The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

But I Don’t Really Want This, Chapter 32

After she came and came to, she thought about blogging about the hiking fantasy, but some of the new rules introduced recently would make it very hard for her to express herself properly. Still, Will did want her to maintain the blog, and she did like doing it.

She opened her eyes and looked down. She lifted the collar of her t-shirt to get a look. The swelling and yellow and brown bruising had reduced in the days since the main bandages had come off. Her bra was comfortable, but looking at her breasts, how they sat on her chest, it was hard to believe the bra wasn’t a push up. She wondered what the effect of such a bra would be.

She allowed herself to feel very good by thinking about the stares she was eliciting from Will. Oh he liked them. He couldn’t wait to go to town on them. She couldn’t wait for it either. That was going to be a fun day/weekend/week/month/year once she was able for it. Soon, very soon. He had alluded to various plans he had for her, for them, what he wanted to do first, but had given no details. You’ll enjoy the surprise more, he had said.

She thought about Will’s changed appearance in the fantasy. His body had been bigger. He had announced two weeks earlier that he wanted to change his gym routine. He had been watching YouTube videos of powerlifting and wanted to include aspects of it in his workout. Will had always been big and strong, a large frame, well maintained. But his workout had focused on cardio and core. Now he wanted to drop the emphasis on cardio and replace it with strength. If he stuck to it, probably his arms and shoulders would get bigger. Maybe the reduced cardio would cause his very low body fat to increase, maybe reducing the definition of his abs or something. She didn’t know.

She got momentarily distracted from this distraction by thinking about her own gym routine. She was going to reduce the distance and speed of her running. Before now her run had been the centrepiece of her workout, even with all the work she had been doing on her ass. 5 kilometres, 30 minutes. Not at constant speed, but with several high speed bursts. This wouldn’t be impossible for her now, but she didn’t want the hassle of containing or managing her new breasts. Instead she planned a reduced 5 minute jog to warm up, before letting the exercise bike and/or stair machine take the place of cardio. Plus she might be able to program those machines with additional resistance which wouldn’t do her thighs or butt any harm.

She thought about the fantasy Will again. He had exuded a certain something different. His appearance and manner had suggested that he was someone more focused on the enjoyment of life’s baser pleasures. Including me, she thought, I’m one of life’s baser pleasures. Part of this change had been communicated through his attitude, but his hair had also been different too. Maybe she should ask him to grow it out, just a bit, just to see. Maybe she could ask him not to shave on the weekends, out of curiosity. He had assumed all power to make decisions about her appearance, so maybe in the interest of fairness he would listen to suggestions she had for him?

* * *


just now i have a great fantasy about hiking and everyones looking at my tits and i get stuck on in a wall because of my tits and everyones either laughing or enjoting the view. and at the start im,wearing hiking clothes but m by the end im dressed like a slut and im showing off to everyone. and my owner s with me and hes showing me off making sure everyone gets a good look. and theres some wo women and there theyer alug lauging laughing at me but also flirting with my owner and hes flitring back with them and that s weird but kind of hot and i dont know why

and thats not even the worst part of the fantasy but its too hard to explains with the enw reul rules what happens when im stuck in the wall sorry kus kisses kisses kissses

* * *

She looked over what she had posted. Maybe shorter sentences would make it easier to read? More use of full-stops? Maybe more use of whitespace, each sentence with its own new paragraph.

* * *

After a shower and breakfast she retired to the couch for another day. Back to work next week, but this week was still for rest and recovery. The room was pleasantly clean and tidy and practically shone. The cleaner had been yesterday. A cleaner was a new experience for them. She wasn’t sure how much she was in favour of it, how much she wanted to allow herself to get used to having other people clean up her mess. But given her new found ability to make a mess of some of the aspects of her life, and the shear ease at which one slipped into a world where vacuuming did not exist for you, she was managing to stiff-upper-lip it.

There would still be house work for her and Will to do. The cleaner would only come once a week, so cooking, washing clothes, cleaning the kitchen, general tidying would still need to be done. The cleaner would only focus on dusting, the floors, and maybe any obvious tidying that happened to be there. But yesterday the cleaner had also done the inside windows. Window cleaning was an optional extra that Will had included in this weeks chores, for an additional fee. Nicole took a minute to enjoy the additional brightness that flooded the room. Clean windows always made a room more beautiful.

She had been hoping to establish some rapport—even a relationship—with the cleaner. An excuse to practise her Spanish. But yesterday’s cleaner had been a different woman to last week’s. Less personable too, not that she was obliged to be Nicole’s friend. Marisa had given no explanation as to where Sara was, or if she would ever be back, had merely implied that her employer—the services company that building management had hired to offer cleaning services to residents—had very high staff turnover. By that Marisa had sought to imply that although she was now rostered to clean this apartment, that could change suddenly and without notice, so don’t get used to her.

Having someone be productive around her, as she lay idle on the couch, had been uncomfortable. Conversation might have eased that, but Marisa had been all business, hadn’t engaged with her the way Sara had, had implied that conversation was a distraction, that she had other apartments to visit after this.

Time to contact Jizz. Where was her phone? Had she used it this morning? Bedroom? Maybe. Did she have to get up? She looked over the side of the couch, where she often left things now. There was a small pile of random items on the floor there that she had taken from her bag. But her bag wasn’t there, or her phone. Where was her bag? No, wait, her phone wasn’t in her bag, definitely in the bedroom, charging on the night stand. She had used it to write the Tumblr post. She heaved herself up and went to get it. She messaged Jizz who replied quickly. She’d be over this morning, in an hour. Not in the afternoon like yesterday. Winking emoji.

Was there anything Nicole could do before that, something that could make her feel vaguely productive? The mail, she could check for it. That could be her goal for the morning. She had not been out much since the operation, was worried about impeding the healing process by bumping her large breasts off anything. Walls, doors, people, her arms even. But she was almost healed so she could give herself this mission.

What to wear? Comfy hot. Yoga pants, bright sneakers, Will’s hoody that was nice and baggy and warm and smelled like him. It wasn’t tight across her chest, but also didn’t hide it. Clearly something substantial lurked beneath. She wondered how she would feel outside if wearing a tight top. She had only worn tight tops inside so far. Her breasts had looked enormous below her. Nowhere for her to hide from them.

So far, when she had been outside, wearing a loose top, she hadn’t been able to decide if people were staring at her more. She had felt that they were, but wasn’t sure if that was just paranoia. She had still felt ill or weak or sore, so it wasn’t something that she had been ready to explore in detail, or enjoy. But she was feeling better today. She could imagine herself enjoying it. Not yet, but soon.

She stood in front of the mirror and undid her pony tail, then brushed her hair out. She could hide behind it, um, and actually, her hair looked really good today. She considered sunglasses, but that would be overkill, she wasn’t leaving the building, just taking the elevator to the lobby and back. Most likely she would see no one except Samuel. And besides, she would have to stop hiding herself soon, she should make some gesture in that direction. Make-up. The light pink lipstick that Will liked. She kept her glasses on. He liked that too, especially the big frames. She was leaving her contacts out more, but that was normal when staying at home. She pouted and smiled and stuck out her tongue for herself. Mmm, this always makes me feel good. She gave herself a final air kiss and went looking for her keys. Yes, she was feeling much better today.

Now where were her keys? They were definitely in her bag (right?), which she last had... in the kitchen. She had been working around it this morning when preparing her breakfast. She went to the kitchen and looked in her bag, but couldn’t immediately see her keys. Were they in the living room, in that pile of her stuff on the floor beside the couch? She rummaged in the bag first, she took out a rolled up magazine and a spare glasses case to see what was underneath. There they were. She left the magazine and the case on the kitchen counter beside the bag and left the apartment.

Easy, uneventful. Sam had been working at the desk and they had smiled and waved to each other from across the lobby. Three letters; two for her, one for him. One of them was from her work, her pay check probably. The other wasn’t identifiable. Some bill or something, maybe. She left the three unopened letters on the kitchen counter with her keys. Will would sort them out, that was his responsibility. She wasn’t allowed to open the mail anymore.

She made herself a coffee. Still plenty of time before Jizz arrived. She considered practising her new just-for-fun, not-too-much-but-actually-just-a-bit-too-much make-up look she had been experimenting with, but decided she was feeling too lazy for that. Maybe she could ask Jizz to do her make-up. OK, that was a bit girly, she hadn’t had a friend do her make-up since she was a teenager, but maybe she could get Jizz’s perspectives on it, or some pointers. Jizz had much more experience. That might be interesting.

But now she simply retired to the couch instead. She thought about checking her e-mail, doing what she could with it. Ughh, she couldn’t face it. Less than two weeks since the new orders and this simple task had become so depressing, so difficult. Tomorrow, she promised herself.

She put on some music, E! news and looked for the new magazine in the stack. The magazine subscriptions were mostly cancelled since she had started using the various websites and apps that Jizz had shown her. But Will hadn’t cancelled one of the subscriptions, explaining that having a magazine would be useful clutter for her bag. Wow, what was he turning her into.

She admired some clothes being modelled. That dress is cool. The model’s body was similar to her old body. She was much curvier now, but it would still be loose and breezy on her. She reached for her laptop and did some shopping. Not really shopping. Just adding stuff to her wish lists. Will promised he would check in with them about once a month and make some purchases. He wasn’t promising to buy everything, instead encouraging her to overload the lists and not feel guilty that she was asking for too much. He’d make the decisions. If some of the items she had selected were intended to be part of an outfit with some other item(s), then she could add comments to that effect, ensuring he didn’t only purchase half the intended outfit. And if there was something she ‘really’ wanted, she was free to say it to him. The wish lists were separated by intended use—comfy home, sexy home, gym, casual outside, formal outside, work—though she was considering additional sub divisions. The work list was for clothes that would make some general kind of attempt—a failed attempt, but at least an attempt—to draw attention away from her body, while still being appropriate for someone of her young age and high rank.

This particular dress was loose and would fit, but otherwise, shopping online was tricky when she didn’t even know her new bra size, didn’t know what tops would fit. Would blouses exist that fit her shoulders and waist, but also her chest? Probably, but she was still flying blind. She had to err on the side of caution for now. She didn’t want to have the excitement of receiving Will’s first delivery of clothes be spoiled by the disappointment of having to return all of it.

Jizz and her were planning a shopping trip soon—their first together—to investigate what adjustments she would have to make. Plus she would be fitted for her new bra size, which was exciting, almost like a second big reveal after the first when the bandages came off. Will had told her to go to the same lingerie shop she had been to the previous time. She wouldn’t have to use the fake accent. ‘But hopefully one of the girls from last year still works there and recognises you, knows that you were taking the piss last time. She won’t say anything of course. But she’ll know, and you’ll know and Jizz won’t. Tell me all about it when you get back.’

Anyway, that was a future day. Today would be here, on the couch, chatting, reading, watching TV, drinking coffee. She had missed that yesterday when Jizz had only stopped in for an hour in the late afternoon before the gym and work.

Gym slut was the name Will had given to her, her new gym friend, but he had almost immediately gotten bored of that name, shortening it to ‘Jizz’, a pronunciation of the initials ‘G’ and ‘S’, he had explained. Nicole had been horrified at the name, but still managed to find the humor, laughing at the outrageousness of it. At least she didn’t have to call her that to her face, it was just a secret name.

Nicole and Jizz had met twice before her surgery and had hit it off from the start. Early on that first time, in a bar beside the gym, Jizz had asked Nicole why she had changed her gym style. Nicole had described herself as someone who—until recently—had spent her whole life always trying to do the things that you are ‘supposed’ to do. She had worked hard at school, college and in her career and though she hadn’t exactly failed at anything, it had always felt like the reward for her hard work had been underwhelming. An occasional B, but mostly C’s in school and college instead of the apparently effortless A’s and B’s of those in her study groups. At work, people hired after her, now promoted above her.

This lie had been ordered. Will had given her the command to pretend that she was not very successful professionally, but that her boyfriend, him, was extremely so. It was true that he was doing very well, but it was a lie that she wasn’t. The personal story that she revealed to Jizz did have her working for her actual company, but still at her old entry level position, an assistant among many, mostly competent, valued above all because she had been in that position longer than most, and so knew where everything was, what all the procedures were. Promotion was not in her short term future. Medium term? She wasn’t sure, but management was not in her long term future. Dreams of success had been replaced by disillusion.

‘And so now I am living in Las Vegas with a guy who I am crazy about, and he has this really, really great job, and I’m tired of working so hard and not going anywhere. And there is this whole other side to my personality, to me, which I hide from the world for a long time, because if I want to be successful, that would be a problem. But now, if I care less about that success, then, I am still young, and there is still time and I want to, you know, let loose, have fun.’

‘Until now I always work very hard to deny this side of myself, but now I want to do it. See if it’s as much fun as it looks to,’ she lowered her voice, embarrassed that others might hear, ‘you know, just feel hot.’ Jizz laughed. Nicole continued, ‘and I’m living here in Las Vegas and everyday I’m seeing all these girls have fun and now I want to try it.’

‘And how are you liking it so far?’ Jizz asked.

Nicole smiled, ‘it’s soooo good so far, I just feel a freedom I haven’t felt before, like I can finally relax and just be me. I mean it is good that I know how to work hard and that I have my education, so I don’t feel at all guilty about experimenting with this. Like, no down side so far.’ Will had ordered her to not use the past tense when speaking with Jizz, has she did with him. It felt weird for her to finally be speaking like this to someone who wasn’t Will. Fortunately she had had lots of practise with him, so she wasn’t making much mistakes. Or anymore mistakes than was required by this incorrect mode of speech.

‘Although, the thing is, before I always have lots of interest from guys, but that is something that I never work on before, do my best to ignore because I have a boyfriend, or I’m focusing on my career or both. I never encourage it so I don’t know how best to do that. I have a lot to learn. Like, I think I know how to look sexy in public, but I still don’t know much about how to act sexy. I’ve worked on my body, and my wardrobe is more adventurous, but there is much more than that. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Totally,’ said Jizz. ‘And does your boyfriend mind?’ She was smiling in a way that indicated she wouldn’t be critical, that she’s just curious. ‘I mean, does he mind that you want other guys to think you’re hot?’

Nicole laughed. ‘He’s actually so supportive of me right now, and actually he kind of likes showing me off, so it’s great.’

The conversation continued. They had fun taking it in turns to flirt with the waiter, Jizz giving Nicole some pointers.

‘I love these, how long will they last,’ Jizz said, a finger pointing to her own lips.

Nicole covered her mouth. Ok, this answer would get a reaction. ‘They’re permanent.’

‘Whaaaaat? Permanent,’ Jizz exclaimed loudly. On her second drink. She looked around the room. Some people had looked over, but only for a second, before turning away. The music was loud enough that they probably didn’t need to worry. She leaned in, ‘permanent?’

‘Yeah,’ Nicole said sheepishly, covering her mouth.

‘But why permanent? Aren’t you just experimenting with having more fun?’

‘Uh, yeah, ok, but um, I’m experimenting for like, 2 years so far.’

‘Oh God, I just thought, I mean, that’s not an experiment anymore, that’s a lifestyle! When did you have the boob job?

‘Uh, last year, but ok, so, don’t freak out, but, like, next week’, she avoided eye contact, ‘I’m having another boob job.’

Jizz laughed out loud again. ‘Ha, really!’ not caring this time about any attention generated. She leaned in, putting one hand on Nicole’s leg, and spoke into Nicole’s ear to be sure no one would hear, ‘Oh my God, you’ll be huge!’

Nicole put one arm up protectively over her chest, feeling a bit guilty. The secret was out now. Then slowly, she allowed herself to grin mischievously, ‘I know.’ She waggled her eyebrows.

Jizz hooted in laughter again. Time for a new drink. Under her breath, ‘I’ll want to see!’

‘Well, I’ll be going back to the gym afterwards, so you’ll see there.’ Nicole thought about it. This first date was going well. ‘I’ll be spending two weeks at home to recover, maybe you can come by if you want? I’ll need some company.’

They had met one more time before the surgery, this time for coffee. It was nice. It was comfortable. It was easy to talk to Jizz. Nicole took the opportunity to ask her about her white teeth, explaining that she was thinking about whitening hers more than usual, because of the gap in her lips. Although it turned out, that Jizz had veneers.

During this second date, Jizz mentioned that she would be working a late shift at the casino for the period that Nicole was recovering, so she could come over some mornings or early afternoons. She ended up coming over nearly every weekday, usually in the late morning and hanging around for a few hours until after lunch. Most of Jizz’s own friends were working standard hours, so she didn’t have as much options for socializing when doing a later shift.

Yesterday, instead of coming over in the late morning, Jizz had come over in the early afternoon. This had been convenient as it meant she wasn’t there at the same time as the cleaner. The conversation wouldn’t have been as easy with a stranger listening in. Especially considering what they had been talking about.

Jizz had had a late night. Her shift finished early in the morning, but instead of going home she had stayed with a guest in their room. A high-roller and generous tipper that she had been flirting with all night. Nicole had pressed for more details. She had never had a one-night stand before. Probably she never would now, she imagined, but she was curious, excited to hear the details. ‘How much did he tip?’ she had asked jokingly.

Jizz enjoyed talking about the slutty side with Nicole. She felt comfortable doing so. None of her friend group had quite the same sex drive that she had. They all liked sex and they did talk about sex often. They had fun doing so. But it was openly known within the group that Jizz’s appetites were a level above everyone else’s. They hadn’t had the same number of boyfriends that she had had, their relationships had not been as casual. As a result Jizz had never been completely comfortable talking as much as she would have liked about sex and sexuality with her inner circle of friends. She had always compensated in the other direction, afraid that she would over do it, that she would make them uncomfortable. She wasn’t trying to hide who she was exactly, she knew and they knew how she was, but she didn’t want to rub it in their faces all the time, afraid that they would grow bored of it. Nicole seemed to be different. She was monogamous, sure, she wasn’t as experienced either, but Nicole did—so far—seem like the kind of person that she could share the details with.

So Jizz told her that she had slept with the guy for $1,000. She wasn’t an official escort exactly, but sometimes she got chatting to a tourist on the floor, and well... Once a month maybe, twice if the opportunity arose, she explained, it all went into her savings account which—the odd surprise bill not withstanding—was doing well for it. She didn’t go so far into the details as to explain that she had to pay off the night manager in exchange for his silence, or that she preferred it when the guy was staying at a different casino so that bribe would be unnecessary. Nicole had been fascinated. She’d never had a friend who had slept with a man for money before. Jizz had humored her questions, grateful that Nicole wasn’t judging her for it, but was just genuinely curious.

Sitting on the couch now, Nicole realised that she was free to ask Jizz about things that she couldn’t ask other people. She thought about the girls that had been in the hiking fantasy that morning, how Will had flirted with them. Will had said once, ages ago, that they should have a threesome, but nothing had happened. Maybe Jizz would have some experience, some story, some advice on how to proceed.

* * *

Will arrived home. Nicole was making dinner. They greeted and kissed and talked about their days as she chopped. He was tired from the gym. His arms hurt more than usual, but that was to be expected. You go watch TV, relax, I’m cooking tonight, she said.

He admired her. He liked her make-up. Showy. She was wearing an unusual amount of jewellery for someone who had been at home all day. Big earrings, appropriate for her make-up. Multiple bangles or bracelets on each arm. They slid as she worked the knife and veg. He enjoyed how the chopping board wasn’t quite as close to her body as before, how she had had to push it away from herself to be able to see it, how she worked with the knife slowly and more carefully than usual, unused to the additional distance from herself that she now had to hold it. She was focusing on the task, but she knew he was looking. Yay!

I read your Tumblr post. A smile. I can give you the details if you want, she said. He walked up and held her from behind, being careful not to bump her suddenly as she held the knife. You’ve cum since I last did, it’s my turn now, he said. Head turned, how would you like it? He smelled her hair. You just stand there, put down the knife for a minute, it won’t take long, this is just for me. He rolled down her yoga pants as much as was necessary. Take off your top, let me see.

He pulled himself closer and looked down over her shoulder. There had been a lot of changes in the last few weeks. Good changes. He knew that if she took the bra off too, they wouldn’t move even a centimeter. And not all the changes had been physical. He was very pleased with himself, with his ideas.

He’d been thinking further about how to make her susceptible to occasional gas-lighting. His original plan had been to change things after the fact, so that her correct memory would be treated as false. But the amount of work he would need to do, planning, observation, recalibrating, to get her to a place where she would doubt herself, it was just too much. And it would have been so easy to screw up, to make her know that he was lying, that her memory was reliable. And then it would be over. There would be no second chance.

The solution had been so simple. Many different things can combine to help make a memory great. One of those things was organisation. Another was how much you exercised your memory. Nicole was hyper-organised. If he could make her less organised, fill her life with clutter, then maybe he could make it so that she had a harder time remembering what was what in her life. But there were some aspects of life that required a bare minimum of organisation. If he could perform these tasks himself, then she would exercise her own memory less, make it weaker.

He had already taken over the management of her money. While he enjoyed the strict budget she was on, the fact that she had so little money to spend day-to-day did mean that she had to do some form of mental planning. So he had raised her allowance. Every week he would reset her account balance to $300. That was more than enough that she wouldn’t have to plan. She could still come to him about making larger purchases or to ask for extra. Plus he promised her that he would order her new clothes and make-up and jewellery every month, so those costs didn’t come out of her own allowance.

But it had still been fun to have her on a tight budget, to give her an impossible task, and to admonish her when she had failed. He decided that every month he would sit down with her and analyse how she had been spending her more generous allowance, scold her for any misuse of funds according to some arbitrary rules as the mood took him.

So how could he do to make her less organised? His original plan to gaslight her had involved her handbag, screwing with its contents. He had already known that she had a system by which she organised them. The various different inner compartments and dividers had different responsibilities. Keys, phone, purse, the things she needed most often every day were kept separate from everything else, so they could be easily found. Anything vaguely medical in it’s own compartment (closable by a button, zip or Velcro if available); tampon, headache medicine, ear plugs, and in the last year her butt-plug and lube too if she was taking them with her. Other items which were only occasionally needed in the largest section; mints, pen, pencil, paper, tissues, one or two items of make-up, spare glasses if needed.

She imposed this system on any bag that she employed for general everyday use. It required a small bit of work on her part to maintain this system, but the benefits of the extra effort were clear. She never lost anything. She never needed to rummage. Everything was always where she expected.

New rule. From now on, everything goes in the largest compartment. An exception for anything specifically work related like a letter for a client or second set of keys. She was allowed designate one compartment for that kind of thing. Another exception for anything delicate that could be damaged, that would require isolation. But everything else in an unorganized pile. She hadn’t been outside the apartment much since this was introduced, but he was expecting to see her wrangling with her bag more often in the future.

He had looked in her bag a few days after the introduction of this rule and had been disappointed. It was a mess, but it was a smaller mess than he had been expecting. He could still see everything, nothing was obscured by anything else.

New rule. Always have a magazine in your bag, something trashy, big, bright, something you want to read, something you might read if you need to pass a few minutes.

New rule. Outside the home (and work) touch up your make-up more often. Occasionally purchase duplicate make-up items so that you can have spares for your bag. He didn’t go into detail on what ‘more often’ meant. She could decide that for herself. Get some extra brushes for your bag too, he had added.

The effect of all this was that a very small bag would no longer fit everything. New rule. For general, day-to-day use, favor a larger bag capable of fitting everything. Smaller bags are not off limits for you, you can use them if it matches a particular look that you are going for, but that for one-offs.

New rule. If taking anything out of her bag at home, for any reason, she had to leave the item where she used it. You can put the stuff back in when you are leaving the apartment. In all the time he had known her, he had not once seen her frantically searching the home high and low for keys or phone or purse or some other item she needed before she could leave. He wondered if that would change.

Next her computer. This was the centre of how she organised herself. First her email account. She was very good at dealing with email. Nearly all items arriving in the inbox were either immediately deleted or filed away to some subfolder. Only a few items representing as-yet un-doable actions, were allowed to remain. Thus her inbox acted as a well maintained to-do list. And she kept it short. Usually the items remaining were only there because she was waiting for some other action from some third party before she could do her part.

He asked for her mail password and made a note of it, before logging in on his own laptop, not telling her, but leaving it implied that from now on he might do this. He considered changing her account settings so that the phone number and alternative mail address used in the event of a lost password were his own. Too much detail. Maybe later, he decided.

She had a lot of mail folders. One for each job she had ever had, one for looking for new jobs. One dealing with moving apartment. One for holidays or flights. One for her car, one for insurance, one for banks, one for purchases, one for family and friends, etc, etc. Everything had a place. He took all the mails in each folder and moved them to the inbox. Then he deleted the folders.

New rule. No folders.

But she was still allowed to delete mail, meaning that the mails that still needed to be handled would most likely be near the top somewhere.

New rule. Only mail older than two months can be deleted. Two months from now, he wondered, will she even bother navigating down to find them? Why bother, when you can’t even see them?

What else? He wanted to turn this inbox into something that was painful to look at. Something that she would avoid visiting, that other people would laugh at.

New rule. No mail can be marked as spam. He went to her spam folder and marked it all as ‘not spam’.

He considered signing her up for some news letters. Not now, maybe later. But wait, junk mails have an unsubscribe link, he realised.

New rule. You can only unsubscribe from mailing lists using a mail that is two months old. Again, would she bother?

And now she needed an escape clause. Her mail did contain important things that had to be done, and if they couldn’t get done immediately, they might get lost in the mire. She would have to monitor her mail as much as possible to keep track of what needed doing. Exercising her memory.

New rule. For him, this time, not her. If she wanted him to do some mail-related task for her, for whatever reason, then she could forward the mail to him. Give her an excuse not to have to think, to abandon her inbox to the chaos.

How could he make this more general? Not every personal task required email. On her laptop, in her Documents folder she had a series of subfolders mirroring those he had deleted from her mail account, each containing important documents relating to some aspect of her life. He copied these folders to his own machine, but didn’t delete them from hers yet, maybe it wouldn’t be necessary.

New rule. Laptop use. Excluding personal pictures, music, videos and any other such media, any file which she saves or downloads onto her computer must be saved to the Desktop.

New rule. No deleting files on the Desktop.

Her Desktop, up until now empty of everything except the Recycle Bin, would soon become a swamp. He imagined—once enough clutter had built up—ordering her to change her Desktop background, a close up of her giving him a blow-job, big lips stretched over the tip, her eyes looking up at him, offscreen, a desire for approval in her eyes. So much files, overlapping each other, that most of the details were hidden, that other people might see her computer and not suspect anything. One for the future, maybe.

Any important document, that needed to be maintained, that required some organisation for future ease of discovery, she could send to him. In fact, she was free to ask him to perform the entire task that that document orbited around, giving her an excuse to not have to think about it. He thought more about this. He fantasized about giving her the option to request that he take over the management of her mail account. That if she was to ask for this, then it would require her having no more access to her own mail account. He wouldn’t forbid her to access it, he would just change the password and password reset options so that she could not access it.

Of course, then he would have to manage her mail, then he would have to clean it up again, but he could do that. Her rules didn’t apply to him. And then, if by chance she was sitting beside him, he could show her the simple changes he had made to clean up her account, the tricks she hadn’t known about, and she would look at him with awe at how smart he was, with happiness at how much he did for her, how easy he made her life, and she would put one arm around his shoulder and lean in, letting her boobs squeeze against him, knowing how much he enjoyed that.

Not yet. That’s for the future. First she has to destroy her email account. Then, once she has lived like that for a while, she can have the option to surrender. So that she would be grateful for his intervention.

OK, actually he knew, that in reality, she was much better at organisation than he was. He wasn’t bad at it, he just wasn’t at her level. A part of him reminded himself that if he was being sensible, he would instead order her to take over the organisation of both of their lives. But that was no fun. Besides, he could do it. Maybe not as promptly, as diligently or as precisely as she could, but it would get done. He wouldn’t get a failing grade.

There had been times before now, when he, they, had role-played that she was less intelligent than she was, with knock-on effects for her ability to organize herself. He was looking forward to being able to do this for ‘real’, to shake his head when she was wrestling with her bag, or to be able to roll his eyes when he saw her Desktop, to chide her for her inability to keep track of things, her forgetfulness, but also to bring her in for a hug when she asked for help, to comfort her that he would take care of it for her, would take care of her.

And she would enjoy it too, and she was such a good actor, found it so easy to adopt to a role, that there wouldn’t even be the glimmer of the truth in her eye as she apologised for losing her keys or tentatively asked if he could do renew her car insurance.

Next he had arranged for the apartment to be cleaned once a week. One less thing to keep track of. Not that it was just her who had had to think about it, though Will was guiltily aware he had not been quite as diligent as her.

Finally had been her phone. He had presented her with a new Android phone after the surgery as a present. It was an entirely new contract in his name. Don’t worry, he had said, there’s enough data.

New rule. Only apps and widgets on the home screen can be used. If she accesses the app list by accident, which could happen, then she should immediately return to the home screen.

New rule. No installing or searching for new apps. This was impossible anyway as the Play Store app wasn’t on the home screen. She could make requests, but he would do the actual searching, installation and initialization of whatever apps he deemed appropriate.

He used her old phone as a guide on what to install, though not all of those apps made the cut. Of the many news apps that she had had, only four made it onto the new phone; one local French, one national French, one national British and one national American. He also installed additional apps that she had not had on her old phone, celeb gossip stuff, colorful games. This stuff’s more appropriate for you, he had joked, though she had still felt like shit so soon after the surgery, so he didn’t get the reaction he had been hoping for.

New rule. No changing global settings for language, keyboard or notifications without permission. He set English (US) as the default language, then took some time looking at the range of keyboard settings. He disabled auto-capitalization, spell-check and predictive text.

He took the opportunity to remind her of the no backspace rule, as if she needed it, and decided to introduce some more. No punctuation except full stops. No capital letters. The backspace rule takes precedence in the event that she mistakenly uses capitals or punctuation. The exception for work, or writing in French still held of course.

Back to the phone. New rule. She could only change any data privacy settings on apps to be more permissive. She could request that he make less permissive changes. Maybe he would.

Genius, he thought to himself. Now she’ll automatically be getting tons of spam mails. I don’t need to do any work here.

New rule. She could only change any notification settings on apps to create more notifications, not less. As with data privacy, she was free to ask him to make the changes that she couldn’t.

Hopefully her notification bar gets overrun, becomes unmanageable. Calendar alerts, important mails, messages will just get lost.

One of the first apps he had downloaded for her new phone was Tumblr. He logged her in and then ensured that notifications for messages, as well as questions, replies, follows and reblogs were turned on. She would now be getting unsolicited dick pics in her phone.

Her Tumblr account had actually originally been set up using a special email address created specifically for use with Tumblr. He wondered if the low data privacy level might cause some connection between this porn email address and her usual email address to be established in the virtual profile of her that existed in servers around the world. If it hadn’t already, he rationalised to himself. She had used the Tumblr app on her old phone, but only sparingly, and had specifically enabled the app and logged in everytime, deactivating the app between use, thus attempting to create a barrier between the real world Nicole and the rising-in-popularity bimbo-blogger Nicole.

That reminded him, he should direct her to set up the forwarding of all emails sent to that special mail address to her actual mail address. So if she is looking at her real email account, there will be further spam, this time reminding her of her slutty side.

He had tried to think about what other changes he could make to decrease the order in her life. He considered forbidding her to have systems which imposed order on the make-up shelf in the bathroom, or her clothes in the bedroom. But this would have hindered her ability to present herself, something that—if anything—she should be getting more organised at.

Thanks, he whispered in her ear. You’re welcome. He withdrew, making sure to wipe himself on her panties. She went to hitch them and her yoga pants back up, but he stopped her. Keep them down, slut. She looked around, smiling. Tell me about that fantasy after dinner. Yeah! she said. He went to change into loose clothes. Then he settled on the couch.