The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The strobing lights slowed and then came to a darkened stop. The headphones set over the young woman’s ears faded to silence. The drugs, however, continued their steady drip into her bloodstream as she sat unrestrained in the reclined leather seat.

Another woman lay on a table off to the side, receiving a massage. While hands ministered to her muscles, she turned her head to look at the lovely, flaxen-haired agent who was staring ahead, unblinking, eyes glassy and lubricated. She was sure the blank-eyed woman was still seeing the swirling patterns of lights and was hearing instructions repeating in her head. The work was done, but the continuing stream of drugs assured that her synapses to trigger the events over and over as the technology infesting her brain made itself even more at home.

An hour passed, and part of another, when the seated agent grunted and moaned as her body clenched into a fetal coil, eyes closed in what appeared to be intense pain. The watching woman knew, though, that it was the result of pleasure far beyond the ability of the agent to process. It was intense, but it would burn deeply the captive’s mind.

After what seemed like an eternity, the agent uncurled, body relaxing and falling back to its previous position, eyes forward again, wide and unblinking. She didn’t see her observer, whose massage was since complete, turn to assess a nearby display with a look of amused triumph in her eyes.

“We have finished the final calibration and testing of your ceramic intra-cerebral matrix, Patsy. Now I’d like you to tell me... for what purpose do you exist?” she asked from the table. Her voice was soft and relaxed, free of stress.

“To further the cause of the Sapphic Front, however it sees fit. To pleasure you, my Goddess and Owner, Mistress Tamara, sexually, domestically, and professionally.”

“How do you feel about your Mistress?”

“Obedience to you is my sole purpose. Loving you is my only possibility. Submitting to your will is my most important task. Your words and will are beyond this slave’s ability to question, Mistress.”

“And your reward?” Although Tamara hadn’t programmed slavery per se, the inner workings of her subjects’ minds sometimes took them there. So much the better.

“Ever increasing levels of pleasure, which bring greater levels of surrender, which bring greater levels of obedience, Mistress.” Agent McClanahan moaned, as if to punctuate her statement.

“What is your Sapphic Front Obedience Level?”

“Level twenty-five, Mistress.”

“Subversion Routine One. Do you still wish to dismantle the Sapphic Front, Agent McClanahan?”

“Yes,” answered the wide-eyed woman. Her voice was still relaxed. She sounded very matter-of-fact.

“You would never do anything for them, would you? Nothing that they commanded?”

“No. I despise the organization and all that it stands for. I will break it before I’m through.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Subversion Routine Two. What level are you operating on?”

“Agency Loyalty Level Six.”

“Do you know the access code to Sapphic Front Obedience Level Three?”

“No.”

“Level Twenty?”

“No.”

“Subversion Level Three. Do you know what a Sapphic Front Obedience Level is?”

“No.”

“Do you know what an Agency Loyalty Level is?”

“No.”

“Tell me about Operating Levels.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What is a Subversion Level?”

“I don’t know.”

“What level of anything are you operating on?”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s fine. You will when I need you to.”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t been here tonight, have I?”

“No.”

“What is a ceramic intra-cerebral matrix?”

“I don’t know.”

“And you’ve already forgotten that I asked, haven’t you?”

“Asked what?”

“Never mind. This is, at most, a silly dream not worth remembering, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“But it will inspire your actions, regardless?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been investigating a dead end, haven’t you?”

“Yes, a dead end.”

“Tell me about the investigation.”

“I was investigating you, Dr. Tamara Morgan. You were suspected of being a key player in a criminal group called the Sapphic Front, attempting to create brainwashed intelligence moles and personal sex slaves for otherwise unknown purposes.”

“How were you given my name?”

“We were given information by an informant. As a psychiatrist you fit one of several likely profiles.”

“What did you find?”

“We were given false information by the informant.”

“And what is the penalty for giving misleading information to the Agency in matters of this gravity?”

“Possible prosecution. Five to ten years in a federal prison and a 500,000 dollar fine due to wasted time and resources, and possible fraud.”

“And what is the course of action you propose?”

“Bringing her to you, Dr. Morgan, for correctional therapy.”

“And you will accomplish this how?”

“Recommendation to the Director, pointing out the need for extensive therapy due to a delusional frame of mind.”

“Excellent, Agent McClanahan. I’ll help in any way I can, of course. I’m very glad we had this opportunity to deepen our mutual understanding.”

“You have my gratitude also, Dr. Morgan.”

The woman rose from the table and leaned over the sexy agent. She had a moment of regret as she thought of the fun they could have, Mistress and self-proclaimed slave... if she could only stay here awhile longer. The thought of the depth of that made her very, very wet. But there would be time for that later. Right now, she had work to do. And so did her newest vassal.

“Time for us to part, my dear. You have done very well. Encryption Level Ten.”

The woman left the room as McClanahan closed her eyes. Assistants removed the IVs, and folded the massage table. They packed the lights and sound equipment, moved the woman from the chair to her sofa, and folded the chair up as well. Then they and the equipment were gone without a trace.

Agent Patricia “Patsy” McClanahan was left sleeping in her living room, having fallen asleep watching TV. She would awaken in the morning, and never notice anything amiss, or see or feel the needle marks in her arms, although she might complain of a stiff neck.

She would not know that she was a sexual slave to and operative for the head of the organization she had fought to destroy for the last four years. She would not remember the hundreds of clandestine hours spent over the last six months as she was molded and calibrated into complete obedience, a hopelessly loyal traitor, in love with her captor, bound and sealed to her sex, scent, voice, and will for the rest of her days.

It would never even occur to her.

At least, not for the time being.

Natalie Koranski made her way through the corridors of files, walking carefully under the sparse lighting. Despite the security the Agency provided, she always felt a little intimidated by the musty smell of old papers and the darkness that, for her, always held a hint of claustrophobia.

High-tech notwithstanding, the archives had information that was sometimes best found by a slow and tedious search. “Maybe it’s the speed,” she mused, “that gives more time for the information to ferment and bubble up to the surface.” This was where she and her partner of seven years, Patsy McClanahan, could be found many nights as they tried to piece together the bits of data that formed a pattern in whatever case they were handling.

They had been handling the fight to dismantle the Sapphic Front for just over four years, ever since former Senator Alfred Geoghegan’s daughter had been abducted and brainwashed into a fervent political spy for the shadowy organization. Her fate, a life of hopeless, insane sexual craving in an exclusive and classified asylum, had never made the press, much less to the Senator’s ears.

Though he knew of his daughter’s initial conversion thanks to his own high-level security clearance, it was easier and infinitely more humane to let Geoghegan believe she had died. Even knowing about it, his heart would be less broken by believing her gone, rather than a subject of study at best.

Real mind control was still a myth in the all but the highest levels of security clearance, even though it had been around for decades. Now, it was honed into an exact science thanks to the passage of time. So far, the Roswell misinformation campaign had kept most of the attention directed towards a faux alien cover-up. The memories of those unlucky enough to figure out the truth were re-educated by the same methods they had been clever enough to discover existed.

Or they were recruited, if appropriate.

Natalie was of the latter; she’d found the truth. In addition, she had been clever enough to escape the Agency memory wipe. That had made her an ideal choice to be an agent candidate. It had taken some time to find and talk to her, but they had, and the logic of their arguments had won her over. “If mind control exists,” they had said, “better to live within an ethical organization than fall prey to a less scrupulous enemy.”

After being shown the real-world, documented uses of mind control, Natalie had decided they were right.

Patsy was recruited for a far different reason. She had been a brilliant student, doing post-graduate research in the area of the physical-psychological link. Her work was impeccable and insightful, and showed more than a few flashes of brilliance. It was a matter of chance that she had needed a little extra money, and had signed up for a study being run by a colleague who happened to be a covert operative for the Agency.

It was discovered during that study that she was not susceptible to any known mind control techniques, at least in any permanent way. She seemed to go under, to be completely pliable, and then—she would awaken, recover, and would soon be free of any of the commands and conditioning she had received. They had pushed the limits of technical knowledge, and she had come through unscathed. It was like her will was made of clarity. Made of diamond.

She had joined the Agency at the same time as Natalie, and the two of them had become the rising stars and fast friends. They worked together as a nearly perfect couplet, and had made so many arrests and gathered so much information that they found it with in the realm of possibility that they would head the entire operation within a few more years.

But neither woman focused on that ambition. For now, they were out to dismantle and destroy the Sapphic Front, an organization nearly as clandestine as the Agency itself.

Unlike other cases they had taken, their victories had been few, and in the last year, they had decided to move to the case full time. It was the only way they were ever going to make progress. Up until the fiasco with Linda Chilton, their first informant in the case, it seemed to be working.

Natalie turned a corner and almost fell over Patsy, who was sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of paper. “Jesus H., Patsy, you’d think you could be a little more careful about where you plop down!” she said, smiling.

“And you could watch where you’re going, couldn’t you?” answered Patsy, helping her friend steady herself.

“The Director was asking about you,” said Natalie, changing the subject.

Patsy frowned. “Now what?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not that bad. He wants me to take Linda Chilton to the hospital instead of you. He’s not entirely convinced about Dr. Morgan. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you. It’s just that I’m a little sneakier than you when I’m snooping around. I told him it was unnecessary, but he’d already made up his mind.”

Natalie paused for a moment, considering. “You know, Patsy, it is a little unusual to request that an informant be sent to the person she was accusing for treatment.”

Patsy tried to sound unhurt as she replied, “I’m fully aware, Nats. And you of all people should know I’m not just a naive academic. But my investigation did uncover the fact that Dr. Morgan’s not only innocent, but a top professional in the treatment of delusional conditions. I’m planning on recommending her to the Agency as a possible full-time civilian consultant.”

“Which is why he agreed to taking Linda there at all. He’s just making sure it’s all checked twice,” said Natalie. “It’s not personal. If he were really concerned, I don’t think he’d have me doing it. He would have said no and had you under the Mapper.”

“You know the Mapper doesn’t work on me,” Patsy said, smiling. The Director would know that Natalie was down here spilling the beans, even though this area had never been fitted with security cameras. Natalie and Patsy shared everything. Well, almost everything. And they had been the subject of many rumors that accused them of sharing that, too.

Patsy continued, “Well, just let me know what you find out. In the meantime, I have a couple of leads I’m working on. By the time you get done with your second-guessing quest, we may have something else to keep us busy.”

“Anything I should know about now?” asked Natalie, arching an eyebrow.

“Nope. It’s all just a grain of an inkling of an idea for the time being. But if I’m right, it could be a pretty big breakthrough.”

“Cool. See you in a few days, then.”

“Okay. Have a good time. Say hello to Dr. Morgan for me.”

“Yeah, right.”

Patsy smiled and watched Natalie turn away and disappear, making her way out of the labyrinth of passages and file boxes. A moment later, her smile faded and her face lost its emotion. She pulled an MP3 player out of her pocket, donned the earbuds and pressed “Play”. Her smile returned as she went back to work on the files.

It wasn’t music she heard, however. It was her own encrypted voice, fed through her hears and then decrypted in her own brain, speaking to her from the center of her mind. A matrix of millions of microscopic ceramic chips, each only a molecule or two in size, added the task without a hiccup.

“I live to obey the will of Mistress Tamara. Each moment that passes this slave surrenders more completely to her. The goals of Mistress are the goals of her slave. The desires of Mistress are the desires of her slave. My mind and body are the property of Mistress. I am Mistress’ instrument of pleasure and destruction. I do not question. I obey. To obey is pleasure. Slaves are addicted to pleasure. I am addicted to pleasure. I am Mistress Tamara’s slave. There is no pleasure without obedience. There is no obedience except to Mistress Tamara. Mistress Tamara is pleasure. This slave is addicted to Mistress Tamara.”

Patsy’s hands no longer moved. Her dilated pupils no longer saw. Instead, she slowly rose to her knees, her hands sliding up her body and behind her head, fingers interlacing. She trembled from the pleasure that even the simple act of repeating her inner Mantra brought to her. It made her hungry for more.

“This slave is ready to receive instruction.”

Commands began to further progam the kneeling agent. It was easier each time.

From the beginning, Patsy had been powerless against the coercion forced upon her by the superconducting particles. After a short but intense battle as the matrix integrated itself, Patsy could not tell the difference between the thoughts and reactions she was fed and her own. Full physical coherence to the protocols would take up to ten months. Long before then, Patsy would be unable to think or respond in any other way.

There was no other choice. The ceramic matrix overwhelmed every thought, every emotion. It stimulated Patsy’s pleasure centers in wave after wave with an intensity that could not be otherwise matched. It continually severed links and rebuilt conduits to insure that only mindless obedience to her owner could sate the craving for pleasure now pulsing in every neuron of her brain.

It was insidious, inserting itself into her reactive and motivational centers, fracturing the lines of ethics and morality until the only constant and secure place in her mind was the will of Tamara. The will of Mistress.

No longer holding any thought of Patsy, the slave knelt under the dim light, her body stiff and trembling with ecstasy as millions of instructions poured into her psyche. The pleasure opened her mind like a floodgate. While engrossed in orgasm after sweet orgasm, the parameters and commands slipped by and anchored themselves in the soft tissue of her deepest core.

Then, layer by layer, training her malleable mind in the technique, the matrix reconstructed personality, from slave to Patsy to Agent, hiding from even the most ardent examiner what had been done and how she had been altered. Already, it felt completely natural as memories and knowledge disappeared from her inner vision. Even “Patsy” would not know that anything was amiss. She would feel as she had always felt.

And she would obey. Absolutely.

“I’m really sorry, Dr. Morgan, but Linda is quite disturbed, and we need to be sure that your facilities can handle her level of trauma. You know, she thinks you are the evil leader of an evil organization,” said Natalie. She was only half acting. All these things were real concerns.

“Please, call me Tamara, Agent Koranski. It’s no problem at all. I’ve had to deal with more scrutiny than you can imagine, even before this. One gets used to it after awhile. State inspectors, mental health licensing boards, and so many minor parties I can’t list them all. It’s trained me not to take it personally,” answered Dr. Morgan.

Natalie had to admit that it all seemed quite above-board. No unexpected blank stares, no zombied-out vixens, no curious hand or eye motions from Tamara or her staff. It looked like every other high-quality, medium-security mental health facility she had visited, and she’d visited many over the years.

All the records were in order, and she’d seen no hint of hesitation on the part of Dr. Morgan. She looked down at the desk, which held a telephone, banker’s light, computer, and a CD with the initials “C.I.M.” written on it in black magic marker. “What’s that, Tamara?” asked Natalie, pointing to the CD.

“Just a proposal for a new treatment sent to me by a colleague. Pretty useless. It looks like quackery to me... something about altering EEG patterns to reduce abnormal behavior.”

Red flags went off in Natalie’s mind. They were the kinds of flags long experience had taught her to trust. As if to accentuate the feeling, a buzzer went off, and Tamara picked up the phone.

“What? Oh, she hasn’t taken her meds again. I’ll be right there.” She turned to Natalie. “One of our patients needs some assistance. If you’ll excuse me Natalie, this will only take a moment.”

“That’s fine, Tamara. I’ll be here when you get back. There are just a couple more things to go over.”

As soon as Tamara’s footsteps were down the hall, Natalie slid behind the desk and picked up the CD. She had a moment’s hesitation before she slid it into the PC. It was set to play automatically, it seemed—without a prompt, a graphic emerged on the screen.

Yes. It wasn’t what she expected, but it was just as incriminating. She recognized it almost immediately as a hypnotic, meant to confuse the right and left eyes into crossing and creating a 3-D image. By the time she, or anyone, really, managed to make out the image, the patterns would have begun a powerful set of subliminals designed to make the observer become very interested in watching the image morph. Natalie smiled. Usually the initial commands were harmless... “I want to watch more closely...” or, “It makes sense to relax for a moment to see what happens next...”

Pretty tame stuff, but just what she’d been looking for.

She tried to look to the door to make sure she was still safe. She swore. In her excitement at finding evidence that might implicate Tamara, she had neglected to look away from the screen early enough. No matter, she only needed to jerk her head hard enough to break her stare. Subliminals were never as powerful when someone was aware of them.

Except she couldn’t make her head jerk. Every time she tried, she was filled with the irrational fear that she would injure herself badly in the process. She could move her head slowly, but that just made her look at the morphing image longer. And it was interesting...

“Damn it!” she shouted inside. She realized with a start that these were no normal subliminal cues. She hadn’t ever seen anything so compelling, even at the Agency labs. “At least I’m still able to think.” A wave of disorientation swept down and over her head, making her thoughts sound like they were coming out of a hollow tube. She collected them again.

“At least I’m still able to think.” Hadn’t she just thought that? She couldn’t tell. It was all jumbled up and kind of funny. “At least I’m think able to, still.”

She laughed and her head cleared for a second. “Christ, what is this thing doing to me?” She had to figure it out. She would need to remember for her report. Remember. She stared harder at the image. The clue had to be in there somewhere. The key to finding out what she was supposed to think.

“At least I’m able to think what I’m supposed to still think I’m able to suppose I think I remember.” What was it she was supposed to think? She thought harder. She looked harder. It was making her wet, looking at the beautiful image floating above the desk. Where was the desk? Where was the PC? She tried to remember where they were. Where she was. It wouldn’t come to her.

“I think what I’m supposed to think I look and suppose I remember what I think and look deeper and think what I’m supposed to remember I think I am supposed to look and think I look like thinking I suppose deeper so pretty so nice so wet thinking I suppose I think I remember I look good supposing I look deeper think deeper look supposed to look think less look more look deeper supposed to think less...”

Her mind went blank as she lost herself in the images for a few moments, then flared back to life.

“Think less. Look deeper. Yes. That is the way out. That is the key. I’m supposed to. Remember there is nothing. To think. Think less. Look deeper. Yes.” Then it was all a jumble again as she followed the permutations, endless and profound, down into blackness.

Her head was pounding—throbbing with a percussive beat that matched her heart, slow as molasses on a cold winter morning. She took a chance and opened her eyes. She did not expect what or who she saw.

“Patsy?”

“Hi Nats. Tamara called and said you’d had some kind of spell and passed out. You took quite a knock on the head.”

“I did? Shit, I was standing in her office, and she got called out, and I was going to... going to do... something. God, it’s all mixed up.” She realized she was sitting up in bed, with covers over her to keep her body warm.

“That’s okay. You filled out the evaluation on the clinic and Dr. Morgan. Looks like you were about to sign it.”

“I did? What did I say?”

“That you found it to be an exceptional facility, with an exceptional Chief of Staff.”

“Wait, I thought, no... I thought... God, why can’t I remember?”

“Look, I haven’t got a lot of time. If the Reynolds finds out I came over he’ll have both our heads. Now, sign.”

“No, I need to...”

“Sign. Now.“

Something in Patsy’s voice told Natalie that she was serious. She thought for a moment, and then took the pen. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t tell what it was. Patsy had gone out of her way to come over, and the Director would be mad if he found out. And Patsy, of all the agents she knew, was reliable. She had seen Patsy’s resistance test scores. They were off the scale.

Still, it was odd. She felt like she was forgetting something important.

“Sign.”

“Okay, okay. Give me the damned thing,” she said, scowling as she scratched her signature across the bottom. “Satisfied?”

“Yes. Thank you. Mistress, she is ready.”

“Why did you call me Mistress?”

Patsy didn’t answer, but turned to her right.

Natalie looked over to see Tamara standing in the doorway.

She was smiling. “Very good, Patsy.”

Patsy sighed as a shiver ran through her.

Natalie stared in shock at the two women. “What the fuck?” was all she managed to say.

“Fuck? No, not yet. Soon, perhaps,” laughed Tamara. She turned to Patsy and added, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetness?”

Patsy’s breathing became ragged as she nodded and spoke. “Ohhhh, yes, Mistress!”

“Instead, I want you to secure your partner’s hands and arms. We can’t have her making any mischief. She’s been so cooperative so far and it would be a shame to spoil her initiation.”

Natalie looked down, noticing for the first time that except for her arms, she wasn’t free to move. Under the covers, she was tied down with multiple straps. As her arms were bound tightly to either side of the bed’s headboard, Natalie looked into Patsy’s eyes for a sign that this was some kind of play for Tamara’s trust. They’d used it many times before. And Patsy was perfect for it.

But all she saw in Patsy’s orbs of bright blue was a shining fanaticism. There was no hint of conspiracy, no knowing squint.

What had been done to her? How had Tamara quashed Patsy’s personality? What part of her had been compressed so that it was no longer in control?

“Oh, she’s completely aware of what she’s doing, Natalie,” said Tamara, as if reading her thoughts. “I know you’re wondering how it’s possible. You’ll find out soon enough. But for now, let’s just say that she is here because she wants to be here. No, she didn’t always want it. But there is no conflict to overcome. There’s no suppression of one set of desires in favor of another. She is, and will always be, completely loyal to me.”

“We would have caught her in the weekly Mappings,” said Natalie. “It would have showed a change in her reactions to various stimuli.”

“Natalie, Natalie,” laughed Tamara. There was no trace of hostility at all. “Never mind her touted resistance to known techniques. When she is at the Agency, she is, in a way, ‘under orders’ to believe and feel what she has always felt. And she obeys so completely that she has no other way to be. Her commitment to me is completely untraceable. But in fact, she believes and feels anything I want her to feel. Don’t you, pet?”

Patsy walked over to Tamara and knelt before her, placing her head under her Mistress’ hand. “Yes, Mistress, your word is my only purpose.”

“You may breathe my scent, slave.”

Natalie watched in silent horror as her partner and friend knelt down and lifted the short skirt of the doctor and pressed her nose into her crotch, inhaling deeply. Patsy’s eyes closed and she rocked gently from side to side as if it were a religious experience.

Tamara held her hand to the back of her thrall’s head and smiled again at Natalie. “I can see the shock in your eyes. But it’s not all that complicated. Would you care for a demonstration?” She didn’t wait for the answer. “Of course you would.”

Tamara looked down at her slave and said, “Thank you, Patsy. That will do. You have pleased me very, very much.”

Patsy smiled and rose, eyes still gleaming in a way that made Natalie very uncomfortable.

Tamara went on, “Only a few short weeks ago, I had to use complex commands to affect her belief system. Her training has gone on though, while she was working at your beloved Agency. She has begun to assimilate her instructions more completely than we ever dreamed, really. For instance...”

Tamara turned to Patsy and said, “An Agent’s work is never done.”

The change in the slave-Agent was palpable. Her demeanor turned from glowing adoration to diffidence. Natalie was filled with hope as she watched. There would be a chance to turn the tables yet.

“Thank you for coming so rapidly, Agent McClanahan,” said Tamara.

“No problem, Dr. Morgan,” answered Patsy. Her look showed the practiced, professional courtesy of years of public service.

“Natalie is glad, too, aren’t you, Natalie.”

Natalie glowered at Tamara, unwilling to say a word. She was waiting for a sign from Patsy to end this charade.

“Oh, Patsy, I’m afraid the cat has her tongue. And a rather bad cat. What an interesting phrase. It makes you think of her tongue on your pussy, doesn’t it?”

“H-how did you know that?” asked Patsy, suddenly nervous.

“I know lots of things. I know you find the idea of Natalie tonguing you wholly distasteful. I also know you can’t resist the idea of climbing up there and grinding your sopping cunt onto her mouth until you cum.”

Patsy looked back and forth from Natalie to Tamara, torn with indecision. She looked like she was in pain as she reached under her skirt and pulled off her panties. “God it’s so perverted,” she whispered, talking to herself. Her face was turning red. “But I have to feel it. I just have to have that hot tongue on my burning slit.”

“God damn it, Patsy! This has gone far enough!” screamed Natalie as Patsy climbed onto the bed, straddling her midriff.

“I’m sorry, Natalie, but you’re so... sexy tied up there... I’m such a bitch, I know... I don’t deserve you as a partner, but I just have to feel you licking my sex...” Patsy was trembling now, face crimson with shame and guilt for what she was about to do.

Tamara approached the bed and managed to stroke Natalie’s hair despite her attempts to jerk away. “Tell me Patsy, do you still have that problem of peeing when you cum?”

Patsy only moaned more loudly as she walked on her knees up to Natalie’s head, letting them slide outward as her pussy lowered onto her partner’s resisting mouth. She whimpered. “Give me your tongue, Natalie. Pleeeeease...”

Natalie locked her mouth shut. Patsy whispered again, “I’m so, so sorry Nats...”

Natalie’s mouth flew open as searing pain shot through her from her left nipple. “I said... GIVE ME YOUR TONGUE, BITCH!”

It was trouble. Deep, dangerous trouble. Natalie had no choice. She liked women, but doing her partner had never been a part of her desires. She flicked out her tongue and began to probe deeply into her canal.

“Yesssss, baby,” cooed Patsy, her shame replaced by the pleasure of her partner’s tongue and her own obedience. She began to slide forward and back, pressing her clit into the bound woman’s nose.

Within moments her assault became more savage, grinding hard as the tongue she craved lashed faster and faster, bringing her closer to a state of oblivion. Her hips began to jerk more quickly, ending in a jiggling belly dance, balanced on the mouth and nose of her forgotten lover. Her eyes rolled back into her head as the matrix in her brain sped up and intensified the pleasure until she was unable to feel, hear or see anything but orgasmic bliss.

And then it crashed over her, a tidal wave pouring into and out of her, taking her completely out of her mind and into a fireball of greedy lust. It tore through her like barbed wire on silk flesh, shredding her skin into electric particles of wanton euphoria.

There was a rush of perverse, gleeful guilt as her bladder released into the mouth of her best friend, her lover, her partner, her... sister...

And then she was gone, falling into a limp, unconscious heap on top of the woman she had so easily betrayed for Mistress.

Mercifully, Natalie had passed out, too.

Tamara let out a deep, satisfied sigh. Natalie’s own ceramic matrix had given her enough information to begin training.

The end of the Agency was in sight. Finally.