The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Days passed. The girls were pampered, but disciplined, too. The drawn-out, soothing sessions in the plasma gel baths tapered down to no more than ten hours a day, and every night they all got eight hours of sleep, experiencing vivid erotic dreams courtesy of subliminal suggestions and subtle alterations in their brains. In a state of compliant twilight trance during which they were mobile and responsive but fundamentally without the ability to create or to recall memories, the sexual servants-to-be exercised hard for three hours every day, weight training, aerobic treadmill, stationary bike, and swimming in one of those endless pools with a strong current caressing their bare bodies. None had been fat before, but now all became toned and taut. The injections they received made them immune to over ninety per cent of all microorganisms, and the interaction of the gel with their tissues began to alter their basic genetic code, activating the klotho gene and switching off most of the basic processes of human aging.

The subjects received just the right sun exposure to tan them evenly and attractively without damaging their skin (as the gel bonded more and more with their living flesh, that was hardly a worry—once the process had reached completion, they would never burn again, never again have to worry about even a clogged pore or a blemish or a zit, let alone skin cancer). During their immersions in the gel, their bodies were altered and shaped, and through insidious, repetitive verbal instructions and computer-generated 3-D images projected in their goggles, certain false memories were implanted in the subjects’ subconscious minds—the deception necessary because the next stage of conditioning would require them to be awake and aware of themselves and their surroundings, in order to acclimate to their altered personalities, and any nagging doubts or uncertainties would only drag out that procedure unnecessarily.

The girls received nourishment only once a day: a thick gooey white liquid of bland, faintly sweet flavor, containing just the right nutrient, fiber, and calorie balance for glowing health and vitality, the amount varying from subject to subject, since some needed to slim down, some to fill out. Because the urge to suck is inborn in the species, delivery was no problem. The girls simply lay back and drank from what were essentially baby bottles, though larger (as large as a liter and a half in Shawna’s case, until she began to put on weight). Instead of a nipple, though, each bottle ended in a rounded, softly pliant protuberance about two inches in diameter, the tip equipped with a slit through which the warm liquid nutrient flowed. As the girls were suckling and swallowing, the pleasure centers of their brains were stimulated, so that the act of sucking became more and more enthralling.

And because of the shape, size, texture, and even the taste of the “nipples,” each girl inevitably began to associate sucking cock with life and health and happiness.

Most of the men received their nourishment via nasogastric intubation, the act of sucking being less vital for the happiness of their predestined mistresses. Two, however, did receive the bottles, since they were intended to serve masters whose tastes ran in that direction.

The girls adapted readily enough. Even Jane’s reluctance to sucking crumbled at last. For the first few feeding sessions, she stubbornly resisted, pursing her lips prissily around the slit and not taking the bulb into her mouth. It was an inefficient way to feed, producing a mere dribble of nutrient rather than a flow, and she never finished even half of the liquid. However, she was hungry, though not conscious of hunger, and the mixture did taste good and did fill her with a sense of well-being. By the fourth day, she at last accepted the rounded head between her lips and sucked and drank almost as eagerly as the others. In the second week, the slaves holding the bottles began to pump them in and out between the girls’ lips, mouth-fucking them as they fed, getting them accustomed to one of the functions they would fulfill from then on.

And all the time, or very nearly all the time, subliminal messages played in Jane’s ears. The other girls exercised completely nude, without helmets. Jane had to wear hers even in the water, where tightly focused electromagnetic beams activated her pleasure centers while disembodied voices cooed into her ears about the joys of surrender, the ecstasy of submission.

Their love mounds remained smooth (every week for the first twenty-eight days Dr. Andrews and the tech made a close-up inspection, using a magnifying lens the size of a dinner plate; any sprouting, curling pubic hair was noted and slated for permanent removal by electrolysis), but their shaven heads began to bristle with new hair—or perhaps “bristle” is the wrong word, for the new growth was silky and pleasantly soft even though very short. Again that was the work of the plasma gel. They would all have glorious hair, so lively and shiny it all but glowed, full of body and bounce and naturally but sweetly perfumed like an Arabian seraglio.

Late in the second week, several of the girls, including both Shawna and Jane, had the temporary stinging discomfort of ultrafine needles penetrating their labia and clits. Like their nipples, these areas would become super-sensitive with a thick growth of new nerve endings. Dr. Andrews, still worried that Jane’s resistance seemed to be enduring, also greatly enhanced the erectile tissue in Jane’s clitoris. By the end of the third week, it swelled in pink anticipation the moment the slave inserted her butt plug, and the glistening pink pearl pressed down onto the vaginal probe as though eagerly seeking the vibrations it provided. Mentally Jane might still have been blocking her enjoyment of sexual sensations, but physically her body was learning to crave them.

Every day during their immersion in the blood-warm gel the girls experienced greater, more sustained orgasms. Every day they became greedier for more.

All unconsciously, all without awareness.

Until one morning. . . .

Jane drifted pleasantly in a kind of pink-fogged sensuous state of indolent arousal, near the dreaming stage but with the flow of sensations not structured enough, really, to be a dream, rather a slow current of erotic feelings, a sense of physical yearning, of languor, and deep contentment.

And then someone slapped her butt, hard, with a cracking, stinging smack. “Get up, sleepyhead!”

“Ow!” She opened her eyes and blearily saw Shawna standing beside her bed. She yawned so widely she heard her jaw joints creak. “What time is it?”

“Six! So we’re an hour early for our first day. C’mon, we can pack a lot into sixty minutes!” Shawna was entirely too cheerful for six a.m. Jane put a hand over her eyes and yawned again as her roommate continued to twitter: “Mmm, don’t you feel rested? I swear to God, it’s almost like I’ve slept for a week! Come on, Jane, don’t just lie there. Get up and let’s get showered! Man, I’m starving! My stomach thinks I haven’t eaten for months.”

Jane groaned, rolled over and sat on the side of her bed, and then with a shock realized she was naked—well, practically. Just panties! She reflexively crossed her arms and cupped her big, warm, heavy tits. The mere touch of her palms on her nipples made her dizzy—an explosion of keen lusty tingling heat, close to an orgasm. She gasped, “Oh!”

“I fell asleep in my clothes!” Shawna was tugging her tee shirt over her head. Her big shapely tits, unhampered by a bra, bobbed loose.

Jane blinked, completely disoriented. “Your—your boobs!” Breasts! The word is breasts! Why can’t I say breasts?

Shawna shucked off the tee and looked down proudly at the round, inviting D-cup tits jiggling so lusciously on her chest. “What about ‘em?”

Jane’s mouth felt dry. Her head swirled with confusion. “For some reason I—I was thinking you were—smaller, somehow. Flatter.”

“Smaller? Flatter?” Shawna’s face wrinkled in an expression of puzzlement. “Me? Nope, got big ol’ titties!” She complacently caressed herself, smiling happily. “Had ‘em since . . . " for a moment her face looked vague and unfocused, and then she said, “since high school, of course!” She proudly ran her hands over them, and the coral-colored areolas puffed immediately, the nipples swelling lewdly. “Mm! Feels sweet. God, I’m horny as hell! I gotta find some cock soon.”

Jane, her arms still protecting her own bare chest, was blinking at her roommate’s head. “Your—your haircut!”

Shawna brushed her hand back over the crown of her head. She sported a sort of feminine butch cut, not more than an inch long anywhere, not unattractive, but nothing like the flowing mane Jane remembered. Thought she remembered. From Shawna’s expression, she quite liked the short look. “Yeah, that was a good idea of yours, to get trimmed. It’s gonna be hot here, no reason to fuck around with long hair, especially in this humidity. Yours looks good on you, too.”

With one arm still cradling her ample tits

Breasts! Why can’t I even think the word?

Jane swept the other palm over her scalp. With a little yelp of dismay she sprang up and ran to the bathroom. She stared unbelieving into the mirror. Her reflection looked like another woman, a blonde with a boyish hair style that emphasized her strangely tilted blue eyes and her excellent cheek bones. But the hair! The cut was as short as Shawna’s! When had she—oh, my god, she thought as she gazed at her reflection, my tits!

They were bigger than she remembered, fuller, perkier, with much more prominent areolas and nipples a deep carnelian. Good Lord, those nipples were as big as her thumb, even though they weren’t even . . . excited! And she looked so tanned in the mirror, when had she been in the sun?—and she didn’t remember even owning such brief, transparent panties! Her shaved love-mound

shaved? SHAVED??

showed clearly through the flimsy material.

“When—when did we get our hair cut?” Jane asked in a faltering voice.

A completely naked Shawna sauntered in to stand in the bathroom doorway, casually leaning against the door jamb. She crossed her arms under her beautiful jiggly tits, frowning slightly. “Why, we got the haircuts . . . we got them . . . in the airport. Yeah, I remember that. There was a . . . a salon right in the Miami airport. Sure, that’s right. During the layover, you remember.” A deep little line of concentration formed between Shawna’s dark, perfectly arched brows, as if she were trying to recall a memorized but faded speech. " We—we ran into—another girl who’d been to Renu Yu, and she said it would be a whole lot more comfortable if our hair were a lot shorter, and—and I’m sure you were the one who suggested we go into the airport salon. Oh, you must remember.”

And when Shawna said so, Jane did remember the whole thing, in a way—as though it were a bedtime story she had heard years ago. Yet vague jerky pictures played in her mind, glimpses of what Shawna described, fuzzy faded memories of sitting in the stylist’s chair while the clippers buzzed around her ears and her blonde tresses fell to the floor—yes, she sort of remembered. But her pussy—

good girls don’t say ‘pussy’

When had she shaved it? Why had she shaved it? It was crazy, it was the last thing she would want to do—

“You’ve got such a great body,” purred Shawna, idly toying with her own left nipple, which was visibly stiffening. “My God, you’ll drive the guys crazy.”

“That’s what our bodies are for,” Jane said automatically, a half-second later wondering where the hell that sentiment had come from. It was like something she’d heard somewhere, over and over, like a half-recalled advertising jingle from childhood, but where had she heard such an outrageous thing?

Shawna’s smile became positively evil. “The guys produce all the semen they can—”

“And we take it all away from them!” Jane finished, giggling at the naughty thought, unable to keep herself from nudging against Shawna, feeling the warmth of her roommate’s enchantingly tanned flesh.

This is wrong, this is all so wrong.

“I really do like your hair,” Shawna whispered. She reached up to pet Jane’s head, stroking it. “So soft. Like to cuddle your head against my tender tits and just feel how soft your hair is.” Jane could sense the warmth, the sheer erotic heat of her, so close, so available. She tingled. Then, realizing what was happening, she looked down, appalled. Her nipples were—were sticking out! Stiff, throbbing, and an inch long! She felt moist, humid, ready for

sex

for, for the. . . unknown—

“Don’t,” she pled, pulling back.

Shawna shrugged, making her big jugs

Breasts! Why do I keep thinking such dirty words?

bobble. With a mischievous grin, Shawna said, “Great big shower stall there. Room for both of us. I’ll scrub your back if you’ll scrub mine.”

Jane felt weird, as if she wanted to blush but couldn’t do it. She couldn’t keep her eyes off Shawna’s tanned, rounded, enticingly split sex. God, she was so brown, head to toe! Did she sunbathe nude? “When did we—when did we, you know—down there? When did we s-shave?”

“Last night,” Shawna said, her expression becoming one of gentle concern. “Hey, are you all right? What the hell kind of a wine spritzer did you drink? Don’t you remember Wanda told us on the way over to the dorm that for reasons of hygiene we all might consider shaving our pubic areas?” Her voice dropped to a throaty, insinuating purr: “I did you and you did me. It was so nice and sexy. You remember.”

Oh, God. A flash again, a sort of memory, Shawna perched on the sink counter, legs spread wide, Jane kneeling on folded towels, lovingly shaving the curling dark thatch . . . the touch of Shawna’s fingers on her later as she spread the cream, the immoral sharp desire that the lovely brunette would dip her fingers down into. . . .

“It’s like a dream,” Jane whispered. “I can sort of remember it, but it’s—”

Behind the naked Shawna, the hall door flew open, and Jane yipped in dismay, one hand flying to cover her chest, one to conceal her sex. But it was only the girl from Texas, Darla, her black hair as short as the other two girls’. Barefoot, she wore tight cut-off jeans and a cut-off man’s sleeveless tee shirt, seriously strained by the burgeoning of her breasts. Her dark, semi-erect nipples showed lewdly. “Hey, you early birds,” she said in her Southwestern twang. “I woke up damn early, too. Whatcha up to, hons?”

“About to shower,” Shawna told her.

“Cool.” Without a trace of embarrassment, Darla peeled off her top, letting her astonishing tits, even larger than Shawna’s or Jane’s, jiggle free. She hooked her thumbs in her cut-off jeans waist and shoved them down, filmy panties and all. “I’ll take a piece of that.”

Shawna gave her a look of frank desire. “My God, Darla, but you’ve got a gorgeous body,” she said.

Darla laughed and reached out to caress Shawna’s tits, a hand to each. “You ain’t bad yourself, honey. Mm, I never guessed you were hiding these big soft babies yesterday, girl. Want to work up a little sweat before we shower it off? I’m in the mood!”

“Don’t!” Jane said the word—but only in her mind. She could not force it out. Her mouth opened, but her tongue and larynx failed her, and she produced no sound.

“Little morning delight? Why not?” Shawna said. “Never made it with a lady before, but I’m game if you are.” She took Darla’s hand in hers and led her out of the bathroom. A stunned Jane followed unsteadily in their wake.

“Let me do you first,” Darla said, licking her lips. “I’m just aching to taste a little pussy! It must be good, or my boyfriends wouldn’t go down on me so much.”

“Be my guest,” said Shawna with a heavy-lidded smile. She lay back crossways on her bed, legs lewdly spread, hands caressing and teasing her own tits. Her pussy

vagina, the word is pus—vagina!

gleamed, open and wet and pink and as delectable as a tropical orchid.

“Yum!” Darla knelt between Shawna’s outspread legs, the white soles of her dainty feet visible beneath the sexy tanned swell of her ass cheeks as she knelt and leaned forward. Jane, staring at the two women, found herself moving around to the head of the bed for a better view as Darla’s teasing pink tongue parted Jane’s sexual slit and lushed over her delicate inner folds.

Words of protest formed in Jane’s mind but would not issue from her lips. Outrage and distaste surged in her consciousness but found no outlet. And she could not take her eyes off what the two naughty girls were doing—no more than she could control her own treacherous body. Her hand slipped inside the flimsy transparent panties she wore. Shocked, she tried to withdraw it—but it would not obey her will. It was as if her hand were under someone else’s control, or under its own, free of its accustomed slavery to her brain. Helplessly, Jane felt her own fingers spreading her sex, reaching into the hot dampness, touching and stroking her swelling clitoris—God, it had never been so—unnghh—so big, or so—ahhh—so sensitive before—

What are we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this! I’m not a lesbian! This shouldn’t turn me on!

“Ooh, yeah, that’s the spot! Oh, that’s so good!” Shawna’s face clenched in an expression of delirious joy. She stroked the short black hair of the girl who was not nuzzling and nibbling her clit while delicately pumping a finger in and out of her wet slit. “God, you’re making me crazy! You give great head, Darla!”

Against her will, without her volition, Jane heard her own voice chirping, “M-men love a g-girl who gives good h-head!”

“Look at you,” Shawna said, turning her head and surveying Jane. She gave an alluring wink. “Get me hot, girl. Take off your panties, sweetie, so I can have a good view. Have a seat.” She patted the rumpled pillows.

Automatically Jane’s thumbs caught the waistband of the panties and she skinned them off. She sat on the bed with her ass on a pillow and her back against the cool wall, so close that she could smell, oh God, Shawna’s musk!

“Turn toward me,” Shawna said. “Let me see you play with yourself. Your pussy is so nice. I want a good view.”

No, I’m not that kind of girl, I don’t do those things!

But as though her body could not resist a direct order, Jane found herself scooting her butt forward, leaning her shoulders back against the wall, spreading her thighs, stroking and probing her secret, wet places, smiling as Shawna looked on with obvious, lascivious appreciation.

Let me stop. Let me wake up. Let this be a bad dream.

Shawna suddenly bucked and screamed, locking her thighs tight around Darla’s head. She shuddered and moaned for nearly a minute before relaxing. “My God,” she gasped at last. “Oh, my God, that was so good! How did I taste, lover?”

Darla, resting her chin on Shawna’s love mound, grinned, her lips and cheeks glistening with Shawna’s juices. “Plum wonderful, girl. You’ve got a honeybox! Man, I could swallow your cum forever.”

But girls didn’t—except Shawna had GUSHED, had—she had—almost like a boy—

Sitting up, Shawna said, “Lie down and let me do you now. Turn about is fair play.”

They reversed positions, Darla spread-eagled in raw abandon on the bed, the outside of her left thigh warmly touching the inner flesh of Jane’s spread left thigh. “Mm,” she said, staring lustfully and frankly at Jane’s hairless crotch, which Jane still fingered languidly. “Shawna was surely right about you. You’ve got a real pretty pussy, Jane.”

“She won’t let you lick it, though,” murmured a busy Shawna from the level of Darla’s own welcoming pussy.

“What? Not even a taste?” Darla gave a bawdy laugh and then said to Jane, “Girl, get over yourself! When there’s no cock to suck—”

Horrified, Jane heard herself chime in, “—find yourself a chick to lick!”

“Ooh, Shawna!” moaned Darla, distracted by Shawna’s expert attention. Her hips began pumping. “Gawwwwd, you make me wanna fuck your tongue! Lick me, girl! Stick that hot tongue on down in there! Yeah!” She ground her pubis against Shawna’s mouth, and Shawna, like a rider in a rodeo, raised and sank in perfect sync with Darla’s involuntary, eager hip actions. “Oh, Gawwwd, what are you doing to me—ooh, yeah! That’s it, baby! Yeah, lover, you’re so good! Ohhhh yeah! Do it, do it, do it!”

Jane watched the squirming, delighted Darla, fascinated by her great jouncing tits. Her nipples were almost brown and seemed Texas-sized as she played with them, pinching and tweaking and pulling. Jane felt her tongue licking her lips. God, she wanted to suck those big nipples, to feel the stiffening flesh between her lips. So succulent, so perfect, so tempting.

What am I thinking? No, what am I FEELING? I’d never do that!

The gasps and moans became frantic, and Darla squirmed, squealed, and cooed encouragement as Shawna not only licked and sucked and nibbled, but also pumped her with two wet fingers. And then she could take no more. In the throes of a thrashing orgasm, Darla threw her head way back on her beautifully curved neck, opened her mouth, keened, and flailed her arms. Somehow with her free hand, Jane caught Darla’s. They squeezed hard, and moved over the edge by Darla’s ongoing spasms of pleasure and by her own busy fingerwork, Jane shuddered with her own release—intense but somehow disappointing, as though her body knew it could do better, as though her libido wanted more, more, more. And unlike the other two girls, she didn’t gush out her own juices—barely a trickle. She found herself licking and sucking her own fingers, shameful, shameful, but she couldn’t make herself stop, and it tasted musky and fine.

She slipped down and lay gasping and panting on the bed, letting her heart slow, trying to recover, and when the other two girls went to the shower to have some soapy, slippery fun with each other’s tits and asses and pussies and left her alone on the bed, Jane finally was able to change her bawdy pose, keep her twitching fingers away from her demanding clit, and put her legs back together—not demurely, for she was still completely naked, but at least to press her thighs tightly together.

And to wonder what the hell was happening to her.

The day just got stranger. The other girls finished their shower, toweled each other off, and got dressed while Jane took a quick shower and edged meekly out of the bathroom with a gigantic concealing towel wrapped around her. She saw clothing already laid out on the bed for her: a sports bra (Not my size!),another pair of sheer pink panties, jogging shorts, a tee shirt, and white socks. Her white jogging shoes (Are those mine? Do I even have a pair of jogging shoes?) were on the floor.

Hastily, dreading comments from Shawna or Darla, Jane dressed, and then the three of them sauntered out into a bright morning. The other two seemed to know where to go (But how could they?) and Jane just tagged along until they followed another winding, foliage-lined path to a large rustic building, another Polynesian longhouse, but this one sported a long glassed-in sunroom.

Tables were spread inside, the whole room made airy and bright by the early morning sun streaming in, and already guests were filling plates at a serving board and beginning breakfast. The chatter was cheery, constant, and loud, and at the tables and in line milled many more guys and girls than the eighteen people who had come in on the Lucky Lady, yet all looked like Renu You guests, tanned, fit-looking young men and women dressed in the red jogging shorts and white tee shirts. And they all looked so—so good! After a survey of the room, Jane found she could readily spot the group that came in with her: they all had hair of a length, short-cropped and swept forward. Other guests had longer hair, as though they had been on the island for months, or as though they had not trimmed their hair to begin with. They all talked at once, their voices bright, animated, and lively.

Jane, Shawna, and Darla got in the serving line. Breakfast was going to be light, Jane saw: small muffins, a lovely assortment of melons and other fruit, some familiar (bananas, grapes, strawberries, blueberries, oranges, grapefruit), some more exotic (carambola, kiwis, lychees, feijoa, papayas, sapotes). Urns at a smaller table offered juices, coffee, and a variety of tea. Jane took two of the little muffins and an assortment of the fruits, then a cup of green tea.

They found a place at a table with a couple of handsome guys and three other girls. Jane couldn’t catch all their names, but learned that the guys were Ted and Frank. “Been here three weeks,” Frank said with a white grin. “Never felt so healthy in my whole life! How long are you ladies here?”

“Just a week,” Jane said. “Uh, Shawna and I are just here for a week. Darla, how long are you going to—?”

“Two weeks, hon,” Darla said without even glancing Jane’s way. Her rapt attention focused on the men. “What do you guys do?”

Ted worked for an alternative energy outfit that was exploring solar, wind, and tidally-generated power; Frank was an assistant producer on a news and weather program originating in Milwaukee. Jane thought that Darla flirted with them outrageously, but maybe that was just her Texas-gal charm at work.

She gave the food most of her attention. The muffins were delicious, exquisitely flavored and surprisingly light, and the orange was the best she had ever tasted. She had a banana, too, and one of the hairy little kiwi fruits. Frank said he’d never even heard of kiwis before coming to the island. Jane shared hers with him, watching fascinated as he held his half to his lips and slurped the greenish flesh(it tasted of strawberries and bananas blended together), and she found herself getting wet down there because she couldn’t help picturing him kneeling, his head between her thighs, slurping and licking and—

“Good morning!”

The greeting made her jump. It was only Wanda, dressed out like everyone else today. She stood at a microphone, she carried a clip board, and she was beaming. “Everyone rested today? Where are our newcomers from yesterday?”

Eighteen hands waved.

“Were your rooms all right?”

A chorus of “Super!” “Great!” “Fantastic!” responded.

“That’s good to hear,” she said with a big smile. “Was breakfast good?”

Another positive response, including some applause.

“Then we’re doing our job.” Wanda raised an impish eyebrow. “Anybody get laid?”

Everyone laughed, but to Jane’s shock, at least half the people—no, more than half!—laughed bawdily and raised their hands, including Shawna and Darla! Jane looked around. Two of the guys who had come over on the Lucky Lady the previous had their hands up but they were holding hands, too! With each other!

I’m not prejudiced, I don’t really care, it’s their lives, I don’t hate Shawna and Darla for going down on each other, why should I care if two guys—

But Wanda was continuing to speak: “I certainly hope you’ve saved some energy for our workout this morning. You can complain all you want, but I promise you, in three days you are going to feel wonderful. Now, if everyone’s ready, let’s meet out front. Pick up a bottle of water from the bins beside the door, please. It’s very important to stay hydrated. We’re going for a jog!”

Mock cries of dismay, but everyone followed her out, all clutching icy-cold bottles of water. Outside, Wanda cupped her hand beside her mouth and warned them loudly, “Don’t forget, we don’t want to litter. If you empty your bottle, don’t just toss it; bring it back here for recycling. We’ve got forty-five minutes, ladies and gentlemen. It’s a walk-jog, and I’ll time it so you couch potatoes will be pushed a little but not exhausted, so follow me!”

They went down to the beach, pristine in the clear morning light, and began. They stretched out first, and Jane was surprised at how good it felt to loosen up and bend and flex to the rhythm of the incoming waves that creamed up the broad expanse of sugar-white sand. Then they started to jog down the beach, on the hard-packed sand between the high tide and the rolling waves of the blue Caribbean. For ten minutes they jogged at a comfortable tempo, and then they broke into a restful walk for five minutes. Ten more of jogging. They left the beach and followed a winding tanbark trail lined with brilliant subtropical flowers: scarlet hibiscus, fragrant white oleander, the petals just blushing pink, fiery orange bird-of-paradise, intensely blue evovulus. The intoxicating scents seemed to wash over and refresh Jane, though the exercise had made her break into a sweat.

Around the last bend of the trail, they emerged in a well-tended clearing and found themselves beside a sparkling rock-edged pond with a pluming fountain in the center and a flock of wading pink flamingos. The joggers trotted around the pond and down another trail, one leading into the cooling shade beneath twin rows of tall old trees, where they heard the strange musical calls of exotic birds. Just as Jane was beginning to really tire, she saw the dining hall ahead. “Very good,” Wanda said when they had all come to a panting halt. “Very good. Let’s stretch out again, cool down slowly. I’ll meet you in thirty minutes at the pool, ladies and gentlemen. Be sure to dispose of your water bottles properly!”

“Where’s the pool?” Jane asked.

“I know,” Frank said. “You ladies just follow me. You like swimming?”

“I like diving more,” Shawna said roguishly. “Nothing I love better than going down!”

“Maybe we can check out some snorkels and explore the bay this afternoon during free time,” Frank said to her.

“I’ll check out your snorkel any time you want,” Shawna said.

“Shawna!” But again, Jane could not force herself to say a simple word. She merely hissed, as if catching her breath. After Wanda led them all through a routine of knee bends, toe rises, and other stretches, everyone drifted down yet another trail until they came to the swimming pool.

It was enormous, a hundred feet by two hundred, Jane thought. In the strengthening sun the water looked cool, shimmering with flashes of light and almost glowing a sapphire blue. Inviting. The group split up into male and female lines, and with the girls Jane entered the dressing area. “I didn’t bring my suit,” she said. “It’s in the dorm.”

“Suits are furnished,” one of the other girls told her. “You’re with the new group? Your dorm’s Serenity.” They stepped into the shade of a pavilion, long and open to the air. Off to the left the pool shimmered. The girl pointed to a bank of red lockers against the pavilion’s one extended wall. “See those? Find the one with your room’s name on it, and your stuff will be in there. They’re not locked.”

Shawna and Jane found their locker. Inside it, each one had a mesh bag with her name on a tag.

Jane pulled out what was inside her bag and felt her jaw drop with astonishment.

Oh, no. No, no, no. I am NOT wearing a thong bikini!

But her body seemed to think differently. Automatically, without her volition, she crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of her sweat-dampened tee shirt, and peeled it off over her head. She unhooked and removed her sports bra, shorts, and panties, and then joined the other naked girls under a spray of shower. Only when she had started to don the skimpy bathing suit did she hear sharp, appreciative whistles. She spun around.

The guys’ dressing area, another open pavilion, stood just next door, thirty feet away.

There was no barrier between them.

Five or six of the grinning men waved from their shower area. Jane couldn’t take her eyes off their cocks,

Penises! I know the right word is penis!

limp but big! God, did Renu You attract men who were particularly well-hung? She watched fascinated as streams of water poured from those long, swinging dicks.

Let me think cock, not dick—I mean not cock but penis!

Frank was among the guys. He left the shower and was about to step into some Speedos, but he paused and waved at Shawna, who cupped her hands beneath her naked boobs, lifted and displayed them, and tilted her head coquettishly, as though offering him a taste. As for Jane, she hastily tugged the skimpy thong into place and covered, well, most of her areolas and nipples with the little red triangular scraps of bra. Wanda, attired in a string bikini no bigger than Jane’s, showed up with a visor over her eyes and a silver whistle around her neck. “Let’s get in the pool!” she said, and blew a shrill blast on the whistle.

Fighting the urge to huddle, Jane followed the others and hopped into water that came up to her nipples. Her big melons felt wonderful, buoyed by the warm pool water. Oh, she was so tempted to whip off that ridiculous top and pinch and pull at her nipples—she was almost sure she would come just from that—no, that would be rude, it would be crude, it would be

sooo sexy . . . .

“All right, ladies and gentlemen. We’re going to swim a few laps.”

With the others, Jane obediently fell into a crawl stroke. She had never much liked swimming and had never had much practice, but somehow she knew all the right moves and cut through the delightful water like a champion. Shawna was just to her right, and to Shawna’s right, Frank had come over to join them. The guys wore red Speedos, really hardly more than cache-sex strips of fabric. When they had done their ten laps, Frank hopped up to sit on the side of the pool, running a hand over his streaming face. Jane jumped up and sat there too, her shoulders rounded as though to hide the lewd jut of her nipples—impossible to conceal in that suit, really—but Shawna stayed swaying in the water, her tempting tits bobbing, and mischievously stood with her head on a level with Frank’s crotch. “You’ve got good form,” he said to her.

She smiled and licked her lips. “I was thinking the exact same thing about you,” she said. “Want to go to Half Moon Beach this afternoon? We can . . . study each other’s forms.”

“God,” he said, “I’d like to fuck you.”

“I love an honest man,” Shawna said. “Let’s meet at three.”

Shawna! We’re working! Of course Jane couldn’t say it out loud.

Lunch followed swimming and turned out to be the biggest meal of the day: three whole ounces of chicken, fish, or lean beef, along with ample servings of vegetables. Later the newcomers from Serenity building were taken to a plush spa overlooking the sea: saunas, shocking cold showers afterward, and then heavenly, long massages. Jane’s masseuse, a stunning Hawaiian girl whose name tag said she was Lailie, stripped to a thong bottom herself while the completely naked Jane reclined on her stomach, cheek pillowed on her crossed wrists. Lailie poured a thin stream of fragrant body oil on her back, mid-shoulders down to the crack of her butt, and then began to knead and stroke.

Despite herself, Jane felt her heat rising. The hands were so strong and sure, and they showed no hesitancy at all, gliding over the small of her back, over her swelling, firm buttocks, around the backs of her thighs, brushing her sex.

Maybe I AM turning into a lesbian!

Lailie stood in front of Jane while working on her upper back and shoulders. Her shapely tits moved and stretched as she reached to caress Jane’s flesh, and they gleamed from the oil. Jane’s hands itched to reach out and fondle them. When Lailie said, “Turn, please,” Jane rolled over onto her back. She shivered as Lailie drizzled the slippery oil over her boobs. She moaned when Lailie ran her warm hands over her tits, feeling her nipples harden immediately in yearning response. “You like?” Lailie said with a smile. “You like?”

Jane’s only answer was a strangled moan. Her treacherous body, beyond her control, writhed and squirmed. She wanted Lailie to move down, down. She felt her thighs opening, whimpered at the drizzle of oil over her smooth pubic mound, and gave herself fully over to the thrilling touch of Lailie’s slippery, sly fingers.

All the while thinking No, no, please no!

“A very stubborn case, Dr. Andrews.”

“Yes, sir.” They stood in the control room, where all the conditioning beds lay empty now, not a vat of pink gel in sight, and the two of them studied the hi-def image of Jane. Next to her, Shawna, her lower lip caught between her clenched white teeth, was being eaten out by her masseuse-slave. She had asked for it right away, and the willing slave had complied happily. The brunette yipped and bucked and mewled as she thrashed her close-cropped head back and forth on the pillow, her fingers gripping the slave’s long, luxurious chestnut hair. Darla, further down the row, had settled into a slow, long sixty-nine session with her masseuse.

Jane had asked Lailie for nothing and had not responded when the programmed slave Lailie had made frank and obvious sexual overtures. Now she submitted to being manipulated to orgasm, being masturbated by the slave, but she would not ask for more, would not give more.

“What should we do?” Dr. Andrews asked.

He shrugged. “Well, we can’t put her back the way she was. She’s beyond that now. She’s certainly compliant. I think I know what the problem is. We can adjust. I believe Miss—what’s her name?—McKay will be acceptable to her new owner by the time we finish with her. But to send her back with resistance still bubbling under the surface—no, I don’t like the idea of that. It isn’t elegant. I hope we can lead her to accept her subservience and to value and cherish it.” He sat at a desk and pulled an old-fashioned fountain pen from the inner pocket of his immaculate white linen suit jacket. He reached for a few pieces of paper from the printer on the desktop and began to scribble. “For the next stage of her conditioning, let’s try this. And . . . this. This, too. I believe that before I would feel really comfortable in releasing her to her new owner, we will need a face to face conference, too, and not during the last week, either. I may want to make even more adjustments, and they might take some time. So let’s say this regimen for the next four weeks, and then I’ll talk to her three weeks before she’s due to be returned to her master.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ve done a splendid job on the others, Wanda. Great erotic enthusiasm. Now we must channel that and bind them to the wills of their new owners. But I suppose they need a little release first. Let’s give them three days of orgy before moving on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you want to join in?” he asked with a smile.

Dr. Andrews shrugged. “Well—I do get awfully aroused watching them all go at it like this. And the men are great specimens. We have one whose penis reaches a full thirty centimeters now.”

He didn’t care for metric measures, so he converted mentally and said, “A foot. And proportionately thick, I imagine?”

Dr. Andrews’s face looked flushed. “Yes, sir. And he has the stamina of a young stallion.”

“Enjoy him if you wish, my dear. We have a new group coming in Monday, fourteen women, seven men. If I need to place Miss McKay back in the conditioning center, be sure there is room. Keep a chair reserved for her.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

“You’re thinking of cock,” he accused with a grin.

“I—well, I won’t deny it. The one I was speaking of is rather spectacular.”

“Is he still in the massage room?”

“Yes.”

“Go and join him. Get the slave to join in, if you wish. Indulge yourself a little. Have a threesome.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He watched her stride out noting the way she barely contained her eagerness. Thinking of how she had been twenty years ago, when they first met, he could only wonder at the transformation of the dowdy, lumpish Dr. Wanda Andrews—a brilliant, brilliant woman, but with all the sexual flair of a garden toad—into the infinitely willing, eager, insatiable, platinum-haired creature whose favors he so often enjoyed.

She had been one of his very early successes. And she had helped him greatly—in fact, with her assistance, he had gradually learned how to refine his techniques, to correct them so there were not so many embarrassing failures.

Yet the failures had a purpose, too. True, they had no real personalities left: each girl (no lads back then, not in the experimental early days) was essentially a subservient, docile, unthinking bundle of drives and responses. Still, they made really excellent staff members, loyal and incapable of the least resistance or resentments. And they had other uses too, of course. He watched Shawna and her slave reach simultaneous climax, faces buried in each other’s crotches, fingers busy in each other’s slits, their whole bodies leaping and twitching galvanically as the dizzying rush of release took them.

Yes, the slaves certainly had other uses.