The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lee posed provocatively in front of a wall-length mirror. To the untrained eye she appeared as if she were admiring herself. In truth, she was practicing, adjusting the stance of first one leg, then the other, and analyzing the differences critically.

It was highly important that, regardless of her posture, whenever a man should catch glimpse of her she should be seen as pleasing. This meant that she must project utter docility and submission at all times.

Merely keeping her eyes down, her limbs relaxed, and her lips open were not enough, though these kinesthetic details played their part. Of far greater importance was her subliminal body language, which she had devoted a whole segment of her brain’s unlocked potential to constantly oversee. On the surface, her movements appeared merely liquid and exquisitely feminine, casually elegant. In reality, Lee exercised a precise control over her muscles, from the smallest to the greatest, to reflect a meticulously selected range of emotional displays. She had committed to memory centuries of lessons derived from the geisha, the dancing houris, the courtesans of medieval Italy, and she had created a synthesis, a demanding combination of movement and carriage that would subtly inform any who might see her that she was loving, open, and, most of all, totally obedient. In other words, she moved like a dollygirl.

She had absorbed Lessons 601 through 950 in her last session. Already she could see the improvement in her poise. I look beautiful and elegant, she processed in an open part of her mind.

But there was room for improvement. She turned her left leg slightly, adjusting another 12% in millimeters.

There, she “thought.” That’s even better. That projects a clear positive improvement. A man who saw her now would feel a simultaneous increase in blood flow and confidence. Too, even if he were physically shorter than her, that man would subliminally react in her presence as if he were taller.

She was aware of the psychological implications of height in sexual encounters.

Lee was aware as well, as all dollygirls were aware, of her potential ability to manipulate people around her. With her precise control over her mind and body, she could easily win any fight. She could move faster and hit harder. From her anatomy training, she knew every sensitive nerve center. She could cripple a man with a touch. More importantly, with her brain and attention span opened, she could “read” what others were planning solely in the way they tensed and coiled their own muscles. Lee found she could even often—93% of the time, actually—tell what other people were thinking solely by the way they moved, the way they talked, the pupil reaction in their eyes. She found this information extremely useful when trying to seduce and please. She could easily escape and rebel and threaten.

But she also knew she could do no such thing.

That would not have been obedient.

Lee heard a movement down the hall. While continuing to gaze at herself, calculating each minute difference in the way she carried herself, in another part of her mind she compared the sound of those footsteps with the catalog of footsteps she had memorized and determined that it was her roommate.

The door slid open. “Hello, GS-24,” her roommate said, smiling brightly, projecting docility and submission with her every movement. She came in and stood beside Lee at the mirror. They were dressed alike in the standard uniform of the in-house dollygirl: lace collar, tight black short-shorts, a pair of high-heeled, knee-high black boots. Their enormous boobs hung topless and available.

“Hello, FT-17,” Lee said, smiling and projecting docility and submission. She turned and held her arms open, and FT-17 embraced her. They kissed in front of the mirror, a long soul-kiss, eyes closed and enjoying the luxurious feel of each other’s plasticized skin, especially so the way their breasts rubbed up against one another. After a minute they separated, each slightly breathless from the sexual arousal.

“I love you, GS-24,” Lee’s roommate told her. Before she had been enslaved, FT-17’s name had been Veronique. Her father had sold her to BioTrust. Now that identity was no longer hers, though of course she remembered every detail of it, the same way Lee recalled every detail of the life she had had before receiving the designation GS-24. Dollygirls-in-training were usually paired together. They went to training together; they compared notes and observations; they relieved one another’s sexual needs, or at least as many of them as possible. In practice, their nightly lovemaking simmered their desires for male conquest. “I love you, too, FT-17,” Lee said, and they kissed again, long and luxuriously.

It was amazing how little they had in common, and so much. Veronique had been a rich girl, the daughter of a BioTrust senior executive. Lee had been a Class-C tenant, virtually rightless and confined to an arcology in Greater L.A. In each other’s arms, they had shared everything. “I was so upset when Daddy sold me,” Veronique had said. “But then it was my own fault. I was Flooding, and I would have been caught sooner or later.” She had brightened. “Now I’m a dollygirl! I’m so happy!” Lee had nodded, completely in agreement with her. Sometimes she thought about her former sister, Annie.

Not often, though. Lee really didn’t care that much about her sister anymore. She knew she was happy wherever she was being pimped. That was the only thing that mattered, just as all that mattered in her case was that she too had had the great fortune to be enslaved. They had made her a dollygirl!

This was her fourteenth day in-factory (more precisely, it was her 341st hour: among other benefits Lee now enjoyed a perfect sense of time). Dollygirls took longer to process than most biosluts. After her brain surgery, Lee had found herself in the baths.

The corridor directly leading from the surgical suite had been half-filled with liquid. That is, the chamber was long and narrow, with white porcelain walls and a dimmed lighting, and as it stretched away from the entrance doors the floor inclined, making the back end of the hall like the shallow end of a children’s pool. By the time the corridor ended it was completely submerged in an amber, fizzing chemical substance. A solidoe floated had above the liquid: “Enter the pool and proceed to the other side.”

Lee, of course, obeyed. She waded through the yellowish liquid and immediately felt it bubble against and between her toes. The sensation was delightful. She hurried in, allowing the “water” to creep up her legs and thighs. Then she just dived in when she was able, submerging herself in the warm fluid.

It was the most peculiar feeling, like swimming in sparkling cider or champagne. Lee’s flesh, tingling already from the dollygirl injection earlier, positively went aflame from the light, pleasurable stinging.

Her skin felt electrified. She swam toward the fall wall and saw underneath an egress into another room. Lee paused not at all—she had been instructed to proceed—and went through the narrow gap.

The wall separated merely separated one part of one pool from the other. Lee immediately grasped the logic: in order to get to the other side, anyone in the “water” would have to utterly submerse herself.

Every inch of skin would be exposed to the liquid, whatever it was.

She popped her head up above the surface and took a deep, refreshing breath. She looked around. At once she saw that she wasn’t alone. On the other side of the pool—the floor rose accordingly—there was a tanning platform. On this stage almost a dozen—well, exactly eleven, Lee’s enhanced mind saw and counted automatically—prospective dollygirls were arranged in various positions of relaxation.

Lee padded to the other side and joined them. Like her, all the newly busty girls were naked and shiny, their skin bright and gleaming, smooth and perfect. Any modesty Lee might once have had was diminished. Lee said nothing but lay back beside them, hissing with pleasure. A series of hot red lamps shown down from the ceiling, and their combined rays felt absolutely wonderful! Lee sprawled out in her own space and literally felt the rays help soak the fizzing liquid into her pores. She moaned lightly, as she heard the others do as well. Lee closed her eyes and passed into a half-sleep, totally relaxed.

The procedure in the “drying room” Lee soon grew aware. There was room on the tanning platform for only about fifteen girls at once. As the room filled, each prospective bioslut released from her own surgical suite and having passed through the fizzing amber solution, a chime would softly alert the girls to look up. A solidoe floating in the air would inform one of them to proceed. By the time any one girl was finished drying, it was time for her to go. It took twenty minutes for Lee to absorb the liquid into her skin. If anything, the greater tingling it had induced only grew as it lost its dewiness, as it became part of her own genetic substance. The chime alerted her when it was time to get up, and though loathe to leave the oh-so relaxing tanning bed, Lee knew it was important to obey. A door slid open for her.

To her mild surprise, what awaited her was another bath. The next room proved to be another long narrow corridor. Instead of one central pool, it had a dozen small circular saunas arranged in rows to either side. “Get in and soak,” the requisite floating hologram told her, so she did. Only a single girl occupied each sauna; Lee found an empty one. As soon as she stepped in, water jets on the bottom activated, and the solution went all bubbly and soothing. This is so nice, Lee remembered thinking.

At the time, she was still capable of thinking abstractly. That would change, in time, to a more efficient use of her mind’s awakened processing abilities.

“Just lie back and relax,” the solidoe images had told the dollygirls. “Don’t get your hair wet,” another told Lee. “Let the solution soak to your neck.” Lee obeyed. She had closed her eyes and squirmed in the chemical solution. She had felt something happening to her skin. It felt like it was tightening somehow. It felt like she was being coated in a thin candy shell. Everything felt so good!

She was allowed to soak for an hour before moving on. After a brief shower to rinse off, another pool awaited her.

The procedure eventually reminded Lee of how old-fashioned film used to be developed. In bygone days, photographers would take pictures with cameras, only instead of digitally reproducing an image the prospective picture would be captured on a piece of paper coated with chemicals on one side. The piece of paper, or “film strip,” would then be removed from the camera and subjected to a series of chemical baths, each bath consisting of an entirely different solution, the combination of which would serve to induce the final picture to be revealed. The dollygirl factory followed a similar plan. Before letting her sleep for the night, Lee went through five separate bathings, alternately in saunas and pools, with tanning, each of which contributed something more to the dollygirl she was becoming. By the time she got to the end, Lee felt paradoxically cleaner and dirtier than she had ever been. The “clean” part was easy to appreciate; the baths were nothing if not hygienic. She felt scrubbed from head to toe, sanitized from hair to nails, purified. The “dirty” part came from the cumulative effect of the baths.

Lee’s skin positively gleamed. From the neck down, it felt as if she had been encased in a skintight film, a candy coating that rendered her incredibly smooth and polished, so smooth and polished her breasts and thighs reflected a little from the lights above her. She looked as if she had been coated in a thin layer of plastic! It made Lee felt more like a living doll than ever. The way her ultra-smooth thighs slid against one another, the way it felt so good to rub her still-growing tits, the way she could run her hands over her bare arms and receive such an electric, sexual thrill made her feel exceptionally dirty and slutty.

Lee’s sexual appetites grew with each stage of her transformation. She wanted to be fucked hard!

Waiting to be taken into the next room for a more personalized service, Lee stared down at the tips of her fingers. She was so smooth she no longer had fingerprints! Her fingers were utterly without feature.

She giggled.

“Come this way, please,” a man beckoned her. Lee got up and followed him. He was a technician, like the man before, only not so encased in a white protective suit. His face was plump and ruddy. “Lie down right here.” The apparatus he directed toward looked a little like a dentist’s chair. Lee sat down.

The man consulted a screen. “Ah.” He turned to Lee. “You are no longer . . . Angela Lee Foster. You have not been assigned a name yet. Your designation is, ah, let me see . . . GS-24. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!” Lee—GS-24—said perkily. Her mood, already light to begin, grew even brighter in the presence of a man! She hoped he would use her! “I am GS-24!”

“Very good,” the technician said. “Now, then. I am your image consultant. I will be doing your semi-permanent make-up and hair. Of course, while your future owner can change these things, we still have to get you ready for sale.” Lee nodded, understanding. She was looking forward to becoming even more beautiful for her sale. To think, she processed. I fought all this. I really didn’t want to be a dollygirl!

How silly she had been!

A pair of company dollygirls came in and helped her “image consultant.” While Lee lay back in the chair, they wrapped her limbs and torso up in a tight series of mummy-like bandages. “These will help your new plastic skin to grow,” a dolly told her, whispering in her ear. Lee thanked her.

While the consultant worked with her hair, one of the biosluts knelt and took a strip of cloth from a central bowl, wringing it out slowly. The other dolly replaced it with a dry bandage from a stack on top of a tray. Together then, they began wrapping the bandages around Lee, taking turns. Each strip of cloth was about two feet long and about one inch wide. The dollygirls were careful and used pins where they had to. For the most part, however, the wrappings stayed where they were placed without additional fastening. The liquid coating the bandages tingled—naturally!—on Lee’s skin. The lotion kind of felt like a muscle relaxant . . . a kind of heating rub, though without any stinging heat. They wrapped her from the neck down. They started with Lee’s hands and arms, then worked their way slowly to her upper chest. They strapped her breasts in tightly, then her abdomen, and then finally her thighs and legs.

The bandages were porous. The dollygirls wrapped her head up completely, but Lee found she could still breathe normally. The tightness of the wrappings restricted her breathing somewhat, like a tightly fastened corset would, but not unpleasantly so. She didn’t suffocate. In fact, the tightness combined with the tingling to make Lee feel . . . feel even more sexy, in an obscene sort of way.

Meanwhile, she was leaned back in the chair and her hair put into a tube-like machine that was rolled up into position near her head. Inside the tube, plastic tightened around her scalp. Lee felt all hot and giddy. Little fingers soon seemed to be parsing through her hair, pulling gently but firmly. A liquid was sprayed into her scalp. “I feel like I’m being woven,” Lee said out loud, and the dollygirls laughed.

“You are,” one of them said. “The machine is inserting microplastic filaments into your scalp. The material is organic and will merge with your natural hair to make it fuller and more luscious than ever!”

Between the wrappings and the hair-pulling machine, only Lee’s face was left exposed. The consultant hovered over her. “Let’s see now,” he said. He adjusted a screen on a telescoping arm so that Lee could see a video image of herself. While the girls had been wrapping her up, the technician had set an array of solidoe imagers around Lee’s head. He employed these holographic devices now.

A three-dimensional overlay of make-up appeared over Lee’s face. With the touch of a control, the overlay merged with her own, perfectly representing what she would look like with that particular style.

“Wow!” she had said. So much time and trouble saved! With this equipment, they could match the perfect style for her face.

“Wow, indeed, my dear,” the image consultant said. He examined her face critically. “No, I don’t think so,” he then added. A touch of another display changed the light-only cosmetics showing on her face.

Ultimately, he went through a dozen different styles, varying between choices in shadow, blush, lip color, and so on. He talked with Lee herself and the two dollygirls, asking their opinion. It was a fairly difficult problem for them. Once a decision was made, that would be the make-up tattooed into place.

“What else will you be doing to me today?”

“Oh, a little surgery here,” the technician said, holding the needle. Unlike a lot of procedures done at BioTrust, make-up still required a more personal touch, it seemed. “A little surgery there. Your boobs are growing nicely, but we’ll probably use a little plastic to even them out. The same with your lovely lips, dear. And we’ll be enhancing your pussy muscles, of course.” He patted her stomach. “We’ll tighten you up in no time, rest assured!”

“Oh, thank you!” Lee told him, told all of them. “Thank you so much for making me a fuckdoll!”

“It’s our pleasure, dear!”

Such was Lee’s heightened recall, she could experience each and every step of that process as if it were happening for the first time. She often did. But at the moment she would have to forego that luxury.

“It’s time for our Lessons,” FT-17, the former Veronique Avin, told her. Then she giggled.

“It’s time for our Lessons,” Lee, now GS-24, said too, and she giggled. She couldn’t help it. Their Lessons were so much fun! They so reinforced their new identities as dollygirls! “We should go.”

“Yes, let’s!” Hand in hand, the two dollygirls-in-training left their small room.

No ape guards were present in this part of the factory. None were needed. Escape was not an issue; the girls could secure themselves. After their brain surgery, indoctrination was easy and self-fulfilling.

GS-24 and FT-17 soon joined several other pairs of gleaming, happy half-naked biosluts in a large auditorium. The floor was divided into hundreds of individual seats, each with its own solidoe holographic system. “Have fun!” GS-24 told her roommate. “Have fun!” FT-17 replied. They each took seats next to one another. The room was filled with similar exchanges between the dollygirls.

GS-24 sat down primly. She leaned back in the seat, clasped her hands together, almost as if in prayer, and put her knees together. As the solidoe generator rose in front of her, she could barely restrain her excitement. Lessons were so much fun!

Eventually, all noise in the vast auditorium came to a close. The hundreds of dollygirls-in-training were quiet. The lights dimmed. On GS-24’s desk, the generator reached optimum height and activated.

Beams of light flashed into her eyes. She gasped uncontrollably, orgasming instantly. That was what made Lessons so good! The holographic projections beamed into her cortex were set at a frequency calibrated to match the neurosensory trigger reflexes of the pleasure center of her brain. She learned, and she orgasmed simultaneously! It was great! All over the big room, ecstatic cries were heard.

Information began to pour into the former Angela Lee Foster’s mind.

“Kaffa was a seaport in the central Black Sea. In October, 1357 . . . / A bacterium’s approximate mass in grams is 1 x 10 to the negative twelve degrees / Bagabi laca bachabe Lamac cahi achababe Karrelyos Lamac Lamec Bachalyas Cabahagy sabalyos Baryolos / Obedience is pleasure / Helium: -268.9, Hydrogen: -252.8, Neon: -245.9, Nitrogen: -195.8, Carbon monoxide: -192, Fluorine: -188, Argon: -185.7 . . . / Insert the scalpel at the muscle, recalling that the wall of the right ventricle is denser than that of the right auricle . . . / Being a dollygirl is the greatest reward I could ever receive / I love my owner / Canto XXX: ‘Now when those Seven of the First Heaven stood still . . .’—Binyon Translation / Run your tongue over the glans at this angle, ensuring that all sides receive equal and loving attention / The spoon and knife along with the dinner fork are placed on the left side of the plate. The dinner knife and teaspoon go to the right / I love being fucked / I love sexually serving my owner / I am such a slut / The first Olympiad took place in 776 B.C.E. / Slut / Les goûts et les couleurs ne se discutent pas / Slide your hands up along the chest and lay kisses on each nipple / My master is the source of all pleasure.”

GS-24 shivered. Each Lesson brought her to orgasm. Along with the purely factual nodes beamed into her memory, she also received Lessons in posture, arm movement, elocution, fellatio, and hundreds of other physical activities, all of which blended seamlessly with the Lessons she had already absorbed.

She forgot nothing. She remembered everything. GS-24, like every dollygirl-to-be, was being conditioned to being an expert in everything: the ultimate renaissance girl! When she was finished, she would be able to recite Shakespeare verbatim, perform open-heart surgery, pilot a car (autobrains were installed in most vehicles, but driving was a skill like any other), exercise every maneuver from the Kama Sutra, speak every language, calculate any odds, predict everything that would make her future owner happy. Dollygirls rarely needed to be resold; their owners tended to treasure them forever.

“Heat three tablespoons olive oil in another large pot. Add russet potato pieces, and sauté until brown / saguaro: a very tall, branching cactus of pre-deluge Arizona and neighboring regions, ranging from 25 to 50 feet in height and bearing an edible fruit / I love my master, whoever he may be / To increase the pressure on the cocks sliding inside you, practice these muscle-building exercises / timeo Danaos et dona ferentes / Brush your moist lips across the head of the cock. Suck gently. Tease with small pecks and kisses before swallowing. Maximize his pleasure / Obedience / Obedience / Obedience is all! / Fold the covers in this pattern, using only a light pillow for decoration / Blend two-thirds cup grated Parmesan cheese. Add a dollop of whipped cream / I love being fucked / Kiss and lick simultaneously, then gently place your hands on his trapezius, exerting pressure only at acupoints two, four, and six.”

BioTrust’s patented brain surgery unlocked the potential of the human mind. It removed every neural block. It freed the memory. It heightened neural activity and inspired the creation of new pathways. It inspired creativity. Those who received it became super-geniuses. The only drawback was that it also reduced individual willpower: those who received it wanted only to obey.

Under other circumstances, this would have been a boon to all mankind. Now, it was a boon to mankind in quite another way.

Those who received the surgery became the best slaves in the world!

GS-24 absorbed her next round of Lessons gleefully. As she orgasmed, she processed, placing every bit of information into its own file in her enhanced memory, creating the psychic file systems necessary to recall every bit of it as needed. She no longer “thought” as a human being. She processed instead.

As all this was going on, inside GS-24, Lee basked in the glory of pleasure and obedience. She was so happy. She was almost ready for sale. She looked forward to it. She desperately wanted a master to serve, a master for whom she could be slave, assistant, confidant, business consultant, whore, whatever!

If only she had known before! She would have joined Annie at the demonstration and so gained a few more weeks of slavery!

She loved being a slave!

A man on his way home from work decided he needed to unwind a little, so he swung by the Memphis branch of Brothelworld. He did not have a lot of time—the wife was expecting him home for dinner—so he forego the wilder attractions available, though he did make a mental resolution to visit the Slut Zoo at some future date.

As usual, he went right for the booth babies. They were his favorite.

He strolled down one of the rows while searching for loose change. He looked for and eventually found a door with the “Vacant” sign up. He barely glanced at the number—8—stenciled above the coin drop.

He pumped in the right amount—it wasn’t much, even for a Class-B—and the door slid open.

The thing he liked best about booth babies was that no matter where he went on business, no matter which Brothelworld complex he patronized, the fuck he received was always the same. It was a comfort. He had very proletariat tastes. Like always, the same black rubber dolly sat up from the same bed and sashayed over to help him undress. “Suck me, bitch,” he ordered her.

Ah, those lips! They always felt so good about his dick. And that extra-smooth tongue action: the best! A suckfuck girl was good, too; but given a choice, he’d take a booth baby any time.

He liked the exclusivity of the booth, too. He felt secure inside.

“Ah, that’s it, that’s it. Ahhh. Okay, get up on the bed. Spend your legs. That’s it, honey.” He had a routine. The slut would get him hard, and then he’d stick it to her where it really counted. He buried his face in her giant tits. God, he liked the feel of a good booth baby! They were so fucking smooth!

When he was ready, he reached around and gave her nipples a hard pinch. “Oh God!” he exclaimed and came inside her. Nothing could beat that patented pelvic action!

It certainly beat having sex with the wife.

The dolly used a towel and licked him clean afterward. By the time he got his clothes on again, the man had almost completely forgotten she was still there. He snapped his fingers. “Oh, right,” he said out loud. “Nadine wanted me to pick up some milk on the way home. I almost forgot.”

The booth baby squeaked.

He punched the exit button. The booth slid open.

Before he left, Priscilla’s user gave her enlarged, bulbous nipples a fond pinch farewell. Her slick, rubberized body convulsed in an ecstasy of pain-pleasure, a crushing wave of sensation that left her shuddering long after the booth resealed. Eventually, the convulsive reactions settled down, and, devoid of purpose without a customer, Priscilla positioned herself once more on her mattress, in standard booth baby pose: on her back, arms extended, legs spread so each foot nestled close to the corner edge.

Her massive tits jutted toward the featureless ceiling. Her featureless eyes stared upward blankly.

She waited for her next customer. She prayed it wouldn’t be long. She was already feeling dreadfully empty without a cock inside her. Without cock, she was devoid of purpose.

She was only happy when serving cock. Without cock, she was nothing.

She was nothing.

She was everything. She was a dollygirl!

The examination door slid open. A man sat at a desk and motioned her inside. The dollygirl took a position in front of the desk and posed seductively. She practically radiated docility and submission.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the slave said. “My serial number is GS-24. How may I see to your pleasure?”

“Come stand over here,” the BioTrust executive told her. Lee did so at once, assuming a position of respectful attention, hands politely held behind her back, eyes up and head tilted at a precise angle.

“What’s your name, girl?” This was her final inspection before being prepped for sale. She was so excited! “I have no name, sir,” she said, the requisite reply. “My collar bears the designation GS-24.”

“Very good.” The examination was quick. Lee stood on a circular disk set in the floor. At a touch of the executive’s control, a holographic field formed around her, with floating red lines measuring every inch of her body and displaying the results in equally floating numbers and letters. The field rotated around Lee, precisely recording every square inch of her body. The process took only ten seconds.

Ding! The solidoe disappeared as quickly as it had formed. Lee tilted her head in the opposite direction, like a little coquette. Her smile was radiant. “You are no longer GS-24,” the man told her.

“Yes, sir,” the nameless dollygirl said. It was all going exactly to formula. “I am now ready for sale.”

“Yes, you are,” the executive said. “You are now . . . Lee 24. You may go. Good luck.”

“Thank you, sir!” the former GS-24, former Angela Lee Foster, now Lee 24 said. Lee 24 pivoted and went out the door to her left. This is it, she processed in a small part of her mind. The great majority of her attention was on her Lessons, her body movement, and a host of lesser details. I’m to be packaged and sold!

She had said goodbye earlier to FT-17, the former Veronique Avin. Now, she was Bettie 17. For some reason, the company hadn’t wanted her to have the same first name she had had as a free girl.

Lee hoped Bettie would be as happy in her slavery as she was in hers. She was sure she would be.

She was sure everyone would be, eventually.

When I wake up, I’ll be in front of my master! Lee processed as they placed in her dollbox. It was a large rectangular container, transparent in the front. She would be put into suspended animation. She assumed the standard pose, bending her elbows to ninety-degree angles, opening her mouth and legs wide open to appear to onlookers as the fuckdoll she would appear to be, the fuckdoll she wanted to be. The front of the dollbox was sealed. She might remain in the factory for months before an eligible buyer could afford to purchase her. On the other hand, she might wake up in a day. It varied.

I was turned into a dollygirl because I tried to steal my former sister from her rightful master, a small part of Lee’s mind processed before going under. I was disobedient. I was punished. This is my punishment. Her smile grew wider. That was the joke all the dollygirls knew, the one they shared with one another, the one that made them so happy all the time. Happiness is a warm dollygirl!

I wasn’t punished, Lee processed. I was blessed. Slavery is a blessing. It’s the ultimate reward.

She felt sorry for all those free women out there. But, eventually, all of them would be blessed, too.

The dollygirls had long ago calculated, in concert with their male counterparts, the toyboys, how long it would take to transform everyone into either a toyboy or dollygirl. The figure was well within grasp.

They themselves needed to do nothing. It would all be done for them.

The people of the world all had functional immortality as a result of BioTrust. The laws were becoming stricter all the time. Really, it was only a matter of time. Then everyone would share in their bliss!

It was . . . inevitable.

The darkness crept in. Lee’s mind began to shut down.

My master, she thought before going to sleep. She was so happy!

In time, everyone in the world would be a slave. It would be a dolls’ world. And then everyone would be as happy as she was!

At no point was the outcome already not predetermined.