The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The next morning, the engines of the resort’s hydrofoil boat growled to live at the secluded marina on the far side of the island. The early morning light danced across the azure blue of the ocean, with low clouds catching the first rosy fingers of the dawn. Max was just dismounting from the ponygirl-drawn cart he favored for transportation within the compound. He paused to breath the ocean air. He thoroughly enjoyed mornings on the island, before it got too hot. He would have greeted the dawn even without the need to dispatch his assistant Andre on a delivery mission. Andre stood next to the boat, checking items off a manifest. Jen and Julie—or rather the LoveDolls that Jen and Julie had become—stood docile and beautiful at his side, their tousled hair blowing in the morning breeze. They were dressed for delivery as the client instructed: outfits so skimpy and tight they almost seemed sprayed on.

“Ah, Max, come to see us off?” asked Andre as he looked up.

“Of course. Is all in order?”

“Oui, mon chef. Do we know who our mystery buyer is for these housepets?” “Housepet was the organization’s term for a live-in LoveDoll, one designed merely for her owner’s pleasure without the additional programming necessary for her to get by in public.

Max smiled. “Of course. But the client does not know that we know. It is better to preserve his illusion of anonymity, by working through agents. What he does not know is that we are working through the same agents. These Americans are really no match for Old-World intrigue.” And he told Andre the name of the buyer, the president of a venture-capital firm.

“And the payment?” asked Andre.

“Funds were transferred into our Zurich account early this morning; the confirmation just came through.” Max named an amount, and Andre whistled.

“That much?”

“Yes,” replied Max, “a premium for special conditioning and guaranteed fast delivery. The man wants everything done at once, he must be the very devil to work for.” He ran his eye over the two girls who had been standing with vacant expressions by the airplane steps. Beautiful and immobile, their travel outfits not quite hiding their voluptuous figures, waiting for the order that would send them on a long journey into total servitude to their new owner. “And how are your two charges—ready for the trip?”

Andre shrugged. “More ready than me. I will feel better after delivery.”

“Ah, it will all go well. The boat will get you to the mainland in no time, the sea is calm and the weather reports are all positive. You will have no trouble catching your charter flight to bring the goods to the buyer.” Max clasped the hand of his associate with the robust single shake favored in central Europe. “Be well, come back soon.”

“Merci, chief, " said Andre. “I want to get back in time to see what progress you have made with that new girl, Ms. Dorset.” He turned to the girls. “It’s time, my dears, let us be on our way,” he said. They preceded him over the gangplank, their hips swaying with practiced allure. Max waved as the boat crew tossed off the morning lines and the engine throttled to a full-throated roar. He watched as it raced for the horizon, faster and faster, until the curtain of spray from both sides showed that the speed had raised the hydrofoils out of the water. It was a boat no coast guard was likely to catch.

Max turned back to the cart. Harnessed between the draw poles stood the ponygirl, her thighs sculpted with muscles and her head held high by the bit and bridle. The long mane of her sun-streaked hair fluttered in the breeze. a long time ago her sturdy physique had caught Max’s eye on the resort beach, and after her abduction she had undergone several weeks of intensive equestrian conditioning. Max reached into a pouch alongside the cart and produced a sugarcube, which the ponygirl gratefully nibbled from his hand. Her bare body was covered with a sheen of sweat from the long pull to the marina, and he reminded himself to have her washed and brushed as soon as they got back. Max climbed into the seat of the cart, took a firm grip on the reins and clicked his tongue to get her moving to a fast trot. He wanted to be at the recovery room when Robyn woke up from her first intensive session in sexual technique. The ponygirl leaned into the harness, and was soon clip-clopping her way in her high-heeled training boots. down the path back to the compound, her nostrils flaring, her bare breasts jiggling in counterpoint to her hard-driving legs. As he flicked the reins, Max wondered how Robyn Dorset was responding the next stage of her mental subjugation.

Dreams! Incredible dreams of being ravished by lovers too many to count!. Robyn’s head spun with the surreal images and sensations of stern trainers showing her the best techniques in fellatio, how to use her abdominal muscles to squeeze her lover’s cock, how to thrust her breasts forward for the oh-so-pleasing touch of a lover’s lips. The instructing voices came back to her: use your imagination, use every part of your body to please your master (yes, master!). And strangely, she seemed to know so much of it already, as if these instructions merely reminded her of lessons already learned. Robyn did not know, could not know, that these techniques in giving pleasure had been hammered into her mind by 100,000 repetitions in the “incubator”, with her brain jacked in to a virtual-reality computer program that gradually had rewired her brain to know these things by rote. Nor did she notice how the programs had relentless short-circuited her conscious thinking, until she could barely keep a thought in her head.

But who needs thoughts when you can just surrender yourself to sensations? Even though the question did not quite articulate itself in her mind, her brain unconsciously already knew the answer: Compliance brought pleasure, resistance brought discomfort. It was much easier to just let herself go, feel the waves of pleasure coursing though her body, each orgastic spasm a reward for lessons learned well, in these dreams. . .

But light penetrated her closed eyelids, and Robyn slowly rose through levels of wakefulness. She stretched like a cat, and let her eyes open to leave the dreams behind.

But were they just dreams? She felt a dampness between her legs, and realized with a start that she was soaking from sexual arousal. And it seemed after her stretch that she could feel aches in her muscles and soreness in her in pussy and ass. And then it dawned on her that the dreams were not dreams at all, but some kind of hazy recognition of real events.

She sat up with a jolt, the fog of her mind-conditioning temporarily lifted. What was she doing here? Why did it hurt to concentrate? Every time a coherent thought formed in her mind, the dull throb of a headache seemed to block out the thought. She pressed her temples with her fingertips, forcing herself to think.

She was still a captive, that much was certain.

Robyn suddenly felt the smooth touch of the bodysuit over her forehead on her fingertips. Was she wearing gloves? She examined her hands, then her feet, then her whole nude body with mounting alarm. Her hands glided over the same smoothness along her flanks, her thighs, her curiously larger breasts. The biggest shock of all came when she ran her palm over her head to find no hear whatsoever, only a flawless surface of a billiard ball.

What have they done to me? she thought. Her eyes roamed to a sign over the door. The letters seemed unfamiliar. . . just squiggles. Disturbed, she glanced around the room for something else to read. Ah, a medical clipboard! Perhaps it had some clues to what these fiends were doing to her. Robyn snatched at it, then stared in disbelief. The writing on the clipboard could just as well be Egyptian hieroglyphics, for all the sense they made.

Robyn felt a chill down her spine. “My mind. . . they’re taking away my mind,” she muttered. And then she thought of all the girls she had seen at the clinic in various stages of conditioning: soon all to be reduced to docile, beautiful playthings programmed for their owners’ pleasure. And that thought was quickly followed by another: I have to get out of here.

Robyn swung out of bed to her feet, and almost stumbled on the high heeled sandals still locked onto her feet. Damn! That was going to make it difficult to run. Well, she would just have to manage. She opened the door of her cubicle a notch and stared down a hall of closed doors. With nobody in sight, she walked as fast as her footwear allowed, the spike heels of her sandals clicking accusingly on the tile floor. She reached the end of the hall, turned a corner and saw an glass door leading to the outside. Just as the captive girl’s palms shoved the door open, an alarm shrieked to life.

Max had already left his cart in the compound and was halfway to his office when he heard the alarm. Then he saw the girl in the bodysuit, running awkwardly toward the security gate, hampered by the high heels built into the suit. He saw in the distance the amazon security guards, Bambi and Thumper. They were sprinting toward the escaping figure like jaguars, their sinewy leg muscles flexing, their eyes riveted on their prey. Max knew they had been programmed to stop any escape—whatever the cost. The fleeing girl turned her face toward Max, eyes wide with fear, driven by the speed of her desperation. He recognized her—it was Robyn Dorset! Max felt his heart freeze.

Max broke into a run, his hand fumbling in his coat pocket for the neutralizing control. Bambi and Thumper had shortened their stride and raced each other on an intercept course with the awkwardly running fugitive, their fists already bunched into killing weapons.

Max yelled “Stop!” at the two security guards, but they kept on sprinting running. His frantic fingers finally found the switch, and he mashed the neutralizing key with his thumb.

The two amazons slowed their pursuit, then stopped, their minds paralyzed into inactivity.

Max dove at Robyn. He brought her down in an open-field tackle, and grabbed at her hands that clawed for his eyes. The bodysuit made her slippery to hold, so he used his weight, pressing her down. “Stop struggling,” he growled through clenched teeth. “You’re not going anywhere!” She responded by bringing up her knee in what could have been ball-crushing blow had Max not twisted his torso on top of her. When she was flat on her stomach with her wrists pinned above her head by the iron grip of one hand, he brought the palm of his other hand down hard on her smooth buttocks in a resounding smack! He spanked her again, even harder, enough to leave his palm stinging. Robyn gasped and stopped struggling beneath him.

“You silly little fool,” he snapped, “You could have gotten yourself killed!”

Security men came running from the main administrative building. They hauled Robyn to her feet. She had time to give Max a long, puzzled look before they marched her back to the recovery room. Max dusted himself off, and supervised the resuscisitation of the two collapsed security dolls. Max took one last look at the retreating figure of Robyn being escorted back to captivity, wondering at her willpower to shake off several days of conditioning and make a bid for escape. This one would obviously require special attention. As soon as he returned to the clinic, Max ordered a round of the most intensive conditioning yet.

Several days later, as the sedatives wore off, Robyn experienced the all-too-familiar sensation of waking up disoriented. The shapes and sounds around gradually defined themselves into remembered familiarity. She was back in the clinic, strapped to one of the tilted-back chairs, the same sensors pressing against her skull. The face of Max loomed in front of her.

“Once again, here we are,” said Max. “And how are you feeling, please?”

Robyn tried to speak, but he mouth was too dry.. “All right, Sir,“she heard herself say. Now where did that come from? she wondered. With Max so close to her, she felt a sudden warmth flow through her. What was that all about?

Max shook his head in remonstrance. “You gave us quite a scare, you know. Those two guards are trained to prevent anybody from leaving the compound, no matter how much force is required. We need to maintain security, you understand. You will not be trying that again, will you?”

The moment Robyn heard the instruction, the very notion of trying to escape repelled her.

She nodded obediently. “No, Sir.”

“If you were to leave us, you would not be able to fufill your function, would you?”

The thought of not fulfiling her function sent tremors of agitation through the girl. “Oh, no, Sir.”

“And what is that function, Robyn?”

“To serve my owner,” she said promptly. The tiny remnant of her old self, from the last defenses of her mind, realized that she must have been throughly brainwashed to feel this submissive and trusting to the man next to her chair. (Fight back! That little core of her old personality protested. But then she felt another shudder of mind-controlled reaction. )

“Good girl,” said Max. His approval sent calming waves of relief through her. Her mind fogged over with happiness at the thought of serving her owner, so she almost missed what Max said next.

“We’re going to give you one more treatment, Robyn. You are still a bright young girl, and you don’t need all that intelligence to fulfill your function. In fact, you can best serve your owner by not having all these confusing thoughts. Isn’t that right?”

Robyn blinked. Whatever Max said sounded so right to her. “Yes, Sir,” she said. Technicians behind her were already readying the equipment.

Max nodded. “Very well,” he said. “You are going to go to sleep again, and when you wake up, you will be already to begin your new life. You won’t even be able to remember your old life with all those confusing thoughts. We will bypass all those old memories so you can start fresh wth your new owner. You want that, don’t you?” A phase the clinic staff call “dumbing-down”, he thought, while something in his soul writhed.

Robyn wanted that very much, now that he mentioned it. A fresh start, to serve her owner. What a nice idea! She smiled and nodded. Then the enormity of the what was happening to her, and her own helplessness to prevent it, broke through the conditioning. “Max!” she said in a hoarse whisper. Straining against her bonds, she raised herself on her elbows.

Max raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yes, Robyn?”

“Want. . .something.” Every word was such an effort! It would be so much easier to sink back into the fog. But she forced herself to keep her eyes locked on her captor.

“Yes?”

“Brandenburg Concerto. . . Bach. . . one last time. . . while I still have what’s left of my mind,” she whispered. “Let me have that. . . and I won’t resist . . . any more.”

For a long minute, Max said nothing, inwardly marvelling at her last conscious act of defiance. At last he spoke. “Of course, Robyn.”

One of the clinicians looked up, surprised, and said “We’re all ready to go, Max. To delay at this point would—”

“Shut up,” snapped Max. The clinician quailed before Max’s baleful glare. He gave quick instructions to an aide to bring down his CD player. He said nothing as they plugged in the machine and started the CD. In silence, Robyn and Max listened together to the lilting, dancing notes of the music—Robyn with her eyes closed, Max standing back with folded arms giving her space to enjoy her last Bach in peace. At the end of the final movement, Robyn’s head fell back into the headrest. She opened her eyes and turned to Max.

“Thanks. . . you bastard,” she said.

Max had something exceedingly witty he had planned to say back, but somehow he could not get it past the lump in his throat. He gave a curt tilt of his head to the clinician to start the final conditioning process that would lock away the girl’s conscious mind. He knew from this day forward, she would be, for all intents and purposes, a mere pleasure machine. Max did not stay to the see the process completed. A few of his clincians exchanged glances, and one of them shrugged.

Across the sea on the mainland, Andre slammed down the telephone. Outside the rain-streaked windows of the airport, the storm clouds matched his mood. The task of escorting the two LoveDolls to their owner had suddenly gone off the rails. The hydro-foil boat ride had been uneventful. Andre and his two charges had reached the mainland shore in midmorning, their minivan waiting, with plenty of time to drive to the airport and meet the charter plane to take them to their destination. Even as the car had sped to the airport, the sky had darkened and far off thunder warned of an approaching storm. He urged the driver on faster. But their race to the outer edges of the airport where the hangers of the private planes had been in vain—their charter aircraft had not arrived. When Andre called from a payphone near one of the fueling stations, the wind whipping his trenchcoat and rain already beginning to spatter the runway, his concern was validated. Bad weather up north had prevented the aircraft from taking off. And that meant Andre was stranded at the airport with two docile sex slaves. Not a bad predicament, he thought sourly, except he knew the buyer would be very upset if his chattel was not delivered according to terms.

Andre drummed his fingers, his eyes on the larger commercial aircraft still taking off before the storm arrived. He tugged his hat brim over his eyes, and climbed back into the passenger seat in the front. “To the main airport,” he said. “We will catch a regular flight out.”

The driver glanced at the two LoveDolls in the backseat, then back at Andre.

Andre said irritably. “I know it is a risk. But we can’t keep our two little cabbages here indefinitely. We will have to chance it. Once we get them on the plane, we can power them down as if they’re sleeping.”

“Dressed like that, boss? They’ll cause a riot?”

“You’re right about that,” conceded Andre. “Let me have your coat.”

The driver struggled out of his coat. “It will never work, Andre,” was all he could say.

As soon as the driver let them out at the terminal entrance, Andre began to regret his decision. He had hoped to blend into the crowd. But leading two gorgeous women through the airport became a running spectacle. They were just too beautiful. Even covered with the coats, their salacious hip-swaying walk made men stop and stare.

“Any luggage?” the check in clerk asked Andre, with his eyes never leaving the two LoveDolls.

Andre shook his head and pocketed the tickets, paying in cash. He hustled his little flock through security, and prayed they would not attract attention. The mere touch of a guard’s hand during a frisk search would probably trigger their conditioned reflex of sexual response. Andre tried to shape his instructions to the girls in a conversational tone. “Why don’t you go first, ladies,” he said, gesturing to the security gate. To his great relief, they glided through without a hitch. Then it was down to the waiting gate. He set them down in chairs far from the rest of the passengers, and found the restroom to wash up. When he came back out, he groaned inwardly at what he saw. Two young men were trying to chat the girls up, drawn by the sexual aura that seemed to hover over the two LoveDolls. Andre hurried over.

“Enough, lads,” he said. “Please don’t bother my—neices.”

“They don’t seem to talk much,” said one of the boys.

Andre became nervous their curiousity might grow into suspicion. “Well, they are, actually, one could say, umm...well, it’s like this. They have taken. . . vows of silence. You see,” he said, warming to his tale, “they have both agreed enter the convent.”

The boys drew back. “You mean, like nuns?”

“Oui, like nuns,” said Andre. He clasped his hands in front of him with some suggestion of prayer, or at least reverence. Although why a man of the cloth would be wearing flared trousers and a loud silk tie did not occur to either of the two boys.

“Why? I mean they both look really hot, you know?” asked one of them.

“Like, I wouldn’t kick either of them out of bed,” agreed the other boy. Andre concluded he meant it as a compliment. These Americans and their charming ways, he thought wryly to himself.

“It was their visions,” said Andre, whom desperation had made imaginative.. “In the mountains. They knew they had a special calling. Now it is almost time for their . . . meditations. Nice to meet you both. Off you go.”

They reluctantly withdrew. Andre took a seat next to the LoveDolls, counting the minutes until they could board the plane, fuming at being put in such a stupid, risky position. Damn that charter pilot!

A middle-aged couple walked past. The woman said, “Isn’t that Neal Mattingly over there?” pointing to some seats across the room.

“Why, I believe it is,” said the man. “He must be on his way back to the East Coast.” He waved his newspaper and called out, “Neal!”

Kneel. The word flashed through the LoveDoll’s minds on its hard-wired path straight to their programmed cortexes.

The two LoveDolls turned their eyes obediently to the man. Then both of them slid off their chairs into the traditional submissive kneeling position: palms upward on thighs, head slightly tilted up, shoulders back and breasts thrust forward.

Andre stared wildly for a minute, then he dropped to the ground as well. “Mon Dieu! Now where IS that contact lens?” he muttered audibly. “Ah, here it is—we can stop searching!” Then more quietly, out of the corner of his mouth, he hissed “Get back in your chairs. Now.” The two LoveDolls rose in unison and reseated themselves, with the same unfocused gaze into-the-distance The husband and wife exchanged confused looks, then went over to talk with their friend. Andre took out a silk handkerchief and wiped his brow.

The all boarding call came at last. Andre had paid extra for the seats furthest in the rear of the aircraft, nestled behind the cabin galley that had a sliding curtain between it and the other passenger seats up front. The last thing he wanted was another random encounter with the passengers. He managed to get his two LoveDolls buckled in before the flight attendent, looking very sharp with her pert uniform, starched white shirt, and short brown hair, asked what they would like for dinner.

“Nothing, thank you,” said Andre.

“Are you sure? It’s going to be long flight, with all the weather delays.”

“I’m sure.”

“And your two companions?”

“They do not want anything either,” Andre quickly said. The stewardess gave the two beautiful girls with the vapid smiles a puzzled look, sensing something was not quite right, but disappeared behind the curtain to tend the passengers up front. Andre gave a curt command under his breath, and both LoveDolls closed their eyes to simulate sleep.

He must have dozed, because he awoke to a window filled with the dark night sky. The lights of the cabin were dimmed, the movie up front long since over, no sound but the deep, steady throb of the jet engines. The stewardess dozed in the tilted chair across the aisle in front, her head cushioned on a small pillow pressed against the side of the aircraft. In the seat next to her was her own finished dinner tray. Andre’s sleepy eyes drifted from the pretty girl to the swaying curtain that divided them from the rest of the cabin.. He glanced at his watch—still several hours before dawn. The two LoveDolls remained as motionless as before, eyes closed, their shapely bodies occasionally rocking slightly with the motion of the plane. The plane bounced slightly over some turbulance, and he felt the warmth of the LoveDoll nearest him as her shoulder touched his. Her fragrance—not just her perfume, but the exciting scent of her body—seemed to curl around Andre. He felt his manhood stir. On impulse, he reached out and traced his fingers across her body. She quivered at his touch. Andre cupped her breasts, then leaned over and nuzzled her neck.

The result was predictable. The LoveDoll’s conditioning took over. Her breathing became more quick and shallow, her eyelids fluttered with awakening passion. She turned her head for a kiss. She felt her will dissolving like cotton candy in a blast furnace.

Andre debated for a moment whether to indulge himself. After all, he had been through a lot of stress getting the LoveDolls to this point. He needed this. Seeing those moist, parted lips clinched the argument. Andre leaned over, pressing his mouth against hers, feeling the first exploratory touches of her tongue. He kissed her cheek, then whispered a command in her ear. Quietly, so as not to wake the napping stewardess in the seat in front of them, he activated the other LoveDoll as well, directing her hand toward his belt. Her fingers slowly undid his buckle, belt, then the zipper on his trousers, and then found his hardening cock. While the blonde massaged his cock to a full erection, the redheaded LoveDoll snuggled close. She unfastened the buttons on her blouse one by one, then slipped it off with one fluid movement. She pressed her firm, full breasts against his chest and kissed along his cheek and jaw and neck. Andre leaned back in his seat, his eyes closed, savoring the luxury of being seduced by two exquistely trained and breathtakingly beautiful love slaves. He knew that every caress, every soft moan of delight, in fact every sensuous writhing of their bodies, had been hardwired into their minds by the relentless mental conditioning of Max’s clinic. The two LoveDolls were quite literally programmed for his pleasure, and trained to work in tandem for his maximum delight. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Andre heard a gasp. His eyes flew open. Turned in her seat, her expression shocked, the stewardess stared at the salacious love-making going on in the seat behind her. She glanced forward to make sure the curtain was still closed, to shield the passengers from the sight of this shameless orgy. Her stare shifted to the two LoveDolls, who glanced her way, only to return their attention to pleasuring their escort Andre.

“That’s not. . .allowed,” sputtered the stewardess. “Other passengers might. . . you must stop at once!”

As if in cool defiance of that directive, the redhead slid down between Andre’s legs and brushed her chin, then the tendrils of her auburn hair, and finally her ruby lips, against the quivering head of his cock, expertly teasing it until it grew iron-hard and throbbing. The stewardess couldn’t help feel a surge of warmth in her own loins at the sight. But how could those two girls be subjugating themselves so to one man? The question seemed to propel her to her feet.

“Now you really put your clothes back on—” she pleaded. “Both of you, all of you—”

Andre took her in with his horse-trader’s eye, noticing how the gaze of the stewardess lingered a bit too long on the shapely women serving him. “Girls,” he ordered, “tend to her.”

. The two LoveDolls swivelled their heads slowly in her direction.The stewardess took a hesitant step back. There was something in their knowing smiles that seemed to dampen any thought of fleeing, and she stood rooted to the ground like prey hypnotized by a snake. The two LoveDolls rose to their feet suddenly their hands were gliding over her body, touching her as only women know how, their soft lips murmering soft urgings in her ears. The stewardess tried half-heartedly to pull away, but her legs had turned to jelly. The perfume of the two LoveDolls mingled with the male scent of the grinning Andre, and suddenly the stewardess felt herself swoon. One moment she was standing in the aisle, the next moment she was sprawled across the seats with both women giving her body the same devoted pleasuring as they had lavished on Andre.

The stewardness had no idea of the intensive training and psychological indoctrination that had turned these two girls into uninhibited, sex-hungry vixens. All she knew was that she felt wave after wave of erotic delight roll through her body. When the blonde pressed her soft lips against hers in a passionate kiss, the stewardess froze, then melted at the probing touch of the seductress’s tongue. And during the kiss, she felt her uniform and starched white blouse easing off her shoulders, as if by magic.

The stewardess felt the gentle, insistent fingers caressing her thighs, reaching higher and higher up her skirt. Then the fingers slid back down, pulling her pantyhose down past her legs. “No, no. . .” she weakly protested. But the touching and kissing and soft urgings relentlessly wore down her will to resist. And when one of the LoveDolls nibbled on the stewardess’s hardening nipples, she felt herself surrendering completely.

It was not long before the stewardess found herself writhing in the airplane seat while the redhead’s tongue slid up and down her pussy lips with a steady, passion-building tempo. The other Lovedoll cradled the stewardess’s head her in lap, stroking her hair, occasionally leaning down to kiss her lightly on the lips. Just when when her passion-tortured body seemed to ready to explode in orgasm, the LoveDolls eased off. The stewardess gasped helplessly, “Why. . . are you stopping. . . please. . . finish what you started. . . please. . .” The Lovedolls gently helped her to her feet, and guided her naked body to the back seat where Andre had been enjoying the whole show. He was unclothed as well, his erection hard and straight as a lance.

The stewardess, with a LoveDoll on either side, felt them draw her toward the man. She attempted to resist, but their grip was surprisingly strong. Soon she was standing before him, her legs spread wide, poised over that throbbing cock ready to be impaled. She felt the same gentle fingers stroking her pussy, probing deeper and deeper, and soon she felt her pelvis thrusting forwad on its own accord, desperately seeking more caressing, deeper penetration, unable to move anything else with her arms pinned tightly behind her. Although her conscious mind had not yet admitted it, her body yearned to be impaled on the hard, veined cock poised inches below her open, vulnerable pussy. Why was he waiting to ravish her? She craved his touch.

Andre reached over to the stewardess’s discarded dinner tray, and selected the unused pat of butter. He scooped the butter on his fingertip, and pressed it against the soft yielding folds of her pussy lips. The heat there liquified the butter, turning the cool little square of butter into a warm, melting pad of golden lubrication. The flight attendant moaned softly as Andre deftly swirled the shrinking pat through every crevasse and hidden fold of her steaming vagina, coating her with with it, so that even her half-hearted attempts to twist away allowed his fingers guide the fast-melting butter thoroughly over her sex, until her own juices and musky secent mingled with the warmed buttery slipperiness and smoothness of his application. As his fingers glided smoothly over her clit, she felt her whole body spasm involuntarily. Incredible as it seemed to her, the flight attendant found herself desperately hoping to feel his cock slide into her—anything to get release from her heated cravings.

The man made some gesture with his hand, and the two LoveDolls obeyed that signal by Then she felt herself being pressed down, until she felt the head of the man’s cock brush against her pussy lips so wantonly spread open by the fingers of the blonde LoveDoll. The stewardess head thrashed from side to side, whether in fear or mounting lust she could not say. Her whole consciousness seemed concentrated on her belly, as the two LoveDolls guided her body down over Andre’s cock.

Andre felt the woman’s wet warmth engulf him. Her whimperings of protest only served to arouse him further, as each helpless twisting of her torso to escape further penetration served only to massage his manhood to an even greater hardness. Soon her splayed-open pussy rested firmly over the base of his cock. He let her rest there for a moment, to allow her stretched pussy accomodate his size. Then Andre began thrusting slowly into her, stretching her even further.

The stewardess felt her body responding to the steady, relentless penetration of his cock. The two LoveDolls never ceased their ministrations to her body—kissing her, caressing her breasts, running their fingers over her nipples. Never had she felt this way before, the center of attention of an ongoing harmony of sexual interplay. She felt the man’s hands slide around to grip her waist, locking her over his cock as he continued his thrusts. The stewardess now felt her own hips undulating, matching his thrusts in obedient synchopation. She was beyond shame, beyond inhibition. It was as if her mind had been taken over by heat blood-warmed craving to be totally . . . used by this man, strictly for his pleasure. If she surrendered to him, maybe he would allow her to orgasm. . .

Andre knew a latent submissive when he saw one—or in this case, felt one. He knew, from his experience at the Island clinic, that a woman in a state of sexual arousal was particularly susceptible to mental control—her guard was down, her mind was open to his words. Not breaking stride with his steady pistoning deep insider her responsive pussy, Andre leaned forward, pressing his body against hers, and growled in her ear: “You want this, don’t you?”

“Yessss,” she heard herself whisper, after only a moment’s hesitation.

“Say it, then,” insisted Andre. “Tell me you want this.”

“I . . . I want this,” she gasped, bucking against his cock.

As if in reward, one of the LoveDolls pulled her head back by her hair and kissed her fully on her lips.

Andre said, “And you like being controlled like this.”

The stewardess repeated with her throaty whisper, “I like. . . I like being controlled like this.” Then she gasped with pleasure as the tongue of one of the LoveDolls flicked across her jiggling breasts.

Andre, with his vast experience in mind control techniques, knew that in her aroused and emotional state, the stewardess would be unable to resist the power of these ideas. Not nearly as efficient or long-lasting as the full treatment at the Island clinic, but effective, nevertheless. Especially with the expert caresses of two LoveDolls trained in every art of sensuous pleasure reinforcing his every instruction. The girl simply had no chance. Andre judged her sexual abilities to have much potential, but unrefined at this stage. That did not bother him. That would come, with training.

“And you must obey me,” said Andre, continuing to weave his web of mental control.

“I must . . . obey you,” the stewardess repeated breathlessly. The seats this far back in the aircraft vibrated with the deep throb of the engines, and the stewardess could feel the same vibrations through Andre’s seat and up through his cock, stimulating the silky-smooth walls of her soaking pussy. Wave after wave of erotic pleasure spread outward to the rest of her body. Her mind simply switched off, and she became a slave to her own sexual cravings.

Andre felt her pussy begin to spasm. This was the critical moment. He began to piston harder and deeper into her, faster and faster, making her voluptuous body thrash with her efforts to clench him with every internal muscle she could summon, trying frantically to squeeze every tiny increment of pleasure from his hard-driving cock. One of the LoveDolls leaned forward, pressing her soft breasts like pillows into the stewardess’s face. The cock-imprisoned girl automatically kissed and licked those warm, smooth orbs. She felt herself close to exploding—

“Tell me you want to be my slave!” commanded Andre.

“Oh, god,” she whimpered, “I want to be your slave!”

“Good girl,” growled Andre, and felt himself surge one last time into the waiting pussy of his latest acquisiton. The stewardess felt her pussy spiral into orgasm, her cries of ecstacy muffled betweent he cleavage of the breasts of the LoveDoll.

She felt herself melting into him, even as the head of his cock churned up and down her pussy in the aftermath of their mutual orgasm, his juices mingling with her own. The touchings of the LoveDolls still played over her body, drawing out her pleasure, reinforcing the rewards for obedient sexual service. Her mind seemed to lose itself in a swirl of sensation. When she gradually regained her thoughts, the stewardess found herself kneeling between Andre’s spread thighs, using her tongue to clean him thoroughly. One part of her mind stood back in amazement at her sudden subjugation; the other part confirmed that servicing him this way prolonged the lingering tremors of pleasure of her own body.

When they had both dressed, she looked up and found her eyes locked to his. “What. . . what just happened here?” she stammered, her face blushing.

“It looks to me like you found your destiny,” said Andre. “Listen to me carefully. When we land, I want you to call this number.” He produced a golden card from his inside coat pocket. “Ask for a man named Max. He will make arrangements for you to fly to our Island. Do it as soon as we land.” She numbly accepted the card. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said. Then, after a meaningful glance from her, she added “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” Andre glanced out the window, noting the first rosy fingers of dawn. “It looks like we will be landing shortly. You probably have duties to perform.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then get dressed.”

Andre watched her collect her clothing from the various seats and armrests where it had been tossed. She dressed quickly, still blushing to have to do this shamelessly in front of this man with the French accent who seemed to know everything about her. When she had rearranged her uniform in some semblance of order, she pulled the curtain open and walk unsteadily up to the front of the cabin, her hips swaying slightly with lessons already implanted into her sexual psyche. Andre smiled whimsically, then turned to his two LoveDolls. “Very well, my dears,” he said, “we will be landing soon, and we need to get you ready.”

The landing was routine. As he passed the stewardess in the aisle on the way out, she kept her eyes downcast. Andre patted her rump. “We will be seeing you shortly at our resort, I trust,” he murmered in her ear. She blushed and nodded.

They passed through customs with no difficulties. The LoveDolls’ passports were in perfect order. Andre led them out into the bright sun of the passenger pick-up zone.

“Andre!” a voice called out. Andre turned, and saw the agent with whom Max had been negotiating with standing by a limosine parked by the curb. “And these must be our two guests,” the agent continued, eyeing the LoveDolls with approval. He looked back at Andre. “The funds were transferred yesterday.”

“Yes, merci, I know,” said Andre. “Would you mind signing this receipt?” He gave each of the Dolls a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “Very well, my dears, off you go.” The agent opened the doors to the back seat and the LoveDolls climbed in, their long, shapely legs flashing in the morning sun. Before the agent closed the door, Andre caught a glimpse of the shadowing silhouette of a man already in the backseat. He was dressed expensively, with graying hair. The new owner, Andre presumed. He watched as the man personally snapped collars and leashes over his latest acquisitions. Then the door shut as the limo sped off, taking the LoveDolls to their new lives as the owner’s private house pets. Andre sauntered back into the airport. He had just enough time for a croissant and coffee before the return flight. . ..