The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter I: Creating The Slut Mindset

Over the course of several months, my anticipation had built up. From the moment we’d started sending each other e-mail and silly flirtations outside of it all, I just knew that she was going to be mine. I had to have her, and I didn’t even know what she really looked like. But none of that really mattered—she was my type.

Clay, begging to be molded.

Everything was going exactly like I wanted to, each detail had been painstakingly thought through, pre-arranged, and replayed in my head obsessively. Time was crucial, now, and I couldn’t afford a mistake.

I finally convinced her to visit me despite her protests of not having sufficient funds to drive, or fly out. So I played the role of the Good Samaritan, and offered to purchase them myself. I even arranged for her hotel accommodations.

Despite her insistence that she’d pay every cent of it back and repeatedly telling me that she couldn’t accept it as a gift, I knew she was more than grateful. She was in my debt. She knew it.

The game was starting out perfectly.

Her flight arrived in the early afternoon, a few days later. A taxi picked her up at my request, and drove her downtown to the luxurious suite I’d arranged. After all, I’d eventually spending a majority of the weekend there, and I wanted to be comfortable.

We’d made arrangements to meet in the hotel dining room later that evening, as I had to work. At least, that’s what I’d told her. In reality, I watched from her from a small distance.

My heart shivered, when I saw her being seated at the bar, just like I’d arranged. She was an earthly girl, nervous, and yet with an abundance of almost child-like energy and passion. She’d dressed as I’d suggested, casual; and her definition of that consisted of a discreet pink t-shirt with a colorful butterfly over her breasts, and a pair of jeans that loosely hung about her hips.

I felt my nipples tighten underneath the short white dress I wore as I thought about just what it was I was going to do. Yes, this weekend was going to be fun.

My dress had been meticulously planned, as had the rest of the evening. A stunning, yet simple white strapless dress that was just high enough to allow glimpses to the ends of the matching stockings, and garters. I wore a pair of white-heeled sandals that wound around the ankles and lower calves to complete the ensemble. Slowly, I fingered my Eye of Horus pendant, and tapped my little present for her with my other hand, as I watched her squirm.

I was fifteen minutes late.

I grinned, as my tardiness put her off edge. Trapped in an unfamiliar city, no friends to call, and having been told that all the tables had been filled and there was no room for her party, she was quickly getting uncertain, not to mention more than a bit scared. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself as she asked for a phone, more than likely trying to call me.

I waited another five minutes, until she was ready to leave before I slid from out behind the obscured booth, pretending to have just arrived.

“Sara!” I beamed, excited. Oh, and I was excited. She had no idea what was in store for her.

She turned, and looked, relief washing over her face, along with a new set of worries, then a tinge of anger. It was all rather comical. “I didn’t think you were going to show up,” she said, half-mocking, half-serious. She hugged me, spontaneously, warmly, and I returned the show of affection.

Good. She was already starting to joke around with me. I wanted her to feel herself, after all.

We unwound our arms from each other, and she stepped back, giving me a friendly smile, “I wasn’t sure what to expect, really.” Her eyes fixated for a moment on me, then lower. She was checking me out; which was more than fine with me.

I shifted my leg slightly pretending to take a more comfortable stance. This lent to my skirt sliding up just enough to lend a clear view of a jasmine vine tattoo there.

Her gaze slipped down, wavered at my calves. She smiled, and then glanced up back at my thighs, before looking me in the eye.

Grinning, I gently told her, “It does.”

She looked momentarily confused. “What?”

I drew an imaginary line up my thigh, over my trimmed stomach, and to the underside of my breast, an air of amusement in my tone, “Go all the way up.”

A gorgeous shade of shame pink colored her face. She swallowed, and then grinned. “Oh.”

After talking to the waiter, we were escorted to the table I’d booked in my name. I casually took my prearranged seat at a right angle from her rather than across, pretending not to notice her eyeing me. I shifted my chair, so that for now I was completely blocking the lights behind me.

Grinning back to her, I patted her lightly on the arm, “Work held me up. I’m sorry, I got here as quickly as I could.”

She nodded, accepting that, then gave me a smile of vague discomfort. “I thought this was casual?” She asked, probably wishing she’d worn something a little dressier.

I gave her a small, appreciative smile. “Sara,” I said gently, “this is casual for me. I could’ve worn my black buckled leather vest, with stiletto boots.” I continued, gently chiding. “But then you’d just be eyeing me all evening, and we’d never get anywhere.”

Tilting my head, I noticed her eyes weren’t exactly on mine. Brazenly, I ran a finger across my rebellious nipples. “Do you like them?”

The pink turned a darker shade across her face, and she ducked her eyes away from me, horridly ashamed. I chuckled lightly and murmured, “Well, if we’re not going to talk about me, we’re most definitely going to have to talk about you.”

The air was cleared and suddenly she was a little more comfortable with everything. “So, am I what you expected?” A question I was most certainly expecting.

More than you know, Sara. And everything that I want. I nodded slowly, with an almost lopsided grin. “Oh, yes. Very.” Before she could feign looking insulted, I added, “And I’m glad.”

The waiter approached our table before anything further could be said. I smiled at him kindly, and ordered for the both of us. My guest was a bit put off by my sudden forwardness. To allow her to choose, however, would ruin the ambiance of the whole evening. She couldn’t be allowed to make any decisions.

I offered to her as compensation, “Trust me. A lot of the stuff they serve is very rich, fattening.” I poked her belly, teasingly.

Her suspicions were starting to kick in, but she let them go and we slowly began to really get to know one another. Casual get-to-know-you-better type stuff. People, I’ve found, are always different when you meet them, face-to-face, and it was important that I had indeed gotten the right impressions of Sara, before continuing.

It didn’t take long before I found that I was right. And I began directing the conversation towards my purpose.

I moved just a little bit closer, pushing my luck. The light was now in her eyes, and my perfume was more easily accessed. I gave her a long, thoughtful look, and asked suddenly, “So ... would you?”

She blinked, her track of thought suddenly thrown off. “Would I—what?”

I leaned back just a little bit, and crossed my legs against one another. I savored the feel of my silk legs, and gave my prey a sexual smile. The small green vine of the tattoo was now visible. Of course she looked distracted again. I pretended not to notice.

“Would you,” I reiterated casually, bringing a hand up to my breast, to wind the silver chain of my pendant around my fingers, “Really go through with it? If you could?”

Her thought processes snapped again, looking back up into my eyes. “Go through with—what?” She asked, perhaps guessing inwardly at what I was getting to.

Of course, now that I had gained the upper hand, I wasn’t about to lose it. Again, I changed the subject. I dug a little perfume bottle out of my purse, giving her a faint wink.

“Oh, before I forget,” I quickly said, “You have to try this. I really think you’ll love it.”

I held out my hand, for her to sniff. She did, and grinned like an excited little child. Lightly, I spritzed her neck and nodded, satisfied. Returning the bottle to my small purse, I stated with a sly grin on my lips, “Mind Control.”

She squinted at me through the light, giving me an odd stare, like I was whacked out on some sort of drug. Then she just started laughing, “No,” she answered, giggling quietly.

I shifted my thighs again, subtlety arching my back so that my nipples definitely stared at Sara through the fabric. She eyed them again, though trying to look as if she wasn’t looking; I grinned at the almost high-schoolish behavior. “They are, you know.”

She blinked, getting only more confused. “Are what?”

With my fingertips, I lightly pinched my own nipple, “Pierced.”

She turned a darker shade of pink, bordering on red and started grinned lecherously. “Well, you just might have to prove it,” she countered.

“I would.”

She blinked again, and then squinted. The lights were starting to hurt her eyes. “You would—show me?” She looked half-surprised, and half-serious, that sort of wary look but with certain eagerness to it.

I glanced at the clock on the wall, and figured it was probably time. I nodded, slowly, “Of course, Sara. Don’t tell me that you came here just to chat over dinner.” I leaned forward, flirtatiously, “You wanted a good fuck, you slut.”

She gave me an amused/guilty smile as she was caught, but I could see it also made her vaugely uncomfortable. Obviously, this wasn’t something she was expecting just yet. “Well, I had a little idea,” she admitted with hesitation. Paused, “But -now—?”

I shook my head, slowly, “No. First, I said I would.”

She squinted at me through the light again, “Here?” She asked, surprised, and now very uncertain. Her eyes couldn’t help darting to the daring nipples on my breast, that streched the fabric around them.

I couldn’t help but laugh quietly. A bold hand of mine touched her cheek, as I grinned, “No. I meant I would Mind Control someone, you little slut.”

The derogatory name was lost on her in the midst of her confusion, and the interesting course the conversation was taking. “What do you mean?”

I could tell by her slowing movements that the perfume was having its desired affects. “Quite simple, Sara. I enjoy making people happy,” I said, quietly. “I want to make you happy.” I gave her an impish sort of grin.

She thought I was joking.

Dazed, and not realizing it, she giggled just a little bit. Between the lights, the confusion, and my own little special blend of pheromones and other agents, she was already mine. It was time to play my trump card.

“That,” she said, disbelievingly, “Has got to be one of the silliest things I’ve ever heard anyone say.”

I simply smiled back at her in turn, nodding. “Normally, I’d agree with you. But you were born to be a slut. It’s in your genetic makeup. I mean, seriously, how many times have you thought about what I looked like without this dress? What my cunt tasted like?”

By this point, Sara was matching a ripe tomato on the color chart. I was getting very wet, and would need attention soon. I shivered, imagining her between my thighs.

I informed her fogged mind, “Only sluts think like that Sara. And for Christ’s sake, how many stories did you put yourself in, where you became a slut?”

She shook her head, to clear it. The perfume was definately working. Accompanied by the confusion I was throwing at her, the lights, and the position I’d put her in beforehand, she was mine. “Those were just fantasies,” she smiled, lightly. “Nobody really goes through with them.”

Again, I nodded, “True, Sara. True. Most people don’t get a chance to act out their fantasies. And most of the stories I’d agree are just for fun, sexual adventure, and erotic thrills.”

I drew closer to her, and said emphatically, “But they are your fantasies. Fantasies are what we dream of happening. So you dream of being a slut. You want to be a slut, don’t you?”

She shivered at my instance, but still shook her head, “No,” she whined, “I was jus’ pretending.”

Close to her now, I pinched her nipple, and slowly, slowly began to twist it. “Oh, get off it Sara. I’ve read your posts on the board. I’ve read your stories. Hell, Sara. You write stories where your own characters come to life and mindfuck the hell out of you to make you their own personal slut.”

She opened her mouth, slowly. I thought she was going to protest again. Instead, she gave a soft, almost pleading whimper, trembling. In pure pleasure.

I nodded, twisting slightly harder on the nipple I’d caught between forefinger and thumb. “You see, Sara? You’re wet. You’re wet, at the thought of becoming my slut. And you do want to be a slut, Sara. Slut Sara. Sara the Slut. Slutty, Slutty, Slutty, Sara.”

She leaned into me, like an attention starved kitten, and slurred out the words under the daze of her mind fog, “sarassssssslut.”

I couldn’t help it. I bit my lip, and closed my eyes tightly in an attempt to not have an orgasmic fit right there in the middle of the restaurant.

Slowly getting hold of myself, I nodded. “Yes,” I informed her. “Yes. Sara the Slut. slutsara.” I ran my hand through her hair, smoothly, “And who made you a slut?”

Her jaw worked, opening and closing for a few seconds. Her lips curled up, reminding me vaguely of a little girl’s smile. “You,” she whispered, softly.

I nodded, “Yes, slut. So, whose slut are you?”

Her mind thought that answer was easy enough. “Yoursssssss?”

I kissed her on the lips for a reward. “Very good. Now, for being such a good little slut, I have a present for you.”

She looked pleased enough with that. I opened the small box I’d brought with me. Pulling out the silver bracelet inside, I again admired the craftsmanship. “Slut,” I said quietly, to get her attention.

Slowly, she turned to try to look at me. I grinned, showing her the bracelet. “Do you remember Mistress Rochelle?” I asked her.

She moaned softly, a bit of dreamy drool threatened to trickle out on her chin. Her body shivered.

That was answer enough for me. “I am Mistress Rochelle, slut. But, I have changed my name. I am now Mistress Cat. And this bracelet forever binds you to my will. You will do whatever I command.”

Her little squeal of pleasure was all that I needed to hear, as her lips formulated the words, “Misstressss slut. Foreverrr.”

I nodded slowly to her words, releasing her nipples. She gasped, and leaned forward again, wanting me to retain my grip. Merely smiling, I kissed her lips lightly, “Your Mistress has pretty legs, doesn’t she?” I mused.

Mutely, she nodded, trying to rub her breasts against me, lewdly, in this public place. I grinned at all the people watching us. “And you love her shoes, don’t you? So sexy.”

She nodded again, beaming, slurring out, “Slut lovess them, yes, Mistress.” She slipped off her chair of her own accord, and started kissing my silk-stockinged feet, and sandals.

I brought out the other thing I’d kept in my purse, and brought with me. A small cat collar, and leash. These I slipped around her neck, and fastened, telling her, “Well then, you can crawl behind your Mistress, and watch them all you want. So everyone knows you’re my slut. We’re going up to the hotel room, and you can show your Mistress how much of a hot, randy, lewd and naughty little slut you really are.”

She beamed with glee as I rose, and led her properly down the hall, eagerly clambering behind on hands and knees. I was going to need a lot of attention, now. I couldn’t believe how well this had all worked out.

Chapter 2: Now That You Have A Slut, What Do You Do With Her?

She followed, meowing like a horny little sex kitten behind me, until we’d gotten into our room, and I’d closed the door. I smiled, and gave her head a pleased pat. “Good, slut. Very good.”

I sat down on the edge of my bed. Quickly, she came right up to me, and began to nuzzle my silk encased legs, and almost drooling over my feet. I lazily pushed a toe up into her crotch, and rotated. Whimpering, she started to rock back and forth against it, as she showered me with adoration and affection.

Bemused, I asked her quietly, “You are a dirty slut, aren’t you?”

She took this as a high compliment, beaming with pride at my debasement of her character. She reveled in it, “Yes, Mistress,” she slurred in a heavenly, sultry voice.

“But you’re not dressed like a slut,” I observed, casually. Brushing a hand through her hair again, I tweaked the nearest nipple, causing her to shudder wonderfully. “Are you?”

She shook her head, swallowed in slight fear, and trepidation. I couldn’t believe how far she was getting into this, and how effective my simple little manipulations had worked on her dark fantasies. I’d opened a can of worms that I had no wish in the world to close.

“First,” I told her, “Sluts never wear bras, or panties. At least not unless they’re really sleazy, and naughty. They’re always ready to fuck. So, you’d better get rid of yours, saraslut.”

Nodding agreeably, she stood up, pulling her t-shirt over her head, her breasts bobbed slightly with the action. Her bra followed, allowing me to have a sight at the glorious dark nipples, fat with arousal and signs abuse. She even made a little show of it, shaking her hips and giggling as her jeans tumbled down, just before her panties that were stained wet with arousal. She was more then ready.

I pulled her close to me, and asked, cupping her cunt gently, teasingly, “Clean and shaven. Just like a fucking dirty little cunt slut.” She squirmed at my teasing, trying her best to be obedient and stay still. She was getting wetter, the more I pushed her to remind her what she was. So was I.

“Do you know what sluts do, saraslut?” I asked her, licking my lips.

She nodded, slowly, and recited, “Sluts fuck whatever they can, because they’re horny little bitches, and can’t ever get enough. Some sluts are so horny that they can’t control themselves, so they need a Mistress to tell them what to do.”

I nodded, smoothly. “Very good. Such a good answer, I think I’ll let you lick my pussy. Then we’ll go show you off to everyone. Make them jealous that you’re my dirty little saraslut.”

That sounded just fine to her. She practically fell down on her knees, thrust her head between my skirt, and didn’t even bother to pull my own soaked panties down. Pushing them off to the side, I moaned, and fell back into the bed as her tongue that had no doubt serviced other women before worshipped and fed my thirsting need for arousal.

I wrapped my stockinged legs around her body, moaning in encouragement. She rubbed against my thighs, and kissed, nibbled, and sucked my clitoris until I came. Hard.

It took me several moments to get back my breath, and as soon as I had, she had me worked up again. I’d turned her into a slut, and I hadn’t told her to stop; again I found myself falling to her abilities, reveling in the primal lust her tongue thrust into me.

I pushed her away, this time, as I came with my foot, and heaved a grin, before murmuring, “Enough for now, Slut. Addicted, to Mistress Cat?” I asked, too exhausted at the moment to get up.

She nodded emphatically, “Yes, Mistress! Can I please lick you some more? I’ll lick your whole body, if you want?”

Sitting up, I shook my head lightly, smiling. “Not yet. We have to go show you off, remember?”

She pouted, “But Mistress, I didn’t bring any slutty clothes.”

I gave her a knowing smile. “We can fix that.”

Standing at the mall entrance, leashed and collared, my new slut looked proud to be at the end of it, displayed in her shredded T-shirt that hung just below her nipples, and the jeans which had been cut Daisy Duke style; with the added exception of the back pockets being cut out as well. Two beautifully sculpted ass cheeks smiled at whoever was walking behind her. I doubted if it was legal, but I didn’t really care.

She acted like a cat, tall and proud at being put on display, trouncing down the mall hallway. I said little for now, merely watching the interactions between her, and the passersby.

Most of the men eyed her with lusty passion. She giggled at them, and shook her head, pointing to me, and telling those near enough to hear, “Sorry, guys. This slut is taken.” She’d then make a wide gesture to me, the shirt would ride over her clamped nipples, and they’d only stare harder. A few daring ones even followed us, for a little bit.

The women, who mostly found her dress (not much less the open display of me collaring and leashing her), disgusting and degrading, would make snide comments. Her responses to this were just as priceless.

“I’m happy being a slut. Maybe you should let Mistress Cat let you lick her pussy too. She tastes really good.”

I couldn’t help but grin. I was proud of my creation.

I led her into a favorite store of mine, Leather Works. It was a rather large store; known in the local BDSM community for both it’s tame and more erotic and fetish material. Play wasn’t unheard of in the store.

The woman behind the bar, Janet, recognized me, and gave a little wave, “Hey, Cat,” she purred. “Got a new one, mmm? She’s really tasty.”

I nodded, gently pressing on Sara’s back, urging her to bend over, to touch her toes. “Look at that ass, will you?” I said, slapping it hard.

She squealed in delight. “Want to take a couple yourself. She’s just a slut,” I told my associate. “It’s her life’s ambition to be the best slut she can be.” I grinned, “Isn’t that right, saraslut?”

She whimpered, trembling in pleasure as I pulled on the very thin denim line that covered her pussy.

Janet glanced around, then shrugged with a grin, “You know I’m not supposed to participate in your ‘play’. I’m here to sell shit, Cat.”

I nodded, “I know. I also know how fucking horny you get watching this.” I wandered a few steps away to get a leather-padded paddle, twirled it in my hand, and gave Sara’s ass a loud smack. She stumbled forward, and shuddered in ecstasy. “Sluts love to be spanked, don’t they, saraslut?” I asked her.

She mewled her passionate agreement.

I glanced over at the clerk again, giving her a Cheshire grin. “And I also know your weakness is paddling little girls a good one. Tell you what, babe. You set her up with the sexiest corset you got in the store—along with that ‘special’ one I ordered, and give her a few of the sluttiest outfits you can find ... and I’ll let you play with her now and then. I’m keeping her.”

My friend couldn’t resist. With the loud smack of the paddle against my slut’s ass, as I held her in place by leash and collar, pinching her nipples, the agreement was set into stone.

Hours later, saraslut walked out of the store behind me, still on her leash; but now dressed in a super high leather miniskirt, black silk stockings, and irresistible black leather platform boots. Her breasts were pushed high, and waist slightly curved inward in a very sexy manner at the insistence of the corset that was wrapped around her body.

I couldn’t wait to get her home, and unwrap her...

We arrived—this time at my house. Fuck the hotel, I had a makeshift dungeon, and this was getting too erotic and fun to not use it. I lead her downwards, into the basement.

“Slut?” I asked her, a brilliant thought coming to my head. My finger hit the small weight of the nipple clamps, causing them to shift, swing, and tease.

She moaned, awaiting my smallest desire.

I grabbed her wrist, suddenly, and shoved the bracelet I’d put there in her face. Her eyes went wide, and her body shook as I felt in her the familiar throes of orgasm. Then, she went limp, and fell against me. I slipped to the side.

A worried look immediately creased my features, and I asked softly, “Sara? Are you alright?”

Her eyes were half-lidded, and she looked oddly peaceful. A smile seeped from her lips at hearing my voice. “Mmhmm,” she said, softly.

I considered the events in my mind, and watched her. She lay there, still, unmoving, her bare chest rising and falling in rhythmic ease. “What happened?” I asked her, equally as soft.

“Mistress Cat,” she said, squirming slightly, “wanted me to be hypnotized.”

I blinked, slowly at that thought. Remembering her stories, that was the trigger that Mistress Rochelle had used, and I had used Rochelle to get to Sara ... I had only thought it would make Sara more mine, more in my control. In essence, her own fantasies and desires, along with my prodding had caused her to put herself into a deep trance. And now I had her here, hypnotized before me, pliable to my whims. By her own designs.

I fingered myself, slowly, writhing on excited, hurried fingers, as I just watched her there, completely in my power. It didn’t take long for me to reach my climax, shivering, shuddering, and moaning into her hard tits.

Slowly pulling myself up, licking myself off of slick fingers, I asked Sara, “Is Sara happy being a slut, for Mistress Cat?”

The sleeping beauty seemed to actually think about that for a long time, before murmuring in a sleepy voice, “Mmhmm. Wanted it for a long time. Am happy.”

I smiled to myself. The game was getting more exciting by the hour. “Good. Then you should always be happy, shouldn’t you?”

Again, she nodded, that little girlish smile creasing her face. God, she looked so cute. I kissed her slowly, snaking my tongue into her mouth. Groggily, she returned the affections. I whispered to her, softly, “Mistress Cat loves her Slut. saraslut will always remember that.”

I asked softly, my heart racing now, “Would slut like to be mindfucked some more?”

She beamed at that nodding, as I lowered myself atop her, “Now be a good slut, and show your Mistress how thankful you are for Her setting you free.”

I awoke, groggily, and smiled at the sleeping girl next to me. She was laying on her side, her bright pink cheeks still shining at the mark of my hand painting them as she laid over my lap, begging me to do it more. I could still hear her screams, telling me what a dirty slut she was, and how much she wanted it.

Gently, I rubbed their warmth, as I thought of how she had attended to me, kissed her way up my tattoo, and the hours she’d spent just suckling my breasts, as I fingered her over and over again.

I wondered, by the smile on her face, if she remembered the surprised look on the other customer’s faces, when she appeared in the lobby, leashed to me, and dropped all her panties, and bras on the floor. “Sluts don’t need these,” she’d said at my prompting. “And I’m such a dirty little saraslut, that I’ll never need them again. I’ll be fucking way too much to have to worry about taking them off.” She had beamed happily at that, and we’d tromped back to the room.

I giggled at the thought, and kissed the back of her neck.

That was when the pang hit my stomach. I realized that this wasn’t just what it was supposed to be, an innocent little fling, and a delve into each of our fantasies. No. It had grown beyond me. As I now guessed it had grown beyond her.

I was in love.

Her plane was supposed to leave, that night. She was going to fly out of my life.

I couldn’t let that happen.

Chapter 3: Keeping Your Slut Yours, Keeping Her Happy

The dungeon had been created by a former sex slave of mine. She was ingenious, inventive, and a superb carpenter. At my asking, and prompting, she’d created it for me—and using the limited space, she’d done an excellent job. I could easily change it around, to suit my needs and desires.

Now, it would play an instrumental part in the completion of my darkest desires.

I’d sent Sara to sleep, while I worked. It would take me awhile to set things up properly, and I didn’t need any distractions. It took me hours to come up with what I thought were the right things to say, what seemed best to mark her mind with. But, finally, upstairs, in my studio, I made a recording of my voice, with no interruptions.

I put the CD in the system I had in the dungeon; I had several speakers placed intricately around, to create the perfect sound system. My former slave had proven invaluable.

I then laced the bungee-like cords around Sara’s wrists, and ankles, around her waist and between her legs, then through the back of the restricting corset’s eyeholes I’d had put in specially for something like this. I hadn’t really ever planned to do it, but now my living out that small part of my fantasy also proved worthwhile.

Slowly, I hoisted her up into the air, suspending her in mid-air. Very, very faintly, she bobbed with the slightest of movements, still in her slumber.

I shut off the lights, and snapped my fingers.

“Mistress?” She asked, softly.

I closed the door, after hitting play on the CD player. Then I bit my lip, and took a long hot bath, listening to the CD play it’s recording through the vents, as I slowly played with myself in the midst of the hot bubbles.

There is no Sara. There is only the slut. Sara, and slut, they are the same. saraslut. The Mistress Cat created saraslut. saraslut lives to serve the Mistress Cat. saraslut is hearing Mistress Cat’s Voice, now. Mistress Cat’s Voice is Truth. Mistress Cat’s Voice is saraslut mind. They are the same, Mistress’s Voice, and Truth.

I shivered, as I worked the long slender dildo into my cunt, wriggling it, imagining what I was doing, knowing how wrong, and horrid it was. It didn’t stop me. I loved her. I wanted her. I needed her. And I knew she wanted it.

...Obedience and Mistres’s Voice are the same. Mistres’s Voice brings pleasure. Obedience brings pleasure. sarasluts body is Mistress’s body. Mistress Cat owns sarasluts body, but lets saraslut uses it. saraslut should always be grateful to Mistress. Mistress owns sarasluts body, so saraslut is her property. Mistress can do whatever she wants with her property. Being Mistres’s property and Obedience are the same. Her Voice, and being Her property, Obedience, Truth, and Law, are all the same. Everything about saraslut is Mistress Cat...

I orgasmed, over, and over, until I finally wore myself out, and fell asleep, crumpled into the bed, tired, and doubting what I had done.

I woke up, at three am, two days later. Two days, I’d been asleep! I yawned, stretching, and wondered why all my toys were on my bed. Then I remembered saraslut.

I swallowed, suddenly regretting what I’d done to her. It had to have been a dream. I ran down the stairs, to the basement.

Beyond the door, I heard a whimpering voice, sounding needy and desperate reciting every single word on the endlessly replaying CD I’d recorded days ago.

I opened the door, lighting a few candles. I knew the light would burn her eyes if she were exposed too soon.

She was rocking herself, trying to get herself off on the straps about her waist, her mind numbed, fucked, forever imprinted with my deepest fantasies.

In the dim light, she saw me. Even from where I stood under her, I could see her eyes were clear. The drugs had worn off. And I could see the love, the adoration, the loyalty she had to me. My will was hers, hers was ... well, gone.

Evaporated.

She was mine to command.

I let her down, slowly, and unstrapped the ropes around her wrists and ankles, massaging them slowly. She beamed at me, “Thank you,” she purred, rubbing against me tiredly, “Mistress Cat. Slut is so very happy, now. Just like she always wanted to be. Slut is yours.”

I nodded, smiling, the feeling of remorse gone by the bright look of love in her eyes. I quickly remembered what had inspired me to this end in the first place.

I murmured, “Mistress loves her new property,” softly, while stroking her to me.

She shivered in ecstasy, as if feeling the extension of my love, through my voice. I smiled, “Come, slut. That is how much your Mistress loves her property.”

She trembled, violently in my arms.

I saw the adoration, the love, the unabashed Obedience in her eyes. I suddenly knew it was right. She was mine. It was always meant to be. The clarity, the power of that thought gave me my own small orgasm. I shivered back against my lovely slut.

“saraslut,” I asked, softly. “Your Mistress is going to clear your mind of everything ... everything, except for Her. Forever. Okay?”

She beamed at me with warmth, and complete and flawless love. The pleasure in her voice was palatable against my skin.

“Oh! Thank you, Mistress!” She squirmed.

There were no doubts, now.

I brought her with me, her eyes shining with pride at being a simple slut, a piece of property as I recorded another CD, mind bending her entire life to my will.

Hurriedly, excitedly, and without any trepidation, I strapped her into her suspension unit again. I had to spank her, two or three times, for orgasming without permission.

I left her in the darkness. It was right.

Mistress Cat is Mistress Rochelle, slut. You know that now. She has just changed her name. You were always in Mistress Cat’s service. You were created by her, to serve as her slut. Always a slut. You were always a slut. Created, to be a slut. For Mistress Cat. When Mistress Cat moved, she lost her slut. That was your life before. Those memories are things you do not want to think about. They were without your Mistress. Mistress Cat searched for her slut, and now she’s found her. You were created, born, bred to be a slut. Mistress Cat’s slut ...

I hadn’t heard Janet come in, but she knocked at the basement door. I went upstairs, quietly closing the door behind me.

“You were serious?” She asked, hearing the CD that was playing in the background.

I looked up at her, then down through the door, imagining my slut. MY slut. The slut that I had made.

I grinned, “Of course.”

Janet shook her head, “That’s twisted, Cat. Really fucked up. I mean, I know she wanted it, but it’s twisted.”

I thought about my new prize again, then up at Janet, who was busy pulling out a cell phone from her leather jacket. I frowned, suddenly sorry that I’d ever had any trust in her at all.

“Who are you calling?” I demanded. “The police?”

She gave me a smirk. “No. Evylen. She’s the new clerk at the store. And while she’s on her way here to ‘give me a jump start’ out of your driveway,” she grinned, “You’re going to tell me how to get started.”

All I could do was grin back.