully sucked the cum off it.

He knew she wanted more. He fingered her to two more climaxes, and then he was hard enough again to fuck her. He lay back and she rode him, her ass toward his face. It was nice that way. She could lean forward and he could reach down to plug her asshole with a finger while she stroked her own clit. It was a great way to fuck, she thought, her pussy clutched tight to his cock, her asshole clenched on his intruding finger, her clit throbbing from the attention she gave it. At long last after that she had enough to last her for a while, and they showered together. She worshipfully soaped his body and then later toweled him dry, adoring him at close range, thinking as she performed her task This part of him was in my mouth and then in my pussy. This finger was in my ass.. She concentrated on remembering the exact sensations each time, for later she would weave them into lascivious fantasies.

As they lay in bed later, Dan said, “Have you been using the vibrator while I’m away at work?”

“Yes,” she said. “Sometimes.”

“Listen, slave,” he said, and she quivered internally again at the beloved word. “I am going to give you a command. You must not break it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I don’t want you to pleasure yourself with that vibrator again. You can’t have it on your tits, in your mouth, in your pussy, or in your ass. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.” In a small, reluctant voice she added, “Am I being punished?”

He chuckled and kissed her. “No, Gala. But there’s some problem with it. I’m taking it back to the factory next week. Listen to me. I have to be out of town on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday morning. You have to stay here. I want you to be a good girl. You can masturbate all you want. You can get yourself off in any way that pleases you. But you are to stay home except when you’re at work, and stay home from when you get home from work on Friday until I get back on Saturday. No shopping trips, no visits to the library, nothing. What are you to do, slave?”

“Oh!” Gala caught her breath. “I’m to stay home except when I’m at work. I can frig myself to orgasm and entertain myself in any way I want, but I must stay home. I understand, Master.”

“Maybe the new vibrators and toys will come before I leave. If they do, we’ll try them out. But if they come while I’m gone, I don’t want you using them. Don’t even open the package.”

“I won’t.”

“Are you still having people make advances?”

“Yes, Master.” Gala told Dan everything: the retired history professor with the talented tongue (or so he claimed at any rate), Jane’s stroking of her ankle, the whole truth. She could not lie to her master.

“Maybe the man I’m going to visit will be able to tell us how to deal with that,” Dan said. He yawned. “I’m sleepy. What would you like as a bedtime present, Gala? Name anything.”

“Call me dirty names,” she said enticingly. From what the girls had told her about fetishes, she guessed that was one of hers. Maybe it was because she had been raised in such a strait-laced way, maybe it was because the taboos of language were so strong, but hearing herself demeaned, degraded, got her off in a special, deep, quiet way. No fireworks, but deep, deep throbs of sensuality and orgasm.

“You’re a slut,” he whispered.

“Oh, I am a slut,” she agreed, feeling the tingles begin.

“You’re my fucktoy. You’re a dirty fucking tramp. You’re my doggy-fucking bitch. My beautiful cocksucker.”

She couldn’t help wriggling. “I am,” she agreed happily. “Oh, I love to suck your cock! I’m a cocksucker, and I’m more. Say it. Make me come.”

“You’re my sex slave.”

“Ooohhhh,” she moaned.

* * *

Gala’s libido always went into overdrive when she slept these days. Her every dream was an erotic one, a fantasy script featuring her. Sometimes she saw Dan, too, clearly, but often the other bodies involved had no faces, were little more than cocks and cunts. And there were a lot of them.

Gala dreamed . . . .

Of a party, where all the other guests wore evening clothes, tuxes for the faceless men, long beautiful gowns for the faceless women. They were in a beautifully decorated room, huge, with deep white carpets and many scattered matching sofas. Through big French doors the sun shone down on a pool filled with sapphire water, still as glass. Gala drifted through the party naked. She had no will of her own; Dan had brought her there to entertain the others. A man would say sharply, “Slut! On your knees!” and obediently Gala knelt, and the man opened his fly and plunged his cock into her mouth. In the fantasy of the dream, Gala thought her mouth had magical powers: the man’s already-erect cock would grow to enormous length, and she still managed to deep-throat him, industriously bobbing her head until he came, squirting over her chin and neck.

Then she rose and wandered some more, feeling the sticky cum cooling as it dribbled in crooked runlets down over her breasts, two streams like tiny, glistening, clutching hands. A woman called, and as she pulled up her evening gown to reveal a bare, shaven snatch, Gala again knelt. This time she imagined her tongue engorging, growing into a probing, cock-shaped organ that she plunged into the woman’s depths. Always the women in these dreams tasted like her own pussy: tart, with a curious sort of lingering sweetness. In the dream the woman cried out and thrashed: “Fuck me with your tongue! Oh, God! Oh, you’re a good slave!”

Without transition, she felt one man’s cock deep in her pussy, one deep in her asshole. She sucked a third, and with left and right hands she jerked off two more. Before the dream ended she wore a cat-suit of cum, translucently white. Dan looked on approvingly and silently applauded.

Gala dreamed. . . . She had been transformed into a sexual robot. A ring had been fitted round her head, and at her temples two jewel-like ovals pulsed red light, taking away all need to think. She rode in her own body, a passenger who could feel but not speak or act. She dreamed of living with dozens of other girls, none of them ever clothed, all gloriously naked. She dreamed of being in bed with two, three, a dozen of them at once, fingers and lips and tongues all busy. When one of her cadre came, they all came. They were wired in sequence, like Christmas-tree bulbs. Anything felt by one of them was instantly shared with the rest. Gala knew a rush of sensations like none she had ever experienced, and she drowned in sensuality.

Best of all, she dreamed of marching double-file with her robotic friends, feeling all their eagerness building in her own loins. Their task was to service sex devices . . . and come.

She knelt in a row of twenty while a conveyor arrangement brought out probing vibrators that penetrated pussies and assholes, and it was so good, so intense, that she had to clutch the hands of the girls on either side of her. Once, long ago, they had come in a ragged kind of way, first one and then the other. Now, like a choreographed chorus line, they knew all the moves and all the clits flared at once, all the pussy muscles clenched at the same time, and every orgasm was a little better than the one before. And each one made her desperate for the next.

Except Gala could not act to bring it on. She was less than a slave: she was a robot, a prisoner in her own head (pleasant prison though it was) and she could not even make her voice box, tongue, and lips beg for another turn. She could not speak at all, though she could moan and coo and gurgle with glee when she was riding the sensual roller-coaster from peak to peak. Dimly, as if her perceptions were somehow shielded, she saw her robotic self perform other duties. She donned a curious belt with a kind of double-headed dildo embedded in it. The inner one went into her pussy, and the outer one went into the slit of one of the girls, and Gala fucked her. Curiously, in the dream the strapped-on cock was able to feel and respond, and she had some sense of what it was to be a man, to feel an orgasm building in the head of her cock. When she came, the cock did not gush, but she had the feeling of it spurting, so strong that she felt disappointed that upon withdrawing its tip did not drool delicious cum.

But oh, the joy of the headband she wore! It soothed her, kept her in a state of excitement and readiness, and told her what to do, every second of every day. No more worries, no more decisions to make: hers was a life of lust, pure and simple, pared to its most elemental form. Her congenial job took most of her day; eating was a bother, frankly, but necessary to fuel the machine. Then exercises, in the nude, in which her trapped self enjoyed the sight of her nude friends all around her, and then bed and sex with her friends until the headband switched her off for the night.

Eden exists in dreams.

* * *

It was the damndest business trip Dan had ever heard of. On Wednesday an express envelope had arrived for him. It included his air ticket—except it wasn’t really a ticket, but a pass allowing him to board a private aircraft, with directions taking him to a little-used concourse at the international airport. There was also a sheet listing a few amenities and requirements: he would have to go through Security, and so the company advised him that, to avoid embarrassment, he might consider packing the vibrator in a carry-on bag. Because Sensutech operated a clean facility—meaning, the sheet explained, that it attempted to remove all pathogens and allergens from its air and surfaces—he would be asked to cooperate in a process that would insure him brought no disease-carrying microbes into the company. He was advised to pack for a warm climate, but no hint of his destination otherwise appeared.

That night he packed his bag. He retrieved the wooden box from his closet and opened it, looking at the red vibrator. His supply of the lubricant and of the Arousal Assistant spray had been used up for more than a week. Dan had ordered the large economy sizes of both, but so far his big order still had not arrived. He shrugged, opened the suitcase he intended to check, and knocked the box off the bed. Gala, standing naked, started toward it, but Dan waved her off, scooped up the box, clicked the lid shut, and put it under the clothes in his suitcase. “I’ll have to leave early tomorrow,” he said. “Remember your orders, slave.”

Gala gave her quick smile. “I will go to work. I will return home and stay home. I will eat and sleep as usual, and I may bring myself to orgasm in any way.”

“Now give me a night that will make me look forward to coming home,” he said, swinging his suitcase off the bed and placing it on the floor beside the briefcase that held all the loan papers. With an anticipatory grin, Gala climbed onto the bed, embraced his head, and encouraged him to bury his face in the soft flesh of her tits. “I will,” she promised throatily. “Oh, I will!”

And so she did. Dan got up the next morning at the ungodly hour of five, quietly showered and dressed, and left for the airport. He parked in the long-term lot and rode a tram to the terminal. Then he sought out Concourse F.

It proved to be far away from the gates serving the big planes. As he walked to his gate, F-11, Dan could see corporate jets through the big windows. It was still early, the sun was not up yet, and the sleek machines stood in the cold predawn darkness, their wings and fuselages illuminated by the blue-white glare of runway and airport lights. Nobody was at any of the gates.

Except Gate F-11. A tall woman in a gray uniform, wearing the peaked cap of a pilot, stood there, her hands behind her back. As Dan approached, she tilted her head and surveyed him as if speculating. When he got close enough, she said, “Mr. Fieldwell?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m to fly on the Sensutech jet.”

“So you are.” She smiled and extended her hand. “Emmeline Trevor, your pilot today. Luggage taken care of, then?”

Her hand was soft, and for a moment Dan felt completely taken aback. Emmeline Trevor was a stunningly beautiful woman, statuesque, shapely—the shapes of her full breasts were not concealed at all by the uniform she wore—and she seemed to be blonde, to judge from the hair at the nape of her neck, beneath the back of her cap. And she was English, with a delightful, cool accent that made her classically beautiful face, with its full red lips, tip-tilted nose, and wide blue eyes seem even more fetching.

Dan became aware that he had been dumbly holding her hand. “Luggage? Oh—yes, I checked it at the private-carrier station.”

“How many cases, please?”

“Just one, but it’s a big one.”

“Ah. I like them big,” she said, raising one arched eyebrow. “When I travel, I mean. Better one enormous one that will take care of all my needs than a host of small ones. I shall make sure that your bag has been loaded, and then we can be off. If you will follow me, sir.”

There was no jetway. Instead, they descended a level and walked out onto the tarmac. The airplane waited for them, looking like something out of a Buck Rogers cartoon strip. “It looks new,” Dan said.

“It is new,” Emmeline said. “LuxAire 2400 series. Crew of two, plus your attendant, of course. Cruising speed of five hundred knots, range of three thousand two hundred nautical miles. We can carry as many as a dozen passengers. However, you shall have the cabin all to yourself this flight.”

A second woman, similarly attired, waited for them beside the aircraft. “Mr. Fieldwell,” Emmeline said, “This is my second officer and copilot, Susan Eubanks.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Susan said in a rolling, musical lilt. She was a gorgeous deep café-au-lait color, and, from her accent, originally from the Caribbean. To Emmeline, she said, “Mr. Fieldwell’s bag has been stowed, E-121.”

“Thank you, S-157.” With her brilliant smile, Emmeline said, “Our official designations. It’s as well to use them casually, so if we should ever be in an emergency reporting situation we will remember to use them, not names.”

“Of course,” Dan said.

“If you are ready, sir, we may board right away,” Susan told him.

A third woman waited aboard the plane, a short brunette with a lovely face and figure. In fact, all three women could have stepped out of a photo spread in one of the classier men’s magazines. The brunette wore a circlet of silver around her head. “I’ll be attending to your needs on the flight,” she told Mr. Fieldwell. “Call me Danielle.”

“All right, Danielle. Thank you.”

She gestured. Although the cabin was roomy enough to accommodate a dozen seats, only two had been installed, back one station so they had plenty of leg room. “May I stow your briefcase, sir?”

“Yes, thank you,” Dan said. “By the way, my name is Daniel. Call me Dan.”

“That’s a coincidence, isn’t it?” Danielle said with a wink. She took his briefcase forward and secured it in a compartment. “Now strap yourself in. We won’t have a long wait for clearance. We’re the only private craft waiting for the runway at this hour.”

Dan did, and Danielle sat next to him. “I love flying,” she said.

“It’s all right, I guess.”

“You’ll enjoy this trip,” Danielle said. “Trust me. You’ll love this crew.”

“That’s a unique uniform,” Dan said.

The uniform was a sedate gray, but the skirt Danielle wore—like the skirts worn by the pilot and copilot, come to that—was very short, ending six inches above the knee. Black net stockings covered all three women’s legs, and they all wore shiny black low-top patent leather boots with pronounced heels. And the jackets they wore were all very tight.

“Thank you,” Danielle said as the engines fired up.

“And the headband—do those lights have any purpose?”

For at Danielle’s temples two flickering red lights shimmered in the ruby pads. They reminded Dan, forcibly, of the vibrator he had packed the night before.

“We call the band the diadem,” Danielle said. “It’s really very comfortable. Very stimulating. Strapped in? I think we’re pulling back.”

Emmeline’s voice came clear over the intercom: “We have received permission to taxi to the runway. We should be airborne in less than five minutes. Please make sure you are securely buckled in, Mr. Fieldwell.”

Dan felt a hand tug at his lap strap. “He’s good,” Danielle said aloud, and she patted his thigh before sitting in her own seat and tightening her seat belt. With a mischievous glance, Danielle said, “I can see you’re excited about flying too, Mr. Fieldwell.”

Uncomfortably, Dan shifted his position in a probably futile attempt to hide his sudden erection. Danielle, though, after her one impish glance, conducted herself with absolute propriety. In fact, her cool demeanor forcefully reminded Dan of Gala as she had been up until a month earlier.

The plane surged into the air and climbed steeply. A surprised Dan said, “It’s very quiet, isn’t it?”

“We have a great sound-reduction system,” Danielle replied. “Mr. Gerrard often has business conferences aboard, and he prefers a low sound level that promotes talking in a normal voice. I just checked the national weather map, by the way. This will be a very smooth flight.”

A few minutes later, Ambulance voice came over the speakers again: “Mr. Fieldwell, we have reached our cruising altitude of 30,000 feet. I’m afraid it will be a rather long flight, so please feel free to stand up and move about the cabin. I shall alert you should we encounter rough air. Your attendant will be pleased to serve you food or drink, as you wish.”

Danielle unbuckled and stood. “Have you had breakfast?” she asked cheerfully.

“No. I didn’t realize we’d be going so far.”

“It’s a very long flight,” she said. She went to the rear of the plane and a few minutes later returned with a card. “I can offer you your choice of breakfasts,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind if the crew eats with you.”

“No, of course not,” Dan said. Object to the presence of beautiful women? Not likely!

“By the way, these are not frozen entrees. I make them myself in the galley, so if you want to substitute anything, feel free.”

Dan went for silver-dollar pancakes with fruit topping and bacon, with orange juice and coffee. “Let me check with the captain and I’ll get right on that,” Danielle promised. She went into the cockpit, then came immediately back, smiling. “Breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes,” she promised.

Halfway back she opened a wall panel and unfolded a table big enough to seat four. She took two folding chairs from another compartment, opened them, and clicked them into clever recesses in the floor. “So much better than eating off a tray,” she said with a smile. A few moments later the aromas of food began to drift out of the galley, making Dan’s empty stomach growl. And in just fifteen minutes, she called him back to the table. He slipped into his place, but stood again when he saw Emmeline emerge from the cockpit and walk toward him. She had a walk worth watching, sinuous and graceful. “Oh, please be seated,” she said with a smile. “Has our Danielle been good to you?”

“More than good,” Dan said.

“Excellent.” Emmeline removed her captain’s hat and handed it to Danielle, who stowed it somewhere before setting a small, neat omelette and a cup of black coffee in front of the pilot. Dan had stopped eating, his fork poised in the air. “Yes?” Emmeline asked politely.

“Excuse me,” Dan said. “I hadn’t noticed that you were wearing that silver headband beneath your cap.”

“Oh, we all wear the diadem,” Emmeline said with a smile. “Please don’t let your food go cold. It looks scrumptious.”

It was scrumptious, fluffy pancakes covered in sweet, tangy cherry sauce, with crisp bacon on the side. The coffee was delicious, too, robust and full-bodied, with a faint exotic undertaste, as if it had been brewed with some piquant spice. He enjoyed watching Emmeline eat—she did it with the smooth graceful economy of a cultivated Brit, none of the elbows-and-fork hurry of an American. She shaped her bites with fork and knife and conveyed them to her mouth with smooth, elegant movements. “Tell me about the diadem,” Dan said. “What are the lights for?”

“Oh, you don’t want to ask me about all that,” Emmeline said. “It’s quite dull, actually. All employees of Sensutech—well, not the execs, of course, but we poor working folk—wear them. They are a sort of communications device, actually. They leave one’s hands free to do other things. Quite efficient, really. I expect if you want to know all the technical specifications Mr. Gerrard will happily enlighten you. He invented them, you know.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Good coffee, isn’t it?”

“Very good.”

“Danielle, another cup for our guest, if you please.”

And there Danielle was, pouring a fresh cup. “Is Susan flying us?” Dan asked.

“After a fashion. Actually, the autopilot is flying us, but Susan is there on watch to make sure nothing goes pear-shaped. Now, don’t fret, because Susan is extremely competent. If the airline companies had been more accepting of women pilots six years ago, she’d be flying for one of them now. Sensutech was just lucky to capture her.”

“And have you been a pilot long?”

With her cool, head-tilted, raised-eyebrow smile, Emmeline replied, “I have been around the world any number of times, Mr. Fieldwell. I mean in the air, at the controls of a jet, of course. But you really look rather tired, and here I am chattering away. Would you like to stretch out?”

“I am sleepy,” Dan admitted, hearing himself slur the words slightly. “Usually coffee wakes me up.”

“Well, I expect you had an unusually early start to the day. I doubt that you always rise before dawn, though that would be something to see, I think.” While Dan was puzzling over her words, Emmeline turned to the attendant and said, “D-176, I shall send S-157 back in fifteen minutes for her breakfast. Since you and she have the same simple meal plan, you may eat with her. First, though, please prepare the cot for Mr. Fieldwell and see that he has privacy.” She pronounced privacy with the short i, as in it, something Dan found absurdly attractive.

To his surprise, the cot folded out from the opposite bulkhead to the table, a little forward, and Danielle pulled an opaque curtain around it. “Just give me your shoes and jacket and stretch out,” she said. “And no, we don’t mind if you snore! I think we all like the sounds a sleeping man makes.”

By that time Dan felt extremely drowsy indeed, and he lay on the cot—it had a raised padded rim to keep him from rolling off, very thoughtful—with his head on a comfortable, soft pillow and pulled a sheet over him. For a minute or two he heard the tinkling of silverware and then he drifted off, feeling oddly floaty, as if he were drifting in an immense pool on a blow-up raft.

Later Dan was to feel very unclear, and a bit uncomfortable, about what happened during his five-hour plane trip. He had vague memories: Danielle roused him only partly from sleep, and with him in a kind of walking-dead state, she had him go into what he thought was a lavatory and strip, handing out his clothing and underwear to her before donning eye protection and being exposed to a strong light that, she said, would remove bacteria, viruses, and fungi from his skin. She gave him a silky red robe to wear while his clothes were being treated and, he seemed to remember, asked him to swallow a couple of capsules and to submit to two nearly painless injections, more health precautions. He felt detached and unsure of anything, as if pleasantly drunk. And some details he seemed to recall just had to be parts of an unremembered erotic dream: Danielle reaching through the split in his cool red silk robe and taking hold of his erect cock to lead him back to the cot, where she removed the robe and he lay sprawled on his back, completely naked. Then at some point he recalled Emmeline standing with the curtain open, looking down on him with her raised-eyebrow smile as she traced a soft finger over the contours of his stiff cock while murmuring appreciatively, “I could just fancy a bit of that.” Later still he had a vague impression Danielle and Emmeline together dressing him again, giggling as, like a drunken sailor in a whorehouse, he made grabs for their asses and tits. They didn’t object at all, and he remembered, or thought he remembered, getting his hand inside Emmeline’s jacket and filling his palm with a marvelous full breast, its nipple straining in full erection.

Dan was sure he would never do anything that, except maybe in a dream.

It couldn’t be real, he thought. Couldn’t be.

Had to be a dream.

Wonderful warm dream . . . .

* * *

At about the same time that Dan was enjoying his breakfast, Gala woke up alone in the big bed. She played with herself for a while—Master had given her his consent for that—and then showered and began to dress for her day. As she was making up the bed, she heard a click, and she realized that the red vibrator lay on the floor just under the bed. Gala picked it up—it could not touch her pussy, ass, or mouth, but she could touch it, especially if it was switched off—and took it to the bathroom where she cleaned it. Dan had meant to pack it.

Gala carried the Ruby Red back to their bedroom and set it on Dan’s night table. She would be a good slave. She would obey. But she needed to let her master know that he had lost something. He would be looking for it.

Gala dialed Dan’s cell-phone number but got only his automated voice-mail box. “Dan,” she said, “the vibrator must have fallen out of its case. I found it on your side of the bed. I’ve put it up, darling. I won’t use it on myself, I promise. Call me if you need me to ship it to you overnight. I love you, Dan. I wish your cock was inside of me right now.”

She had breakfast, then came back upstairs to brush her teeth before leaving for the bookstore. As she was turning out the light, the red vibrator caught her eye again. Strange how it almost seemed to glow with its own illumination. Strange how it drew her eye, how it made her pussy wet just remembering how an orgasm felt when she used it on herself.

“No,” she told herself. “Be a good slave.”

The word slave didn’t bring her to orgasm, not when she, not Dan, used it to describe herself. But it did make her feel warm and obedient and nice.

And she fully intended to do what she had promised. She would not use the vibrator on herself.

Dan could trust her.

She could trust herself.

Couldn’t she?

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .