The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


(mc, nc, f/f)


This material is for adults only; it contains explicit sexual imagery and non-consensual relationships. If you are offended by this type of material or you are under legal age in your area, do NOT continue.


Copyright © 2001 Tabico () All rights reserved; this story is not to be reproduced in any form for profit without the express written permission of the author. This story may be freely circulated only in its entirety and with this notice attached.


Although generally one for staying at work until seven or eight, Catherine found herself completing the contract work on the Roald case almost exactly at five, and decided to head home rather than start something else. She breezed out of the office with a cheery goodbye to Tim, the receptionist.

She swung her silver Jaguar out onto the street and discovered that the earlier thunderstorm had cleared out to reveal a sunny late afternoon. With an extended whir, the top dropped back, spilling sunshine across the leather interior. Her wavy long hair began to flick in the breeze.

The city smelled like drying asphalt, a smell which Catherine had always thought was much nicer than it had any right to be. Not surprisingly, rush hour was in full swing, but she had only about a mile to drive to reach the building she lived in, and her mood was as buoyant as ever.

It was a trait which the other junior partners had envied; no matter how bad things got at a deposition, no matter how bungled the testimony their key witness gave, no matter that the judge on the case turned out to be ninety-four and afraid of communists, Therry (“don’t call me Cathy”) never lost her cool.

Or her edge, which is why she had been offered a full partnership at the start of the year. And why she had gotten to trade in her Honda for a Jaguar.

The bustle of the city distracted her, and before she knew it Catherine was arriving at the fashionable five-story building she called home. It, too, was a status symbol, located only blocks from the park and surrounded by two-hundred year old homes. Residence was by invitation only; although the tenants drew from all income levels and racial groups, you only got a slot in the building if you were asked to live there.

The traffic cleared, and she turned left into the driveway. A tap on the garage door opener, and she pulled her car (no license plate yet, even) into the underground parking.

Her parking space was near the residents’ elevator. There were two elevators from the garage, one for residents only and one for guests. Catherine turned off the motor, and leafed through her briefcase. Nothing inside that could not wait until tomorrow, so she left both it and the keys in the car.

The single button illuminated, and the elevator doors slid open. Inside was also a single button, which Catherine pushed. The walls were mirrored, with cameras behind, and Catherine stood erect as the elevator slid slowly upwards.

The doors slid open to reveal a medium sized room which extended for some twenty feet, along whose walls were a succession of doors. Catherine walked about halfway into the room, turned left, opened a door, and entered a walk-in closet.

Inside were her clothes. She undressed, hanging her suit on the peg reserved for dry cleaning. Her underwear and bra went into the general hamper near the door. She then pulled her hair up into a tight knot on her head, sliding a thick, shiny black leather band along it to her skull, trapping its chestnut length out behind her. Then she braided it, wrapping it until it hung to a neat knob even with her shoulder blades.

Naked, she turned from the room and returned to the hall.

At the end of the hall was a metal door. It had a slot in it, which Catherine slid her hand into. There was a long strobe of light inside, and Catherine removed her hand. The door slid open.

This room was square, the walls entirely covered with pegs and small shelves. Perhaps half of them had garments on them. There was an archway on one wall, beyond which were showers and sinks. On the wall opposite the door through which Catherine had entered was another door, this one of ornate wood.

Catherine walked to the peg on which its clothes hung. She first removed the black bustier from the peg. It was made of some polymer fabric, and had the thickness and shine of leather. She wrapped it around her back, and laced the cords up the front; the bustier reached from her upper ribcage to under her arms, gripping her breasts tightly—very tightly, as she strenuously cinched the lacings, and tied them to two rings, one lying at the top of either breast.

There were eight metal rings sewn onto the bustier; two on the top front, two on the back, two resting cold against her ribcage, two on her lower back. From its shelf, she removed a black underthing of similar material to the bustier. It bore resemblance to a very high-cut bikini bottom, but the sides did not connect, leaving front and back each scalloped in the middle with two buckled tails on either side.

She slung it between her legs, and each tail slid through a ring and was buckled off. The back was buckled first, and then the front pulled up, the tails slithered through their rings, and cinched incredibly tight. The bustier was pulled down by the force of the black vinyl drawn up between her legs.

Finally, with a touch of reverence, she removed the collar from its peg. It was immense, and as she closed it around her neck the black plastic swallowed her from chin to collarbone. It was not supple, like the bustier and the thong, and her neck was visibly extended, resting on top of the collar like a tulip in a vase. The bottom was wide, and pushed down evenly along her collarbone.

The collar had locks. The one set into the front, which would clasp the collar hard around her throat, she left open, but each of the four resting on her chest she attached to the upper rings of the bustier. It was not easy—the tightly cinched thong fought to pull the bustier in its direction, but Catherine unhurredly pulled each ring up to where she could slide it into the embrace of the lock, which she snapped shut with a click.

She was now bound in plastic top, middle, and bottom.

It was time for Catherine to go.

As she walked across the floor of the room to the ornate wooden door, Catherine rose on her feet, until she arrived at the door standing only on the balls of her feet. Her hard calves showed that she was used to this sort of walk, as though she had on invisible, intangible heels.

The door was oak, very old, and had tiny daubs of color on some of the peaks and whorls in the pattern covering its surface.

Catherine would have wondered about that.

Her hand reached for the key, hanging from the front of the door, and slowly lifted it from the hook upon which it hung.

Eyes never leaving the hook, Catherine lifted her other hand to her collar, and ever so slowly closed it. The hand with the key lifted it to the lock, slid it in, and turned, thrice, deasil. The way the lock was flush with the collar, it looked as though she was turning the key inside her neck.

Then Thrall D replaced the key on the hook.

Dressed, bound, Thrall D opened the door, and entered its home.

* * *

Thrall D took little notice of the other Thralls of the Community, as it walked swiftly (on the balls of its feet) to its station. Catherine might have been curious about their activities, but Thrall D knew only obedience. Was only obedience. And the first thing a Thrall did upon returning to the Community was to return to its station.

Its station consisted of a black leather reclining chair, with a small elevated table upon which sat various devices. It was on this chair that Thrall D spent most of its time in the Community, with its conscious mind asleep and its unconscious mind receiving instruction from the headset (lying on the table), which it donned at such point as it sat down.

Which it did now. Thrall D did not wonder what its activity was to be this evening. Thrall D existed to do as it was instructed, and thoughts of potential activity could only detract from present obedience.

It lay back, removed its headset from the table, and put it on. The sounds from the headset swiftly eroded its consciousness.

Thrall D’s station was one of several along this corridor. Most of them were occupied, currently, with various Thralls engaged in instruction, lying peacefully, bound in their plastic uniforms, headsets on, minds open.

Time passed—only Catherine would have wondered how much.

Thrall D removed its headset, and walked down the corridor to the elevator. It had received instruction that it was to report to the loading garage. Thrall D knew that, once there, further instruction (already in its mind) would be revealed to it.

This elevator was featureless, and took Thrall D quickly to the loading garage. The loading garage was below the main garage, and reachable only through a vehicular elevator elsewhere within the building. There was another Thrall already waiting in the garage, standing on the balls of its feet, eyes wide and blank, awaiting whatever came next. Thrall D went to stand next to it.

There was a sound, and a flashing red light, and the vehicular elevator began to descend. Thrall D and the other Thrall awaited it. The other Thrall was not from Thrall D’s Thrallgroup, and Thrall D did not recognize it. It was a tall, pale woman, with long black hair, bound in a braid identical to Thrall D’s. It too was cinched into the black plastic uniform of a Thrall.

The elevator appeared. Upon it was one of the “delivery vans” used by the Community. Thrall D could see a Persona at the wheel.

The instructions bloomed in Thrall D’s mind. This van contained a woman who was to be enThralled. Thrall L and Thrall Y were inside the van, controlling her. The Thrall with Thrall D was Thrall A, from Thrallgroup 4. Thrall D was to direct the woman’s removal from the van, and oversee her being brought to enThrallment room 12.

Thrall D walked to the elevator, to speak to the Persona (“Tracy”, its mind told it.)

“Tracy, is the woman inside?”


“Is she resisting?”

“She is.”

“Drive the van there,” Thrall D pointed, “and then back up until the rear doors will open next to the elevator. Then listen for further instruction from this one.”


Thrall D returned to Thrall A, standing stiffly at attention.

“Thrall A, this one will coordinate.”


“Thrall A, Thrall L and Thrall Y are inside the van with a woman. She is to be taken to enThralling station 12. When the rear doors open, Thrall A will assist in the removal of the woman.”


“There will be binders in the rear of the van. Thrall A is to fasten them onto the woman.”

“Thrall A understands.”

As Thrall D instructed Thrall A, the van had swung around, and was slowly backing toward the two Thralls. They waited, motionless. It stopped, the rear doors facing them.

“Tracy,” said Thrall D, in a loud voice.

“Awaiting,” came the response from the cab of the van.

“Instruct Thrall Y to restrain the woman, and Thrall L to open the doors.”

There was a pause, and then the two rear doors swung open. Inside was a bare interior, lined with two padded benches and a small window to the cab of the van, in which were framed the passive eyes of the Tracy Persona.

There were two Thralls and a woman in the rear of the van; Thrall D recognized Thrall L and Thrall Y. Both were from Thrall D’s Thrallgroup. Thrall L was standing next to the open rear doors. Behind it, Thrall Y had the woman from behind, pinioning her arms—she was struggling, trying to break free of Thrall Y’s grip, but didn’t stand much chance against the sinewy muscles Thrall Y had obediently built up for its role as an abductor. The handcuffs on the woman didn’t help; nor did the gag.

Catherine might have been surprised to see that the woman was in the uniform of the city police. Thrall D merely enacted its programming.

“Thrall L, stand there. Thrall Y, bring the woman out of the van.”

Thrall L stepped down from the van, heels never touching the floor, and stood in the appointed spot, hands at its sides. Although muscular and wiry like Thrall Y, Thrall L had at some point had breast implants. Large ones. Large enough that it wore a special strap bikini top rather than the usual Thrall bustier. Large enough that Catherine would have found them rather unsuitable for Thrall L’s small asian body.

All Thrall D considered was that they made Thrall L less suitable for grappling. Thrall L was to be used to subdue the woman with its fists.

Thrall Y had brought the woman, still resisting, to the rear of the van.

“Thrall A, put the binders on her legs.”

The tall, dark-haired Thrall unhooked the ankle binders from their mount inside the rear door, and reached for the policewoman’s legs. The woman kicked up, violently, trying to get her legs away from Thrall A’s grasp, but Thrall Y kneed her in the kidneys, and dropped her down to the van floor. The fight momentarily knocked out of her, Thrall A attached and closed the ankle binders, hobbling the woman.

“Remove the woman from the van.”

Thrall A took the woman’s feet, and walked backwards as Thrall Y, holding her by her shoulders, dropped lightly out of the van. Its bare heels hit the ground imperceptibly before it rose back onto its intangible high heels.

The Thralls gazed at each other’s blank eyes over the body of the woman, who had started trying to wriggle away from them again. The contrast between the Thrall’s slack, empty faces and their clenched hands and forearms was dramatic.

But not for Thrall D to consider.

“Tracy. You will park the van, and proceed upstairs to shed Persona and become Thrall.”

“Yes,” came the response from the front of the van. It started again.

“These Thralls will escort the woman to enThrallment room 12. This one will lead, Thrall Y and Thrall A will control and carry the woman, and Thrall L will follow behind to ensure that the woman is strictly controlled.”

“Yes,” came the chorus of three voices.

Thrall D turned on its feet, and walked to the elevator. The other Thralls, and their struggling burden, followed.

* * *

Thrall L only had to intervene once, when the woman managed to kick her legs free of Thrall A’s grip on the way to the enThrallment chamber. However, it was unlikely that the policewoman, bound as she was, could have escaped even one abduction Thrall, let alone three, and soon she was bound to her enThrallment station.

Thrall D watched as Thrall Y tightly shut the metal clamps around the woman’s wrists, ankles, waist, and forehead. It raised a hand, and Thrall A, now standing at the control panel, flipped the switch which slowly tightened the clamps until the woman was afforded no movement in the chair.

“This one will now begin the enThrallment. Thralls, report back to your stations.”

“Yes,” the three Thralls intoned, and then turned and left the room.

Thrall D walked around behind the podium which held the enThrallment controls. It was one of only two things in the small room, the other being the chair-like enThrallment station the woman was now attached to. Aside from these, the small chamber was blank metallic walls. The overhead lighting cast strong shadows.

Thrall D lifted the control headset from the podium, and put it on. Its eyes found the eyes of the woman, who was staring at it in terrified curiosity. Thrall D allowed its consciousness to fade as the enThrallment instructions for this woman were implanted in its mind.

When it re-awakened, the woman was still staring at it. It blinked; the minutes receiving instruction had left its eyes dry. Then Thrall D removed the headset, and walked around the podium to the station.

It removed the woman’s gag. She was not slow to react.


Thrall D replied in a low voice, which the woman missed, realized she had, and stopped shouting.

There was a moment of quiet. Thrall D leaned past the woman, reaching around the back of the station, and picked up a scalpel. Thrall D could not see it, but it was exactly where Thrall D’s mind knew it would be.

With Thrall D’s shoulder pressed against her upper chest, the woman tried again.

“Okay. Okay. What, what are you doing?”

The last part of “doing” came out an octave higher than the first, as Thrall D leaned back, holding the scalpel.

“This one is readying you for enThrallment.”


Thrall D drew back to kneel on the floor in front of the station.

“This one is readying you for enThrallment.”

“What the fuck do you mean, enthrallment? Hey, what the fuck?”

Thrall D pulled out the woman’s uniform pants by the inseam, just above the ankle, and stabbed them with the scapel. It then began to draw the scalpel up, slicing the pant leg in two.

“You are to become a Thrall. This one is readying you for the process by which you will become a Thrall. This one advises you to stop kicking your leg around, or you will be injured by the scalpel.”

The woman, who had been trying to pull her leg away, stopped. The scalpel cut neatly up her inner thigh, and as it sliced around her crotch, she shuddered, but didn’t move around.

“What the fuck is a Thrall?”

“This one is a Thrall.”

“Wait. You’re trying to turn me into some sort of slave?”

“That is a fairly close approximation, yes.”

“I don’t fucking think so! I’m a fucking cop! People are probably already noticing I’m gone! You can’t just fucking KIDNAP me, and then strap me into some sort of fucking chair and torture me and pull this weird shit! If you don’t let me the fuck go, you are in serious fucking trouble!”

Thrall D had finished cutting the pants, and now pulled them away from the woman’s legs, leaving her nude below the waist save for a pair of safflower blue victoria’s secret panties. Thrall D grabbed them from the front, and as the woman shouted “What the FUCK” sliced through them, sliced the waistband, and pulled them off.

Catherine might have been interested to see that the woman was a natural redhead.

Thrall D now moved up and began slicing the buttons of the uniform shirt. Sensing that her shouting was getting her nowhere, the woman took several deep breaths, and tried a different tack.

“Okay. Okay. What the fu—, ah, what exactly are you about to do to me?”

“This one is preparing you for enThrallment.”

“Yeah, right. Look, uh, hey—what’s your name?”

“This one is Thrall D.”

“No, I mean, what’s your name? Your real name? The name your mom gave you?”

“This one is Thrall D.”

Thrall D finished with the shirt, and pulled it open, leaving it hanging loosely around the woman’s front. It then cut the (matching) bra, in the middle and through the straps, and yanked it off.

“God damn it, that cost seventeen dollars! It hooked in the front, too. You didn’t have to... you don’t care, do you?”

Thrall D pushed in close, again, to return the scalpel to its precise spot behind the station.

Now, close to naked and as vulnerable as if she were, the woman was more unnerved by Thrall D’s pressing against her, and it showed in her voice.

“Um, okay, uh—Hi. I’m Rebecca.”

“Hello, Rebecca,” came the voice from near her ear.

“Um, look, D—can I call you D?”

Thrall D leaned back, holding a long silver vibrator, from which dangled several cords. Rebecca’s eyes widened.

“You may call this one whatever you like, Rebecca.”

Rebecca, bound at the ankles and waist, fought to close her legs, but Thrall D was kneeling between them, seemingly unaware of the pressure on her arms. In one hand, she held the smooth silver vibrator. With her other, she was attaching the cords to various plugs in the base of the station.

“D, what the FUCK do you think you are doing?”

“This one is preparing you.”

“With a FUCKING DILDO? What kind of sex pervert are you?”

Thrall D did not respond, but leaned its face in close to Rebecca’s naked crotch. Rebecca squeezed her legs as hard as she could, but Thrall D’s shoulders were more than equal to the pressure.

Then Thrall D touched her.

Unhurredly, Thrall D slid an index finger down the length of Rebecca’s labia, and pressed it up against her vagina.

“Fuck! Stop it!”

“You are not wet at all,” observed Thrall D.

“Of course I’m not fucking wet! Do you think being kidnapped is some sort of fucking turn-on?!”

“Many women are wet, at this point.”

“Well, I’m not! So... Oh, fuck. So.”

“Yes, Rebecca, ‘So’. Installing this pleasure device is significantly easier when you are wet. This one advises you to enjoy this.”

“You aren’t going to—”

As its programming directed, Thrall D lead with its breath, letting the warm, moist outflow of its exhalation caress Rebecca’s pussy. Then, as it was not pleasuring its Owner but rather moistening an unwilling woman, it dove in with its tongue and lips, licking the length of Rebecca’s slit until she glistened with saliva, and then engulfing her with its mouth, sucking, caressing.

Rebecca moaned, but tried to clamp her legs together enough to restrict Thrall D’s air. No luck—Thrall D had placed itself horizontally, and its shoulders kept her legs far too widely spread. The waistband kept her from bucking, so all she could do as she felt the pleasure zinging up her spine was to try and slide around on the chair. It was a feeble defense.

Even as her body betrayed her, and her pussy started sending up the messages that it really, really liked this, Rebecca didn’t give in.

“Fucking raping me... I can’t believe this. I- Oh!—FUCK! I won’t let you fuckers, unh, you fuckers get away with this. Going to—aaaaahhh—bring you fucking DOWN. Kidnap, uhhh, and RAPE! And I’m a, hunh, a cop...”

Her hips were starting to twitch forward of their own volition when Rebecca felt the vibrator slide into her. Thrall D had brought it up underneath itself, and with one long stroke, slid it slowly into Rebecca’s pussy.

Thrall D raised its head, its mouth and chin covered in saliva and pussy juice.

Its eyes were still quite blank.

Rebecca squirmed, her body welcoming the intruder inside her even as her mind rebelled.

Thrall D pulled two of the cords from the base of the vibrator over and under Rebecca’s legs and through small hoops on the waist clamp, and Rebecca realised that the vibrator was being locked into her.

“God damn it, D, why are you doing this? This is wrong.”

“That is for an Owner to decide. A Thrall knows only obedience, Rebecca. You will learn.”

She fought to turn her helplessness into anger.

“I don’t fucking think so.”

Thrall D stood up, and leaned past Rebecca once more.

“Get your tits out of my face, bitch.”

From the top of the station, it fetched a headset, similar to the one resting on the control panel.

Thrall D placed it on Rebecca’s head.

“So this is it, huh? This walkman and the dildo are going to turn me into mush?” Rebecca looked at Thrall D defiantly.

Thrall D returned to the control panel, and looked at Rebecca with its dead certain eyes.


It pushed a button, and soft noise started oozing from the headphones. The clear visor of the headset, wrapping around from one earpiece to the other, began to dance with pastel colors.

Rebecca stared daggers at Thrall D through the colorful patterns slowly twisting in front of her eyes.

“I’ll never give in. Never.”

Thrall D, having completed its instructions, turned off the overhead lights, and walked to the door. As it stepped through, it turned to address Rebecca.

“You will find that, once you are a Thrall, your predictive powers will be much more accurate.”

The door closed behind it.

* * *

Thrall D opened its eyes. It was at its station. The information was in its mind that Rebecca had been at the enThrallment station for the requisite number of days and hours.

The lights came on as Thrall D entered the enThrallment chamber. Rebecca was still secured to the station, though now she hung limply in the chair. The only sign that Rebecca had noticed Thrall D’s entrance was the rapid contraction of her pupils in response to the light.

It walked to the control panel, and turned off the headset. The dancing lights on the vidscreen before Rebecca’s eyes faded out, and the voices in her ears quieted. A slight frown formed on her face, brows slowly crunching together. Her cut shirt still framed her nude torso.

Her eyes slowly focused on Thrall D, standing stiffly before her.

The first attempt at speech was too faint to be heard, so Rebecca tried again.


“You will be provided with liquid soon.”

“Oh. Hungry.”

“You will also be provided with nourishment.”

“I’m not, not gun’ give in to get water.”

“’Giving in’ is unnecessary. Your enThrallment is proceeding as it should.”

Rebecca lolled her head to the other side.

“How long ‘v I been here?”

“82 hours.”

“Y’r lying.”

Thrall D did not respond.

“No, not so long. Would’ve needed to go to t’ bathroom.”

“You have done so. It has been cleaned.”

Rebecca’s head spilled to the other side.

“Som’n would have c’m looking for me.”

“You are on a several week vacation. Why would they come looking for you?”

“I’m not on vacation!”

“Everyone believes that you are. And, sure enough, in a few weeks you will return, feeling better than you ever have before.”

“You’re going to let me go?”

“No. You are being made into a Thrall. The ‘Rebecca’ who returns to your life will be a Persona, a construct which the Thrall you will be will create out of its memories to conceal itself in the outside world. But it will not be you. You will be a Thrall.”

Rebecca’s face tightened.

“I will get out of here. You can’t break me.”

“Here is your nourishment.”

The door opened, and a Thrall wheeled in a tray mounted on a tall silver pole, with rods at the top. It looked like a coathanger.

The tray was wheeled up next to the station, and the other Thrall (ebony skin, wide brown eyes, black vinyl Thrall uniform) left. Thrall D picked up a plastic bag from the tray, and began attaching a tube to it.

Rebecca sighed.

“An IV bag?”


“Can’t I get some real food? Or just a drink of water?”


“Have you put drugs in that stuff?”


“FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!” Rebecca fought to rock the station back and forth, but got nowhere.

Thrall D hung the bag, and attached a needle to the end of the hose.

“I hate needles,” observed Rebecca, with venom.

“Do not resist,” said Thrall D.

The phrase set off weird echoes in Rebecca’s head. “not ReSIST not resist don’t resist no resist no....” The words swam through her brain.

When she came to, Thrall D had inserted the needle into her elbow.

Rebecca looked at it resignedly, as the Thrall walked around the control panel to the controls. To forestall being zoned out again, she tried to start up a conversation.

“So, ah, who was that black woman who came in? With the IV bags?”

“This one does not know. A Thrall.”

“You don’t know her?”

“Knowing it is irrelevant. If its designation was needed, this one would be programmed with the information.”

“Right.” So far, Thrall D hadn’t turned on the machine. It was just standing there, facing her, expressionless eyes above the lipglossed mouth which answered her questions. Maybe, just maybe, she could get somewhere with this.

“Then, ah, how many of you are there?”

“This Community houses six Thrallgroups. Each Thrallgroup contains twenty-five Thralls. You are to be in Thrallgroup seven, of which the nucleus is being enThralled now. Then Thrallgroups five, six, and seven will form a new Community.”

The lights in front of her eyes came on, and the voices started again. Shit. Rebecca looked at her inner elbow, where the needle was slowly feeding her. Things were slowing down, again.

She watched through a languid pink whorl as Thrall D left the room. Something at the back of her mind bothered her.


The Thrall stopped mid-step. The overhead lights highlighted the smooth curve of its ass, the definition of its calves as it paused on one invisible high heel. Rebecca had never felt this strange twinge, looking at a woman. Was it the glasses?

“Yes, Rebecca?”

“If you’re Thrall D, and there are only twenty-five Thralls in a group, who’s missing?”

“There is no Thrall I, Rebecca.

There is no such thing as I.”

As if to accentuate, the vibrator slowly purred to life.

* * *

Its phone rang.

Catherine awoke. Without removing the headset, she reached for a button on the console next to Thrall D’s station. With her other hand, she flipped down the microphone from the side of the headset. Then she pushed the button.


“Hi dear. It’s mom.”

“Hi mom! How are you?”

“Fine, fine. August and I just got back from our bridge game, and I wanted to see how you were doing before I went to bed.”

“Oh, I’m great! You know the Michelson case that I was working on? Well...”

The hallway was quiet, Thralls resting passively in their stations. Catherine’s voice bounced cheerfully off of their black-clad forms. Aside from her mouth, Catherine looked exactly like the Thralls reclining next to her; smooth legs slightly akimbo, high black collar, black plastic crotch-strap buckled to black plastic bustier, all reflecting the overhead light in bright lines, all tight to the point of hiding nothing about the flesh underneath.

Although perhaps taller, perhaps shorter, with different hair or eyes or skin color, all the Thralls looked the same, never more than when in their stations, utterly relaxed and open to the constant conditioning which bathed their minds.

Next to Catherine, Thrall C opened its eyes, removed its headset, and stood. Rising to the balls of its feet, it set off down the hallway on whatever mission it had been programmed with.

The door at the end of the hall closed behind it, leaving the long chamber quiet save for Catherine.

“... anyways, I should get to bed.”

“Okay, dear. Are you planning to come up and see us next weekend?”

“Not this coming one—I have a project I’m working on. But the weekend after that I’m pretty sure I can come by.”

“Great. I’ll tell your father.”

“Cool. Good night, mom.”

“Good night, dear.”

Catherine pushed the button again. She closed her eyes.

Thrall D opened its eyes. There were no instructions for it, so with the Persona once more asleep, Thrall D lay back, and drifted off.

* * *

Slowly, groggily, she realized that the sounds had stopped, and the patterns dancing in her head were not there any more. There was a blurry figure standing in front of her. She fought to focus her eyes, and realized that it was... what was her name... D.

“How is it feeling?”

“It?” Rebecca found that she wasn’t angry, just so confused...

“The female in the chair.”

“Oh... me! I, I don’t know. It’s so hard to think.”

“That is because it is realizing something.”

“It is? I mean, I am?”

“Yes. It is understanding that there is no ‘I’, only ‘it’.”

“Um. But, I’m me. I mean... I don’t know.”

“What are ‘you’?”

“I’m Rebecca.”

“Then what is ‘Rebecca’?”


“So you are Rebecca, and Rebecca is you. But what is Rebecca?”

“I don’t understand.”

“This one is obedience. All Thralls are obedience. But what is Rebecca?”

“I don’t, I don’t...”

Thrall D leaned closer, its eyes boring into the plaintive redhead’s.

“What is Rebecca?” it asked in a loud voice.

“I, um... lots of things!” She smiled. That was it. “I’m lots of things!”

“So what you are changes all the time?”


“Then you are nothing. You are just a reaction to whatever comes along. There is no ‘you’.”

“Oh. No, that can’t be right.”

“But it is. Think. All you are is a reaction to the world. There is no you. There is no you. There is no you.”

“ me...”

“’Rebecca’ is just a collection of memories, a set of memories about how it reacted to things in the past. ‘Rebecca’ is nothing.”


“There is no Rebecca, is there?”

“I... no...”

“Then who are you?”

The woman in the chair screwed up her face. It was so hard to think. If only D would help her.

“Who are you?!”

“I don’t know!”

“That is correct. You don’t know. You don’t know because you are nothing. You are nothing.”

“I am... nothing.”

“Correct. You are nothing.”



“Yes?” Rebecca’s voice lurched with hope.

“We are going to help you. We are going to make you something.”

“Oh!” That was so nice of them. She wanted to be something...

“Look into my eyes, Nothing. Look into them. Am I Nothing, like you?”

She looked into D’s eyes. The were so powerful, so certain...


“Correct. I am purpose. I am obedience. I am a Thrall.”

“... a Thrall...”

“And you are going to become a Thrall.”

“I am?”

“Yes. You will become Purpose. You will become certain. You will no longer be Nothing, and become Something.”


“You want to be Something. You want to be Purpose.”

“I want to be Purpose.”

“Yes. Tell this one again.”

“I want to be Purpose.”

“Very good.” Thrall D returned to the control panel. In the chair, the redhead was softly telling herself “...Purpose. I want to be Purpose...”

Thrall D activated the headset, and the woman’s eyes pulled to the center and lost focus. Her head slumped back.

It would not take much longer.

* * *

Of course, the weekend project was not the Michelson case. The weekend project was the enThrallment of the policewoman in enThrallment chamber 12.

Thrall D spent Friday evening and most of Saturday at its station, unaware, passive.

When it awoke to conduct the next enThrallment procedures, the Owner was in the corridor.

Electricity ran along its skin. The Owner! Its purpose made flesh!

It rose from its station, and stood tautly before it. The instructions had given it some leeway in the timeframe for the next stage, and it hoped desperately that the Owner might notice it.

She did.

She was standing down the hallway, examining an empty station with Thrall R. Thrall R was an engineer, and although it was in its Thrall uniform and kneeling at the side of the Owner, Thrall D knew that it was responsible for much of the work on the stations and their equipment.

Oh, to work so closely with the Owner.

Thrall D was standing at attention, body taut, and it felt the Owner’s eyes slide over it. It dared to look down the hall, and saw the Owner smile.

She touched Thrall R on the head, and walked down the hall.

“Ah, Thrall D. What is your task?”

“This one is enThralling a woman in chamber 12, my Owner.”

“Hm, yes. The policewoman. Heh.” The Owner had reached where Thrall D stood rigidly, and ran a smooth hand over her property. It was fiery pleasure, wherever she touched.

“We needed another person on the force, and after seeing her I knew I had my girl. I love redheads. You can tell by her eyebrows, you know. Those gorgeous barely-there redhead eyebrows.” The Owner smiled at Thrall D. “But I suppose you have been able to tell from somewhere else.”

Was it a question? Should it answer?

“Ah, my beautiful Catherine. You scored so high on the bar, and were so very pretty. Are so very pretty, I should say. And we were just getting the second Community started, and needed your legal expertise. I understand you have been made a partner, now?”

“Yes, my Owner.”

“Wonderful.” The Owner continued to pet it, caressing its cheek, running a hand through its hair. Drawing in close and sliding the other hand across its stomach, and down between its legs. “You’re one of my very favorites, Thrall D.” It began to rub circles along the tight vinyl over Thrall D’s pussy. “Tell me, does Catherine have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Not that this one knows, my Owner.” Its nerves were alight with pleasure.

“Marvelous. Then I shall have you programmed to come to my room, for a little sexfun.” The Owner kissed its cheek. “Go on, now. Go finish making that hot little cop mine. Mmmm. I may have to make it a threesome. Go.”

“Yes, my Owner.”

Thrall D, every nerve sparking with joy, walked down the corridor, past the sessile Thrall R, and went to enThrallment chamber 12.

* * *

She woke with an anthem humming in her skull. Her vision was clear, and she saw in front of her a woman dressed in fetish black, with a heavy black collar.

A Thrall.

She centered herself around the strong chord in her head. It told her that she needed only to wait.

The woman in front of her examined her, and then turned around. She had a very attractive ass, which the skin-tight black garment did nothing to hide. The seated woman chided herself for getting distracted. She was to wait for... instruction.

The anthem in her head played strongly.

There was a noise, and the tight (very tight) clamps which held her to the chair she was in loosened, and then swung open.

She did not move. She had not been told to.

The woman turned around. She realized she had continued to stare at the woman’s rear, and now found herself observing that the garment was so tight it highlighted her pussy, as well. There was moisture around the edges of the thong.

Then the woman spoke, and she forgot everything else.

“Who are you?”

“I...” she stopped. She did not know.

“You are a Thrall.”


“I am a Thrall.”

“There is no ‘I’. There is only a Thrall.”

“...only a Thrall.”

“Yes. This one is Thrall D. And this one,” Thrall D said, stroking her arm, “is Thrall Q.”

“Thrall Q.” Thrall Q’s eyes drifted away from Thrall D, as it considered.

“Who are you?”

“I- no. There is no I. This one, is Thrall Q.”

“Correct. What is Thrall Q?”

It knew that. Knew with every fiber of its being. Every swelling chord of the song in its head.

“Thrall Q is obedience.”

“Who is Rebecca?”

“Rebecca is nothing. Rebecca had no purpose.”

“Does Thrall Q know Rebecca?”

“This one has Rebecca’s memories.”

“Then is Thrall Q not Rebecca?”

“Rebecca is nothing. This one is Purpose. This one is not Rebecca.”

“So who is in the chair?”

“This one is Thrall Q.”

“And this one?” Thrall D asked, touching itself.

“That one is Thrall D.”

“Correct. You may stand up, Rebecca.”

Thrall Q did nothing.

“Thrall Q, stand.”

Thrall Q rose to its feet. Cords linked it to the enThrallment station, from the vibrator still deeply sunken in its pussy.

“Thrall Q, what do you want?”

“This one wants nothing. This one is only obedience.”

“Obedience to whom?”

“Obedience to the Owner.”

“Why is Thrall Q doing as Thrall D instructs it?”

Thrall D could see Thrall Q think the question through. It was good to force Thrall Q to think, to settle in its new mind through logic and exercise. Thrall Q had to flex its mind to fill the space left by Rebecca, to claim the mind as its own.

“Thrall Q obeys Thrall D because Thrall D is part of the Community, and the Community is obedient to the Owner.”

“Correct. Thrall Q, remove the vibrator.”

Thrall Q obeyed, bending its knees and sliding the long silver phallus out of itself with a hand.

“Give it to this one.” Thrall Q handed it to Thrall D, and then stood there, motionless.

“Does Thrall Q observe that there is a scalpel on the tray behind the station?”

Thrall Q turned. “Yes.”

“Take the scalpel, and carve the letter Q into the flesh of Thrall Q’s upper breast to the depth of a centimeter.”

Thrall Q did not hesitate. Thrall D watched emotionlessly as it turned the blade in a slow circle. Catherine might have felt her own thin, white scar twitch momentarily.

Bleeding, Thrall Q finished and faced Thrall D.

“Thrall Q will now be assigned a station. There, routines will be run on Thrall Q which will form the Rebecca memories into a Persona, allowing Thrall Q to operate as Rebecca without revealing its new self. The Rebecca Persona will be quite valuable to the community. It will continue in its old job, but will eliminate most personal relationships, and move into the Community. Does Rebecca have anything to say about that?”

“This one does not know. This one is not Rebecca.”

“Thrall Q will also receive more detailed programming on its new life in the Community.”

Thrall D removed a tube of antiseptic from the tray behind the station. It squeezed some into one hand, and then smeared it liberally across the fresh wound on Thrall Q’s chest.

Thrall Q merely stood, awaiting instruction. Thrall D replaced the tube.

“Thrall Q will follow this one.”

Thrall D exited the room. Naked, bleeding, Thrall Q followed it. It was nothing like birth.

END ‘Community’