The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Katie rolled her eyes and winced as she stretched, feeling the fatigue of the long week hours catching up to her. The stifling atmosphere didn’t help; a long row of computer terminals warmed up the room an extra five degrees, toasting its lone occupant in her stuffy, barely ventilated corner.

With every other station deserted on Friday nights, Katie normally seized upon the opportunity to run automated data compressions on the servers scheduled for maintenance, leaving her with time to catch up on her electronic correspondence.

Not tonight though. Brad-insufferable prick that he was-had scampered off for an early candlelit dinner, eager to impress his new girlfriend with hard-won opera tickets. If his mind was already playing out the night of wild sex he might be in for, there was still a smidgen of supervisory responsibility in him to insure that his maintenance sheet ended up at Katie’s desk, with the word “urgent” hastily scribbled on it.

Katie had swallowed a number of career ending retorts and went through the list relatively quickly, grumbling at the utter waste of her talent. So what if the O/S had flagged a number of formatting errors on the hosting websites? She was a programmer, for heaven’s sake. Extra drone duty was beneath her.

An hour went by before she narrowed down the problem to a handful of web pages. She didn’t notice the chafing in her eyes until another one passed, and by that time, she’d figured out that some kind of virus was at work-a recently uploaded script that overrode hardware settings. It wreaked havoc with the screen refresh rates, resulting in some wearisome flicker.

Katie groaned, feeling an headache coming on. So this is it? A hacker conspiracy to blind people over the space of several years?

It was the tip of the iceberg, but Katie was intent on getting to the bottom of things. She refused to believe she was to waste a whole night rescuing perverts from the dangers of visual fatigue.

The tense clicks of her mouse emphasized her nervous intent. Perverts all right. That much was obvious if one bothered to examine the site’s contents.

Unease settled into Katie as she examined each of the web pages once again, hoping to get a sense of the script’s effects. Once in a while she looked over her shoulder, worried that the nighttime janitor might show up early. If he did, she could always flip to another window.

Nah. That’s not entirely it, is it?

She didn’t answer her own thought, doing her best to scroll past the explicit material. The site was filled with stories barely held together by a coherent plot, describing an endless string of bondage encounters between females. Some of the stories were accompanied by pictures depicting enthusiastic, leather-clad lesbians and their kneeling slaves.

Katie fretted a little more. Some of the pics lingered in her mind long after she’d flipped to another window.

Frustration mounted. Her voice echoed dully in the cramped confines of the room, the cursing focused mostly on Brad, growing more colorful as time passed. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why the virus’ activation was linked specifically to a user’s access of the website’s in question. This meant the annoying flicker would only occur if one happened to browse those specific pages.

Bloody hell, thought Katie. She was wasting her time on the meddling of an amateur. Computer viruses were designed to spread through networks; restricting its infection matrix in such a drastic fashion didn’t make any sense.

She fetched a few custom executables from the network program dump, hopping over to the employee’s lunch room while the downloading took place. The leftover coffee was lukewarm and she stuck her cup in the microwave for half a minute, pulled it out, took a sip and made her way back to her station.

She rubbed her hands together and got to work.

There was more to those flickers than what was immediately apparent. Trusting her instincts, Katie cycled them through various applications, and finally identified abnormal bursts of information, squeezed in between the horizontal sync pulses refreshing the screen.

She had to laugh when the decrypted results flashed clearly across her screen. Four words, appearing in a repetitive loop.

Obey. Lust. Cum. Lesbian.

Obey. Lust. Cum. Lesbian.

Subliminals, of all things-utter nonsense that belonged in bad spy novels and Saturday morning cartoons, recycled through modern means, with a fetish edge that catered to extreme lesbian tastes.

Katie sneered in disdain as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place and wondered if the webmistress who’d concocted this twisted piece of programming was stupid enough to believe she could modify the behavior of others though such preposterous methods.

Subliminals. Puh-leaze.

Katie flipped the window back to the story she’d been trying to keep away from for the last hour. Her hand left the mouse and returned inside her panties, stroking the growing fire between her legs. All work and no play... twenty-four seven... No wonder she was so irritated... with all that energy and need pent up inside her.

She rocked back and forth in her chair, her legs stretching wide to accept the pleasure overcoming her exasperation.

Wait. She didn’t bent that way, did she?

Katie giggled without a care. If anything, she was amused. This whole thing was good for a laugh.

She finished the story and quickly moved on to the next one. It was stupid, offensive and ridiculous, and she couldn’t stop reading. She waited for all of three lines before the two female characters tore off all their clothes without so much as a hint of proper introduction.

Katie read avidly as the two engaged in a heated session of mutual cunnilingus.

Evidently, the author didn’t believe in wasting any time. Typical of the genre, Katie supposed, but she didn’t think she minded too much. Maybe the thrill of excitement growing inside her had something to do with it.

Obey. Lust. Surrender. Lesbian.

Obey. Lust. Surrender. Lesbian.

Katie’s lips drooped as her eyes absorbed every one of the story’s words on the screen.

It was a really good piece, actually.

Engaging.

Riveting.

Hot as fuck.

A sudden flash of heat erupted in her cunt. Katie’s fingers shook as they played in her soaking slit.

She blinked as she tried to remember something. A fleeting impression. Silliness? Annoyance?

She gave her clitoris a flick of the finger and moaned, her thoughts melting into bliss.

Dominique fell into her desk chair and turned on the computer. She nudged her drab skirt, turtleneck sweater and cotton briefs into a single pile with her left foot, and shoved it all aside as her screen lit up.

She sighed in relief when she finally got her browser up and running.

Bookmarks.

Click.

Justine’s Erotic Story Archive.

Click.

New updates.

Click.

Dominique quickly perused the story archive for her favorite author’s latest uploads in a flurry of Gees! and Gollies! The strange cacophony in her mind didn’t upset her at all anymore, but when she did linger on it, contemplating the widening gap between the stuffy, misanthropic person she was and the liberated soul she’d evolved into, she was usually in for a mind-blowing-

Orgasm?

Cum?

Fingering fuck-bliss?

She giggled, already wet from thinking such nasty thoughts, and her good mood wasn’t spoiled when she saw that no new story had been uploaded. She’d need at least another week to go through all of the remaining tales she hadn’t read yet anyway, and that remained a shaky proposition since she could barely shake her obsession over the favorites she’d already discovered.

The novelty of her newfound fetish hadn’t quite worn off yet, the excitement of discovery trampling over the inhibitions lingering in her mind.

Dominique returned to the main story index and went through the listing. She pushed her chair away from the desk, nudging her knees apart a little bit.

Any second now...

Oooo.

The slight draft in her studio apartment, once a constant nuisance, was now welcome; the feel of it on her naked, moist pussy raised her arousal to fabulous heights. She knew it might be silly to prefer breezy caresses over the feel of her own fingers, but she couldn’t shake the deep sense of powerlessness that bewitched her lust-hungry cunt whenever she stirred from sleep in the middle of the night to play the game of Obedience.

Justine had described it in one of her stories-Dominique’s absolute favorite so far.

On a whim, she called it up, clicking on the link and feeling a rush of anticipation as the familiar words appeared.

Dominique fell back in her chair, and widened her eyes as she began reading. The pulsating flicker hardly blurred her vision anymore, unless she sat in front of the screen for hours, but she didn’t mind anyway; the words called out to her and Dominique remained addicted to that sinking feeling of submission that made her pussy ache so much.

The narrative was a little blunt, to be honest. No characterization. Hardly any setup. Dominique often wondered why she was so enthralled by this tale of two girls lost in the nameless night, whispering the Oath of Surrender while the Whirlpool of Kan’tha sucked all resistance from their minds and infused them with the Will of the Dark Goddess.

Logic had precious little to do with it, and it was fine by Dominique. Descriptions of a strange ceremony, offered up without background, were enough to fuel the flames of her pleasure; besides, there was dark kind of excitement in the thought that she might be too enamored with the concept to care.

She’d memorized the whole story word for word, and acted out her own version of it every night. It had turned into an established ritual. She loved standing in the silence of her bedroom, letting it bewitch her into believing she’d slipped into another reality, where the control, where the surrender felt real. The drowsiness of sleep made her pretense of acceptance and worship seem all the more genuine, and the air caressing the slickness seeping between her legs was like the invisible touch of the Dark Goddess corrupting yet another innocent victim.

Dominique’s hands would always rest at her sides, tightening into fists. She didn’t need to touch herself. The strength of the story’s chant, rehearsed to perfection in her own dreamy voice, never failed to mindfuck her into sexual oblivion.

Every night, Dominique became one of the girls in the story. She only wished she didn’t feel so hollow when her legs ached for rest and the return to bed shattered the illusion of her fantasy.

Sometimes, she tasted a little guilt too, as if she were betraying the real-life Calling of Her One and True Goddess.

Dominique sighed in envy as she got to the last line of the story. The girls, now transformed into mindless Sapphic concubines, knelt before each other in a sacrament of perfect beauty.

A familiar, disheartening feeling squeezed her heart. If only...

She paused when she noticed something new, posted at the bottom of the page.

A feedback form?

Her heart raced. She stared at the empty boxes, wanting to fill them with delighted comments. Surely Justine would appreciate a personal note from a fan-and the least Dominique could do was to lavish her favorite author with thanks for writing such an absorbing piece of erotica.

More boxes appeared below. Optional fields available to those who wished to leave a name, as well as an e-mail and/or postal addresses.

Dominique couldn’t help a smile as she noticed the gray button displayed under them.

Submit.

A trickle of excitement sank deep into her moist places, and she shifted tensely in her chair. She kept staring at the button, fancying herself the victim of some strange, subliminal impulse that would get her to send out personal information to a complete stranger.

How much of Justine’s real-life poured into her fantasies? Did she play games with fans? She wrote stories for them... did she also enjoy luring them into her world of submission? Did she keep a cadre of corrupted victims, obedient little sluts willing to kneel by their terminals while awaiting orders from Mistress?

Dominique steadied herself, wrapping her legs around the chair to keep them from jerking too much. Her mind was awash with images of succulent desire... obsessed with visions of female flesh, offered for the pleasure of her tongue.

Justine... Lesbian Mistress... Heiress to the Kan’tha Tradition... Goddess to all who served her...

Submit.

Dominique’s fingers typed quickly, excitedly. i live to obey you Mistress. i lust for your commands. my nights are filled with the whispers of your name, and the Oath of Surrender. i yearn to service you as lesbian and concubine.

She didn’t hesitate for a second, bypassing the e-mail field and filling in her postal address instead.

The pointer on the screen hovered over the button, matching the slight trembling of her hand as it cupped the round smoothness of the mouse.

Submit.

Dominique closed her eyes and bit her lower lip-

Submit

teetering-

Submit

on the verge of fainting into a wet dream-

Submit

No other thought in her mind but-

Submit

Click.

The inescapable conclusion had been reached at last: the light of quality erotica had nearly gone from the cyberworld.

The illustrious Cassandra, better known as Mary Jane Badelt in the real world, kicked her feet back and sipped the last of her porto, dismayed that a whole second glass hadn’t made a dent in her sulking mood.

Reviewing sex stories, she reflected, was hard work after all. She hadn’t suspected how hard until a year ago. It had seemed like a good idea at first, and the work did come with a certain kind of renown and distinction in certain virtual circles, but somewhere along the line, it had ceased to be fun.

Maybe it had to do with the steady drop of quality in stories; God knew how she now suffered through ridiculous bits of drivel, passed off as serious efforts to entertain and arouse.

Hell. Maybe she’d just grown sour because her own personal tastes weren’t as catered to as they once were. And who’s fault was that? She didn’t know-or cared-anymore.

With an exasperated gesture, Mary Jane closed the window displaying the long list of stories she had yet to review, with not trace of remorse for the readers she was letting down.

She’d been looking for a way out for some time anyway. What was the point of laboring through the pile of rubbish that got posted nowadays? Reading erotica had gone from an enjoyable experience to a dreary, interminable chore.

She could tell the strain had taken its toll on her temperament, and her lack of patience for badly plotted stories resulting in some scathing reviews. She’d singled out errors of spelling, grammar or logic, paying no attention to the residual merits of the piece. Tales featuring weird, eccentric fetishes were either subjected to subtle jibes and ridicule, or left unmentioned in her sizable weekly digest.

Predictably, ‘Cassandra’ had won her fair share of enemies. Various circles actively sullied her name, convinced that she wasn’t doing the online community a service by decrying the amount of much junk polluting the bandwidth.

It was fine by Mary Jane. Someone else could have her job.

She’d miss some of the perks, of course-climbing her pedestal and singing the praises of the very rare jewel of a story, for one. She could still find them, like flourishing bouquets of lilies surging above a field of weeds, and she never failed to commend the gifted authors on those rare and brilliant efforts.

Mary Jane bit her lip, surprised at the sudden stab of remorse. Justine would miss her, no doubt, but it wasn’t like she was the sole custodian of the mysterious author’s reputation. Loyal readers of Cassandra’s reviews already knew of her infatuation with Justine’s new, groundbreaking brand of Sapphic erotica, calling it ‘an author’s quest to communicate stories in a revolutionary and ‘deeply engrossing style of storytelling’. In her eyes, it had redefined the intensity of sexual bliss women could experience together.

Nay-sayers and opponents had quickly manned the barricades. A few publicly fussed over what they saw as ‘partisan reviews without a shred of objectivity.’ Some when as far as stating that Justine’s stories were nothing more that ‘stroke material’ without depth or other redeeming qualities. Personal attacks from the infantile fringe soon followed, nearly all of them anonymous e-mails sent to Cassandra’s inbox, with such clever subject lines as ‘Stoopid dyke cunt reviewor’ and ‘We all know u suck pussy’.

Mary Jane took heart in the fact that all her detractors wouldn’t know talent if it fucked them in the ass. Besides, apart from a few months of experimenting in college, she hadn’t really been with another woman. Her ‘objectivity’ in this respect was clear.

To hell with them. I know Justine is talented. Her stories are far above anything else I’ve read.

Mary Jane staked her alter-ego’s reputation on it. Granted she hadn’t gone as far as to recommend that her readers skip the weekly-updates of other archives to access the stories directly on Justine’s site, but she certainly didn’t have the patience to wait.

In a way, she pitied the talented author. To be the sole shining light in such a sea of refuse...

Perhaps others would read more of her stories and learn.

Mary Jane got up and headed for the living room to fetch the bottle of porto, but she stopped halfway there and peered through one of the windows flanking her front door. She could discern a square, blurry shape sitting on her welcome mat.

She opened the door and looked about, puzzled; no mailman or FedEx van lay in sight. She gave the cardboard package a suspicious look and picked it up gingerly, looking for a return address. She nearly dropped it when she read the note pasted on its side.

Care of slave Cassandra. 23 Roadside Drive Springfield MO 65803

Mary Jane didn’t linger on the porch, backing up and shutting the door carefully. She turned all the locks and made for the living room, holding the box straight in front of her as if it carried a priceless Ming vase. Her face remained expressionless, but she smiled on the inside, delighted that Justine had mailed her something. She supposed it might have been unwise to fill out that feedback form on the author’s site, but it had seemed a delightful idea at the time.

She opened the package and ruffled through packing foam, pulling out a strange set of wires and tiny clamps, hooked up to a black box that looked like a shrunken laptop. The only recognizable connection was a USB cable; one of the other wires was outfitted with a cylindrical device roughly one inch thick.

Instructions were neatly folded and included in the package.

Mary Jane read the first line and chuckled. Tease and arouse nipples. Stroke pussy and obsess over hot, lesbian sex. What kind of manual was this?

She read a few more lines, appreciating the offer of this strange gift even if she still had no idea what it was. She held the sheet with one hand, while cupping her breasts with the other, tweaking her nipples, feeling them harden and press against her sweater. It became a little hard to concentrate but she kept going down the list. She paused for a moment and pictured herself thanking Justine properly for being such a sweetie... kneeling before the mysterious, gorgeous woman... spreading her own legs to accommodate her fingers as she prepared to lean over and lick the pussy offered to her...

When she’d finished the list of instructions, Mary Jane picked up the box and wires and made for her computer, clutching the whole against her chest to keep her hands from trembling. The whole thing was so surreal...

It took less than a minute to connect the unit to her computer. A series of tiny yellow lights flickered on it’s black surface, and turned green in sequence. Mary Jane kept an eye on it while taking off her clothes. Excitement buzzed inside her like the incoherent sounds of an orchestra preparing for a concert.

She couldn’t believe what the box was for. If one didn’t dismiss the idea as preposterous, there was little choice but to conclude that the process was insane... wicked... the product of a warped and depraved mind.

Mary Jane couldn’t wait to try it out.

She jumped into her chair, rubbing the seat with her pussy and loving the rough feel of the nylon fabric. She looked up and gasped in surprise, delighted that her computer had somehow accessed Justine’s website on its own.

The familiar background was a dead giveaway, but Mary Jane didn’t recognize anything else. It was hard to distinguish much because the odd colors and patterns mingling across the screen... perhaps the box gave the computer private access to a secret part of Justine’s site.

She jerked in pleasure, her hands quick to carry out the instructions she’d memorized. She began with the stimulators, clipping them on her throbbing nipples, and cooed when gentle electrical current trickled into her flesh. Despite the rush, she fought the agitation and proceeded to the next step. With a few quick licks, she coated the entire length of the bullet-shaped plug with her saliva, the tingle numbing the tip of her tongue. She held it before her eyes, distorted light played over its silver surface, but she couldn’t wait to slip it into place and lifted a leg over the arm of the chair without further ado.

She had to jiggle in order to push it all the way into her ass, but managed it without to much difficulty.

Hot flashes of bliss exploded in her, like unexpected fireworks blazing in the night sky. She trembled in her chair, fighting for balance, dreading the pleasure that might bring her down on her knees before all of Justine’s orders had been fulfilled.

Words flashed across the screen, bringing comfort and guidance.

i must obey Mistress.

i must be one with Her Will.

i must comply with all instructions.

She reached for the remaining connections, clipping them to her labia, the momentary pain nothing more than a passing impression as the joy of carrying out the instructions mingled with lust.

Overwhelming urges of submissive desire washed over her, born out of the awareness of her final act as a free woman... the one that would seal her destiny for all time.

With great care, she began teasing her clit. She cried out as it pulsated against her touch, gorged, hard, burning... and she knew it would be so much more powerful once the circuit was completed...

She clipped it without hesitation.

Her mind exploded in pleasure.

Her lips twisted, forming a prayer of thanks for Justine’s acceptance of her surrender, but the cresting wave of fire and bliss crashed into her before she could speak it aloud.

Time and space melted, fused into a swirling maelstrom of insignificance. None of it mattered. None of it truly existed. The pale illusion of a reality without Mistress had been torn and shredded before Mary-Jane’s eyes, and she glimpsed the shape of things beyond it.

There was only pain and pleasure.

Disobedience and surrender.

New instructions flowed across the screen.

i must obey Mistress.

i must bring others to Mistress.

i must teach others the glory of serving and adoring Mistress.

The orders poured into her... current... lust and power... twisting her every thought to its very essence, even as she contorted in pleasure. She was now a willing prisoner of Mistress’ device, powerless to stop the change... unwilling to stop it. Every part of her screamed in acceptance.

In a flash of heresy, her mind dared to defy Mistress’ intended plans for her, and she wished only for the remnants of her old self to be completely erased. How could she devote herself completely to Mistress otherwise?

The wish turned into hope. Perhaps she would ask for such a reward when she’d completed her assigned task.

Yes. She could please Mistress with the gift of many, many servants.

The slave formerly known as Mary-Jane Badelt smiled wickedly as her fingers began to type.

“Cassandra is always right, you know.”

Bessie couldn’t keep that slight edge of I told you so out of her voice. Francine conceded the point with a hum, far too absorbed by what she was doing to engage in idle chatter.

Not a resounding endorsement, but Bessie smiled in satisfaction just the same. Francine was ancient school, one of those everyday dinosaurs that looked upon the web with the level of distrust of people twice her age. Just getting her to sit behind a computer and consider singing up for free e-mail required Herculean efforts. Her natural distrust of technology extended to all parts of her life, and Bessie often joked about the time she spent studying labels on cans while grocery shopping.

It’s all part of the grand scheme, Francine used to say, complementing her irreproachable dietary habits with an strict exercise program that included swimming and running. You couldn’t get her to admit that spending a reasonable amount of time in front of a screen in no way constituted a betrayal of her active lifestyle.

An odd friend, perhaps, but charming and dependable nonetheless. Bessie was glad she’d persevered for both their sake, chipping away at Fran’s absurd little fears. The net was full of interesting things... news stories... hobbies... sports...

Sex.

Well... Bessie didn’t mention that one, keeping such online interests under wraps. For one thing, Francine’s knee jerk reaction might strengthen a few of her silly stereotypes.

Besides, Bessie’s tastes were a tad... exotic.

She kept a folder of imagealters on her PC, but the stories were the thing that really did it for her. She loved immersing herself in an author’s vision... feeling that loss of control as she reached a story’s climax...

Fran mumbled something from below. Bessie looked down and grinned. I bet you do as well... dontcha?

For a while, she had depended on a few well-read fans to ferret out some of her favorite themes. Reviewers lurking on newsgroups usually did a good job of orienting her searches in the right direction, depending on what she was in the mood for.

She was surprised when the famed Cassandra-way too vanilla for her tastes-began posting reviews of stories that catered exactly to her fetish.

Hot control... Hot fucking. Bessie had remembered to e-mail Cassandra a note of thanks for linking Justine’s website at the end of every review. In truth, she’d found the write-ups a little too full of praise for the self-proclaimed lesbian author, but it didn’t take long to discover how brilliant Justine’s prose truly was.

The style was a bit blunt, perhaps... certainly short on exposition... but so engaging... so irresistible...

“Mmmm... take it a little slower, won’t you Fran?”

Francine moaned between Bessie’s thighs, and found a little extra balance by leaning against the chair. The wires connecting her to the box remained firmly attached to her body, inducing a constant flux of ecstasy.

If any part of Fran’s mind registered numbness from kneeling for so long, Bessie didn’t care; better to let the device work its magic.

She’d sent her first message to Justine days after finding her site. By then, she couldn’t reach orgasm unless she sat before a computer screen, letting the prose bewitch her mind, knowing how badly she was addicted, how eager she was to explore the depths of her fantasies.

The twist of falling before a woman and giving up everything for her only made it sweeter. She’d been waiting for this all of her life.

So had Francine.

“Ahhh... so glad you finally came around, Fran,” she hissed, her legs closing like a vise while her girlfriend’s tongue bonded to her pussy. She marveled at the change in her life, the sudden freedom that came with transcending the suffocating existence that was killing her a little more everyday... mostly she was overjoyed by the opportunity to bring that same deliverance to others.

Fran purred in approval like a good little slut.

To have her like this, Bessie thought, broken... obedient... her mind absorbing the commands of Mistress... savoring the pleasure of servicing another female for the first time...

Good thing Bessie had been alone in the apartment the device had been delivered. She’d followed the instructions quickly and to the letter, trying hard not to think too much, before doubt and fear lead to hesitation.

There was no doubt or fear afterwards.

Only understanding. Loyalty. Faith.

The screen had told Bessie what to do, even as the device flooded her mind with lustful resolve.

Now, Francine had no choice and no will to speak of.

“Make me cum, baby,” Bessie whispered, knowing how close Francine was to complete fulfillment. She cried out when Francine’s tongue delved and twisted deeper inside her cunt, her head pushing forth as she climaxed.

Bessie joined her a moment later, juices gushing forth as she came-rewarding Fran with the sweet and just reward of a slave reborn. She rode her lover’s face harder and harder, consecrating this mindless slut in the name of Mistress.

Tears of joy fell down her cheeks as she welcomed the first of many into a life of eternal obedience.

“... And so, by promoting equity-pay initiatives through a sustained effort, and insuring the support of local unions, we can better promote a campaign to affect changes in legislation—”

Roxanne Wilterman paused in mid-sentence and surveyed her audience. She held her breath, expecting a slight cough or some other nervous sign from one of the conference attendants. Seconds trickled by, but not a sound came from the hundred women assembled in the conference hall. All of them sat in their seats, watching the screen in perfect concentration.

The speaker sighed in relief and wiped her sweaty hands. She’d gone on for an extra ten minutes just to be sure-not a difficult feat since she’d lectured on the subject of gender equity initiatives in the workplace dozens of times in the past year. She was in high demand wherever nation-wide conferences attracted the best and brightest managers in business, considered somewhat of a guru by many of the women who had climbed the corporate ladder over the past ten years.

Roxanne loved her work. It was her true calling, and nothing was more important.

Especially now.

She looked up at the projector connected to her PC, and flicked a switch. Up on the giant screen, pie charts and salary estimations vanished, replaced by a strange, swirling background. The resolution was near perfect, the colors sharp and clear, enough for Roxanne to glimpse rainbow reflections in the eyes of the women sitting in the first few rows.

She keyed her mike and smiled to her motionless audience.

“I see all of you are quite attentive now. I’d like to step away from my lecture for a bit and speak of crucial matters, of greater concern to all of us.”

There wasn’t a peep of acknowledgment from anyone. Roxanne’s gaze wandered to the long conference tables, and the many half-empty cups of tea and coffee that had been left unfinished.

The will suppressant she’d used wouldn’t last past the hour, but it was more than sufficient for her purposes.

For Mistress’ purposes.

“I want you to listen to my voice, now,” said Roxanne. “Listen and watch the screen. Read the words flashing across them. Let their meaning sink into your minds. Don’t be afraid... simply empty your minds and trust me...”

She didn’t bother looking over her shoulder, knowing the sequence by heart. The flickers illuminated the hall in short bursts, while the mesmerized audience look on.

Obey... Submit... Lesbian... Obey... Submit... Lesbian...

It went on for ten minutes, until several of the women began to blink despite themselves, evidently overwhelmed by the psychedelic spectacle. Roxanne seized her microphone again.

“Most of you can feel it now... some strange, irresistible urge to give in to the inner voice whispering inside you... I know you secretly want to feel the pleasure of relinquishing all control... it is very important that you listen to this inner voice... you must trust... you must obey... you are on the verge of understanding... this is a new and exciting time for all of you...”

As she spoke, Roxanne type in a keyboard command. The flickers accelerated, flashing with heightened intensity. A few of the women in the audience began to wriggle in their chairs. Others whined softly, trying to look away but unable to tear their eyes from the screen.

“A single truth is emerging,” said Roxanne in a soothing voice. “A fundamental and important discovery... the most important discovery of your lives... a secret that has been long buried inside you... something you’ve carried with you for as long as you can remember... you have kept it from your husbands... from your boyfriends... from everyone around you...

“That inner voice is speaking to you again... you can hear it clearly now... it understands... it wants to serve Mistress... it wants you to obey... you all know how right it feels... how warm and how hot it makes you feel...”

Several women moaned openly. A ripple of yearning began to spread in the audience. It filled the room, stretching to all corners, drawing more and more of the dazed victims into its grasp. Some attempted to resist, but the words of the screen felled their barriers as much as the spontaneous, lustful expressions of fellow colleagues already lost in the rising tide.

Roxanne pressed on relentlessly. “I can sense you are ready, ladies... ready and willing to join me... Mistress desires your obedience... you, in fact, have no other desire but to obey Her... you must not hesitate... you must prove that you are ready to serve her... you must be worthy of the pleasure she will bestow upon you when you willingly kneel and submit...”

Incoherent voices spoke up in answer. A kind of collective chant emerged... i obey Mistress... i obey Mistress...

The audience snapped out of its paralysis. Women caressed themselves openly now, without shame or restraint, still captivated by the giant screen. The last to give in finally relented and joined the ritual.

Roxanne, unable to keep her own hand away from her pussy, began stroking it through her skirt.

“It is time for you to take the final step, ladies... you may open the promotional kits which have been placed underneath your seats.”

In unison, the women reached down and seized the leather bags resting on the floor. Quickly, they emptied the pouches of their content.

Black, seamless boxes. Wires. Tiny metal clips.

“Pay close attention to your next set of instructions, ladies.”

A hundred pair of eyes snapped up and fixated the screen.

A minute later, hands busied themselves. Blazers, shirts, skirts and dress pants fell to the floor. Chaos and madness reigned as the women dutifully carried out the Will of Mistress. Some orgasmed before they had completely outfitted themselves with the insert and wires, the awareness of their fading resistance sacrificed on the altar of surrender. That alone had been enough to tip them over the edge.

Such was the power of Justine over them.

Soon, the hum of the black boxes filled the air, followed by the echo of dozens of voices rising in a collective pitch. It was the call of absolute surrender surging forth, seductive, merciless, irresistible. Women cried out in unison, in celebration, while Justine’s corruption twisted and reshaped them into the willing thralls they were always meant to become.

Roxanne, consumed by the beauty of the scene before her, collapsed as the orgasm crashed into her. She could hear her own voice, joining the Glorious chant, professing the words that ruled her every thought...

i must obey Mistress.

i must bring others to Mistress.

i must teach others the glory of serving and adoring Mistress...

Chester Matthews had lost it all. His name, his reputation, his influence and fame all remained intact, but the hollow shell he’d become remained confined in the lazy chair of his mansion’s lavish study.

The gray had devoured the rest of his thinning hair, and bags of flesh hung underneath his frozen eyes. His skin was parched, and of a sickly color. His once powerful and thick forearms had shriveled to knotted limbs, his fingers curved inwards, his hands taking on the appearance of misshapen claws.

He stared on into the computer screen, drooling over himself. Had he retained a spark of his former brilliance, he might have understood the strange process addling his mind; sadly, his knowledge of electronic engineering had been destroyed along with nearly all of his mental faculties.

He slipped a hand underneath the bathrobe once again. With a sinister groan emerging from swollen lips, he began to rub himself. He had moved beyond the realm of pain days ago; obeying the impulses of the screen was now his single, overriding motivation.

His turgid member sported a strange metal clip, similar to others fastened all over his withered flesh. He ignored the electrical wires connecting him up to the black box at his feet, and began his hourly ritual.

Carmen watched her father from the couch but quickly lost interest as Anita did that thing with her tongue.

“Mmmm, I think I’ve decided on a new vice-president...”

Anita raised her chin, her smile slick with Carmen’s honeyed juices. “Oh thank you,” she chimed. “I hope Mistress will approve.”

The petite brunette squeezed one of her nipples and came down for another lick. Her pointed tongue rode the length of Carmen’s slit, teasing it like a feather.

“What of your father?” she added coyly, “Will he approve? Will he give you complete control?”

Carmen shifted on the couch and pressed against her slut’s gifted mouth.

“Mmmm... I don’t think daddy will interfere with the company’s new direction. Not after tonight.”

And neither will anyone else. She’d remembered to send a message to Mistress, requesting more boxes-enough to insure the enlistment of all the females on the board of directors.

The takeover would be swift, and no one would question her orders afterwards.

Her chuckle grew into ominous laughter. Chester Matthews had turned Encryptech into a Fortune 500 company, one of the leaders spearheading the corporate thrust into cyberspace. Now, Carmen would use all of its vast resources to benefit a new, secret objective.

It was hard to believe how blind she’d been-thinking so highly of herself despite a pathetic and worthless career... a life without love and meaning.

She was so thankful for the string of improbable events which had led her to attend a conference on gender-equity, a week ago.

Revelation sometimes occurred in the strangest of places; now, her eyes were open.

Carmen embraced her new life, smiling to little Anita, whom she loved with all her heart. She never thanked me. But of course, thanks were not necessary.

Only obedience.

Off to the side, Chester Matthew’s eyes widened as a stabbing pain spread inside his chest. The string of words pulsed on the screen... she kissed the pussy of her Mistress with love and affection... cumming... cumming incessantly... all of it meaningless to him now. Only the deepest part of his psyche showed any activity at all... driving his fist onwards...

His heartbeat quickened to a frenzied pace, climbing onwards, reaching dangerous heights, only to falter at last...

Chester Matthews gave a final jerk and collapsed.

His heart condition was no secret to the press, but the world would greed news of his death with shock nevertheless.

The coroner’s report would list him as the victim of a fatal stroke.

Quite a story.

“I hear you’re off to work at Encryptech?”

It was the last thing Suzie had told her-before she began to scream.

Katie hadn’t minded a bit. Neither had anyone else.

Most of the staff understood now. Brad and the rest of the men, huddled up in a closet, kept out of the way while the work proceeded. Subtlety had outlived its usefulness, and expediency was warranted. Lisette and Pam, extra staffers from the maintenance division, kept Suzie on the floor while Zoë took care of the black box’s connections. Katie looked on and smiled when her latest conquest ceased her struggles, her senses assaulted by the unexpected influx of pleasure.

The women left her on the floor for a few minutes, making sure the initial conditioning took hold.

Zoë stared on, plunging a finger in her slacks, masturbating furiously while Suzie’s limb body twitched in mindless pleasure. It had come as no surprise that Katie would leave her in charge when she left for her new job; Zoë’s devotion to Mistress was unparalleled... and she enjoyed carrying on Her Will so very, very much...

“All right,” said Katie “Pick her up.”

Pam and Lisette grabbed Suzie and hoisted her up on a wheeled chair. They pushed her over to one of the terminals. Zoë, did the honors by reaching around the tower and plugging in the USB cable connected to Suzie’s black box.

The screen saver melted into a swirl of colors. The words ‘Justine’s Erotic Story Archive’ appeared.

“What shall we start her with, girls?” Zoë called out. “How about ‘Sweet Surrender?’”

Lisette squirmed on her feet, loving how empty Suzie’s eyes were as they remained glued on the screen. “Nah. Let’s go for something a little more absorbing... say... ‘i worship Her Shadow’.”

The others moaned in agreement, each remembering the change that had come over them-the dizzying spiral into dark fantasy that followed the reading of the story.

Suzie never blinked as Zoë called it up on the screen. Slowly, her eyes began to track back and forth, left to right... my name was once jennifer, but i have no need of it now... the Mistress of Shadows came to me... seduced me... showed me the Truth of my existence...

Katie glowed with pride, wondering how many more women were undergoing the same journey of self-discovery at this very moment. She’d provided a little help of course, using her administrator privileges to link nearly all the sites hosted by the servers to Jessica’s archive. The few webmasters which had written back to complain about the unwanted link on their pages hadn’t bothered with a second message.

Despite being offended by the tampering with their site, they had no doubt grown curious... and curiosity led to enslavement.

Suzie whined as lust overcame her. It was music to Katie’s ears.

Justine would reward all her slave for their great service. The most gifted and talented had been summoned... earning a place beside her. The call had gone to a select few.

Next week, Katie Lobsten would arrive as one of Encryptech’s newly recruited executives, perhaps to help in the conversion of the old staff to Mistress’ ways... or to kneel in the confines of Her private Harem, the last remnants of her old self permanently erased, and only the fancy of Mistress’ desires to guide her thoughts.

A life of meaning, love and everlasting devotion...

How different it might have been. Happening upon Justine’s site had been quite the stroke of luck...

Katie casually slid down her skirt and stepped out of it. She ran a hand against her crotch, loving the feel of exquisite anticipation.

Her wet pussy would need attention soon.

And dear little Suzie was already halfway through the story.