The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


(mc, f/f, nc)

DISCLAIMER: 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.

SYNOPSIS: An acquisitive mind controller targets the downtown gym where Miriam works out.

* * *


Miriam sighed in contentment and rolled her head slowly around, letting the hot water hit just the right spot on the back of her neck.

Club F was a bit more expensive than the World Total Fitness down the block, but good heavens was it worth it. Clean, well-maintained, friendly—and it went the extra mile, with personalized towels and television remotes on the aerobic machines and the high-pressure shower heads.

And no men, ogling you or hitting on you or hogging the equipment.

“You all done Miriam?” came Cassandra’s voice from the aisle. For just a moment Miriam wondered how Cassandra knew it was her, with only her bare feet visible beneath the frosted glass shower door, but then she recalled the towel with her name on it hung just outside and smiled wryly at her own puzzlement.

“Yeah, it’s back to work for me,” she replied, tilting her head back to wet her hair under the intense spray.

“Mmm. In a minute or two.”

Cassandra laughed and Miriam heard her opening a shower door of her own. The water crashed on.

Cassandra was her workout buddy; interning at a web development company a few blocks away. They both came in at lunch, and it was nice to have someone you knew was able to spot you.

Too soon thereafter, Miriam turned off her shower. She opened the door, lifted her towel from the peg, and vigorously rubbed her hair before drying off the rest of her body.

Towel wrapped around herself, she walked down the tiled shower aisle to the dressing room. It was empty save for Eleanor, who was up on a stepladder cleaning the windows which ran along the top of one wall. They were mirrored to let in the light but not let people on the third floor office across the street get a peek at any naked ladies.

“Hey Eleanor,” Miriam said, pulling open her locker. She let the towel drop and took out her gym bag. Out came her clean underwear, loosely folded.

Eleanor looked over. “Hey Miriam. Good workout?”

“Now that it’s over,” Miriam quipped. Actually she really enjoyed her lunchtime workout; it let her work off the stress of the morning and come back to the office energetic, instead of bloated and somnolent after a large lunch.

Like the rest of the partners.

“Must be a masochist then; you keep coming back for more,” Eleanor replied, returning to the window. They certainly didn’t appear to need cleaning, but Miriam couldn’t recall ever seeing Eleanor without something in her hands—a clipboard for her training clients, a wrench as she tightened a Nautilus machine, or a rag or broom or mop or something to do a little cleaning. Club F was her baby and she kept it spotless.

Miriam would have let the cleaners do it, but it wasn’t her gym.

Miriam got dressed; the underwear was fresh, but the shirt and suit were the same she’d worn this morning. Hanging in a full-length locker, they weren’t particularly wrinkled. Accent with pearls and voila! Ready for the rest of the day.

“Take it easy, Eleanor,” Miriam said, zipping up her gym bag, now containing her used workout clothes. She tossed her towel into the hamper and reached for the door.

It opened an instant before she made contact, and Miriam took a startled step back.

“Oh,” the woman entering said, sounding entirely unsurprised, “excuse me.”

She was gorgeous, movie-star, with wavy dark brown hair and cherry red lipstick that no one who didn’t look like that could have gotten away with. Her eyes were a deep blue, with the endless confidence of a woman who was beautiful and knew it.

But Miriam earned two hundred grand a year and wasn’t fazed. “No problem,” she said, smiling back, and held the door open.

The woman smiled at her, with her red mouth and her deep, dark blue eyes—but didn’t walk into the changing room. Instead she extended a hand with glossy red nails.

“I’m Diana,” she said. “Diana Snowdon.”

Miriam had to turn awkwardly, shifting her gym bag into the hand that had been holding the door. “Miriam Dubrosky.” Must have come here for the stairmaster, Miriam thought as she shook the woman’s hand, ‘cause she’s not lifting any weights with those nails.

“And this is Jillian,” the woman said, and only then did Miriam notice a taller, younger woman standing behind her. She was pretty in a much more human way than Ms. Snowdon, long reddish blonde hair and a turned-up nose. She smiled at Miriam.

“Hello,” she said.


“Are you a regular here, Miriam?” Snowdon asked.

Miriam nodded.

“Wonderful. I just found this place, myself. I look forward to seeing more of you.”

There was an intensity to her that was slightly unnerving. “Right,” Miriam replied. “That will be nice. Well, um, excuse me, please.”

“Of course.” Snowdon stepped into the dressing room, Jillian—no last name? Miriam wondered—following her. Those deep blue eyes lingered on Miriam for a long moment, but then Snowdon smiled a perfunctory smile and turned away as Miriam ducked into the hall.

“Eleanor. So nice to see you again,” the woman said, and then the door closed behind Miriam and she was walking down the hall.

Strange, but not overly so. Miriam said good bye to Carmen at the front desk and forgot all about Ms. Snowdon as her mind turned back to the afternoon’s work.

* * *

“... eight... nine... Ten!” She guided the barbell back and dropped it onto the rack with a clang.

“Nice,” Cassandra said, looking down at her. “Didn’t even need my help.”

Miriam sat up and swung her arms open and closed. “Sure I did. I would have stopped at seven if I hadn’t known you’d save me.”

“Save you?”

Miriam snorted. In the wall mirror, she admired her shoulders, the other muscle group she was working on today. Not bad for pushing forty, she thought. Behind her, Cassandra was broad in the shoulders but softer and more willowy. And fifteen years younger.

It had been Cassandra who had suggested the haircut. And Miriam had to confess, she’d been right—although her wavy mid-back locks had always been a source of pride, cut to an inch above the neck they looked sexier and more professional at the same time. And, with a little help from a bottle she kept them a nice uniform auburn instead of the zebra-stripe they were becoming.

Miriam sighed. It’s hell to get old.

She realized Cassandra had been speaking to her.

“Sorry, I was daydreaming. What were you saying?”

“I was just wondering what you thought about the new music.”

“Oh, uh...” Miriam shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“You were repping in time,” Cassandra said with a grin.

“Was I? Heh. I guess that’s what it’s for.”

Before this week, the gym’s ambient music had been light jazz and bland pop—but on Monday it had changed to a house/techno blend, the sort of music that never seemed to have an artist, just a drum machine and a synthesizer.

“It doesn’t seem like Eleanor’s sort of music, though,” Cassandra observed. “I mean, I can’t picture her listening to techno.”

“Beats elevator music.”

“I guess. Okay, you, rest’s over.”

“Slave driver.” Miriam lay back down on the bench and sized up the bar.

“One... two...”

* * *

“I like the haircut,” Vivian said.

Miriam glowed. “Thanks. I do too. My workout buddy recommended a salon over on fifth.”

Vivian waved her fork. “Workout buddy, huh? Is he cute?”

“It’s a she, Viv.” Miriam rolled her eyes. “You know, my love life would be a lot more exciting if you’d just make it up entirely.”

“Very true. How’s Mark?”

Miriam chased a tomato around her plate. “He’s fine. We’re both really busy.”

“Ah.” Vivian took the hint. “Got any plans for the weekend?”

It was a lovely summer day, temperature in the seventies with just a hint of a breeze. Around the sidewalk cafe, people in suits and ties milled around, each about their own very important business. Miriam caught the tomato.

“Gotta work on a couple deals. Nothing in the evenings though.”

“Cool. Want to catch a flick?”

“Sure thing. Which?”

“Dunno. I’ll call.”

“’kay.” Miriam stabbed her last tomato, popped it into her mouth. As usual, Viv had called the very moment that Miriam was leaving for the gym. Normally it wouldn’t bother her—lunches were more delicious when she should be working out—but lately she’d been feeling like she needed to put in more workout time.

Ah well. Missing one or two days a week wouldn’t kill her. Maybe she could go in on Saturday. She’d be downtown anyway.

* * *

The cardio room was surprisingly busy for a Saturday; suburban gyms saw more people on the weekend but Miriam had expected the F to be deserted.

But Yolanda was there, and a couple of women Miriam didn’t know, all of them sweating away on their chosen machines. Miriam looked at the display on her elliptical—only fifteen minutes in. Another half-hour to go.

She was already sweating; the droplets were snaking down her arms to her elbows. Before she was done there would be parallel lines on the floor next to the machine.

Some women—like Yolanda, pedaling furiously on her stationary bike—could read while they worked out. Not Miriam. Her head moved too much, or maybe it was just her attention, for her to focus on text.

Normally she’d watch television, but the three monitors in the room were all gone. There was a sign announcing that they were being replaced.

The ambient techno music was impossible to pay attention to.

She looked at the display. Sixteen minutes down, twenty-nine to go.

The door opened and Miriam looked over. It was a woman in a white coverall, pulling a wheeled cart. On it were three flat-screen monitors, wrapped in bubble wrap, wires jutting from their corners, sat on the cart. The woman pulled the cart in and let the door close.

“Are those for us?” Miriam called out jokingly.

The woman turned. She was wearing a baseball cap, white and logoless. A variety of tools hung from a belt at her waist. Her eyes were blank, bored.

“Yes,” she stated. “These are for you. I will install them.” The woman turned back around.

Miriam blinked. Huh. Not very friendly.

The woman in the coverall wheeled the cart to the front of the room, and opened the step ladder that had been propped against the wall. She set it up beneath one of the empty television racks, and looked up, considering.

Miriam looked at the display. Eighteen minutes down. The woman in the coverall was stepping onto the ladder.

At least I have something to watch now.

* * *

Miriam groaned happily, rolled her head around.

She sure did love these showers. The water was so relaxing...

And she needed it today. Blevins had resigned, stormed out, and although he was a prick and a screw-up, getting half of his case load dropped on her...

Club F also offered massage. Maybe she should look into that. Lying on one of those special tables, having strong hands rub oil into her back...

Definitely a pleasure for after work, though. She needed to be at the office energetic, not boneless.

Miriam squirted some soap into her hand and rubbed it between her fingers. A different sort, not the gently lavender green stuff but sort of silvery, a little oily. But it lathered up well and rinsed off clean, or almost clean. As if to make up for the lack of perfume it had some sort of moisturizer, leaving her skin a little less scented and a little more supple than before.

Overall, probably an improvement.

In her towel on the way down the shower aisle, Miriam wondered at the reason for the recent changes. She’d been coming to Club F for over two years, almost since the day Eleanor had founded it as an alternative to the sweaty meat markets that the other downtown gyms had turned into, and in that time she hadn’t changed a thing. Eleanor had known what she wanted in a gym from day one, and that’s how things had been.

Eleanor had been a professional body builder in the eighties and early nineties. Had managed four clubs in the years since then, had been a personal trainer for hundreds of people. So she knew what a woman wanted in a gym. And she’d set out to provide it.

Well, sometimes new ideas are good, Miriam thought to herself. She didn’t smell quite the same, and was missing that hint of lavender, but in a week or so she wouldn’t notice. And her skin did feel notably softer.

She wanted to ask Eleanor about the music, about the televisions and the new soap, but she hadn’t seen Eleanor for almost a week. Carmen said she was around, just busy.

There was noise in the dressing room, and for a moment Miriam thought it might be Eleanor. It wasn’t, though, it was that new girl, the one who had shown up in the train of the Movie Star. Jillian, that was her name. Pretty girl.

She was getting undressed, sitting on a bench and rolling down her hose. She looked up at Miriam and smiled.

“Hi, Miriam,” she said.

She had rings in her nipples.

Miriam’s breath caught but Outer Miriam didn’t even blink. “Hi, Jillian,” she replied, not stopping as she walked to her locker.

Her locker was in the other row, so now there was a wall between them. Miriam looked into the mirror over the sink from the corner of her eyes.

Jillian was totally naked now, and pulling out her workout clothes. Her nipples were erect, and the glinting golden rings hung from them, heavy and somehow... proprietary.

Miriam’s nipples were responding.

What was going on? She’d never been into piercing, much less girls. But on Jillian those golden hoops seemed... significant. Dangerous.


Miriam swallowed deliberately and opened her locker.

She went to drop her towel and hesitated.

What was with her? She’d always thought of pierced nipples as stupid youthful rebellion. Something girls with more insecurity than sense had done to themselves.

Slowly, she unpeeled her towel.

Her own nipples were hard as bullets.

Oh, you want to join them? Needles and hoops for you, too? she thought at herself and immediately regretted it as her sex informed her that it was actually quite interested in the idea.

Embarrassed, she looked into the mirror again. Jillian wasn’t watching her, was pulling on a jog bra and covering up those dangerous nipples. The jog bra went on and she stood up. Miriam could see the circles the nipple rings made under the fabric.

She closed her eyes. This is stupid.

She opened them and reached for her gym bag, pulled it out, put it down on the bench. Unzipped it.

“Hey, Miriam?”

Jillian was in her row now, looking at her.

Miriam was buck naked.

Her nipples fully engorged.

Ignore it. It’s a locker room, means nothing. “Uh. Yes?”

Jillian was not staring at her tits. Thank goodness. “Where do I get a towel?”

“Oh, uh, didn’t they give you one when you came in?”

Jillian’s eyes flicked down to Miriam’s breasts and back up to her face. The corners of her mouth rose.

Of course not you idiot, otherwise she wouldn’t be asking.

“Um” Miriam tried again, realizing just how fast she was breathing. “They, um, they have them at the front desk. Just ask Carmen for one.”

“Carmen,” Jillian said, nodding slowly. “Okay, thank you, Miriam.”

Miriam nodded. Jillian turned and walked towards the door.

Turned and—she was wearing a thong. A jog bra and a thong. Miriam couldn’t even see the turquoise fabric where it disappeared between her ass cheeks. She was going to work out in a thong, her nipple rings clearly visible under her top and the thong strap completely buried in her ass.

Her smooth, round, flexing marvelous desirable ass-

The exit door swing closed.

Miriam blinked.

What the fuck was that?

She got dressed. She had to put it aside. It was something weird and.... well, it was weird. She didn’t like girls—not that way—and she wasn’t into piercings.

Was she?

No. Just... nothing. Forget it.

On the way out she called Mark on her phone and made a date.

* * *

“...eleven... twelve... unh... unh... thirrrRRRRrteen!”

Cassandra guided the bar back onto the rack and Miriam released it with quivering arms.

“Driving yourself,” Cassandra remarked.

Miriam lay on the bench a moment longer, enjoying the pump, then sat up. “I guess. I dunno, I just... I want to achieve. Want to get somewhere.”

Cassandra nodded. “I understand.”

On the new televisions, a video was playing. ‘Addicted to Love’, by... what was his name? Palmer, that was it.

“What channel is this?” Miriam asked.

“Dunno. It’s like VH1, but VH1 doesn’t play music any more.”

Miriam nodded. The mannequin girls in his band sure had glossy lips.

“You know what’s strange about it?” Cassandra asked. In the mirror Miriam could see that she was speaking to Miriam without looking away from the monitor.


“The music. We’re not listening to ‘Addicted to Love’.”

“What’s weird about that? The televisions are on a different audio channel. If you had headphones you could probably hear it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But the weird part is... the beat is the same. Listen.”

Curious, Miriam tried to focus on the music. It was difficult—the techno had become so non-intrusive that she barely noticed it any more. But it was there, and sure enough, although it was a totally different song, the beat was the same beat the glossy-lipped girls were swaying to.

“Huh. You’re right.”

“And why do we have teevees in the weight room anyway? We never used to.”

“I don’t know.”

Cassandra fell quiet and they watched the video finish. Another one came on, for a song Miriam didn’t know.

“Don’t you like the televisions?” Miriam asked, as a video girl sashayed towards her in a bikini. “If we complained I’m sure Eleanor would take them out, or at least turn them off...”

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Cassandra replied quickly, “just...” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Anyway, get back to work. Enough slacking—you must lift now.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Miriam joked, and dropped back to the bench.

* * *

The glass door with the ‘F’ stencilled on it swung closed behind her.

“Hey Carmen,” Miriam said to the girl at the desk.

“Hello Miriam,” Carmen replied.

She seemed lost in thought, or maybe in the music her headphones were playing. Miriam would have teased her but she was running late, had been at a lunch meeting and needed to get in her workout. She couldn’t miss her workout.

Cassandra would be leaving. Maybe Miriam could catch her in the locker room to say ‘hi’.

As she raced by Eleanor’s office door, she could hear Eleanor speaking softly inside. Miriam slowed down.

She had wanted to talk to Eleanor, wanted to ask... something.

Cassandra would have to pass by this way. Miriam stopped and returned to the office.

She listened at the door. Eleanor was still speaking.

“Yes,” she said in a flat tone of voice. “Yes. Yes.”

Agreeable of her. She must be on the phone.

Miriam tapped at the door.

“Yes,” Eleanor repeated. “Yes.”

Miriam tried the handle. The door wasn’t locked, so she pushed it open and stuck in her head.

Eleanor was at her desk, looking at her computer. She wasn’t on the phone. She looked up at Miriam and her head swung slowly, like her thoughts were far away.

It took a moment for her eyes to focus.


“Oh, uh, hi Eleanor.”

“Hello Miriam.”

“I’m, uh, I wanted to ask...”


She felt stupid. What had she wanted to ask?

Nothing came. She licked her lips. “Uh. I’ll come back.”

“Okay,” Eleanor replied.

Miriam shut the door gingerly.

She paused for a moment. Eleanor must have picked up the phone again, because she began to speak softly once more.

“Yes,” she said.


* * *

Lunch had been puzzling.

Vivian had called, wanted to meet her for lunch, but of course that would conflict with going to Club F so Miriam had turned her down. She had to go to the Club, had to put in her workout time. Had to.

But Vivian wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. She showed up at eleven twenty and practically dragged Miriam out to a cafe. In the face of her determination, Miriam’s need to go to the Club was insufficient.

So they had lunch.

It was strange. Vivian wanted to know why Miriam had tried to ‘blow her off’, when she’d done no such thing. She had just been busy, that’s all. ‘Too busy for Mark?’

What had that meant? So he’d called... he didn’t own her. She had her own needs.

And Miriam hadn’t really had anything to say. She tried, asking about Vivian’s job, about her upcoming trip to Majorca, but it didn’t seem all that important. She needed to be at the gym.

When she left she had the feeling Vivian was still mad at her.

* * *

Eleanor was at the front desk, smiling.

“Hello, Miriam,” she said, her smile widening.

“Hi Eleanor,” Miriam said. “Where’s Carmen?”

“She’s in a session,” Eleanor replied. She seemed... unfocused. Almost dopey. “Here,” she said, picking up a tangle of thin wire and a little black box, “this is for you.”

Miriam took it. It was a tiny MP3 player and headphones. “What’s this?” she asked.

“It it your workout music,” Eleanor replied dreamily. “Prepared especially for you.”

Miriam examined the gadget. It was tiny and light, and mounted on an armband. The earplugs were black like the player, the armband a glossy black as well. She could see dozens of the little players on the desk behind the counter, in several different colors.

“For me? But... I don’t have a training schedule. Not, uh, with the club.”

“We know,” Eleanor replied. “It does not matter—the music is for you. There is no reason we should all listen to the same music. Now you will have personalized music. Just a little extra feature from Club F. Just like the towels. If you have any other requests, we will hasten to fulfil them.” She said it all in the same tone of voice, as though she had rehearsed it.

Miriam frowned a little. The club music had always been fine, especially recently. Miriam had grown to really like it, although she could never remember any of the lyrics. It helped her pace and control her workouts.

Then she shrugged. “Well, okay...”

It couldn’t hurt. She could ask them to put the club music onto the player. And she was curious to find out what they had picked out for her, anyway.

Eleanor’s bland smile widened a little. “Oh,” she added, reaching under the counter and opening a door, “and here’s your bottle.” She handed a slick black sports bottle across.

Miriam took it. “My bottle?”

“Your water bottle. The drinking fountains are being worked on and there is no reason to force you to buy bottled water. It’s cold.”

“Oh. Okay.” It was cold in her hand.

Eleanor smiled at her again, then pivoted her chair to face the door.

Miriam looked at the side of Eleanor’s head for a moment, then went to work out.


* * *

Something was beeping at her.

Miriam shook her head lightly. Her time was up—the LED readout on the elliptical machine was flashing forty-five.

Forty-five minutes. She hadn’t even noticed, just zoned out the whole time.

But she had been working it. In the mirror her hair was mussed and her skin glistened with sweat. Her jogbra was soaked through, her workout shorts dark along her thighs. The wet sweat stripes graced the rubber floormat on either side of her machine.

There was a music video playing on the teevee screen. She’d been watching it, obviously, but not paying attention. She couldn’t remember anything that had played. She could remember that when she’d started her workout, she had turned the teevee to MSNBC, but obviously at some point she had changed it.

The dancing women on the screen were pulling her in, urging her to work out some more, to start walking forward and put in another forty-five minutes or an hour or a lifetime on the elliptical, arms and legs swinging rhythmically, mind empty and smooth.

Empty and smooth.

But she had to, had work to do. Work at home. It wasn’t afternoon, it was evening. She had started coming to work out after work, too. She wanted to spend more time here. More time here. After her disastrous last date she didn’t feel like going out in the evening anyway.

So she’d been working out in the evenings as well as at lunch. Might as well get in some self-improvement.

It was time to go home now. The Tucker case needed review, she had a meeting tomorrow and lots of material to read. Reluctantly, she stepped off the elliptical.

Her head jerked painfully.

Ow! Miriam frowned unhappily. Oh, of course—she had forgotten about the headphones. When she was lifting weight they were to be plugged into her armband player, but on the cardio machines she plugged them into the machine jack. Gingerly, she pulled them out of her ears.

The room was suddenly quiet.

I sure am dopey tonight, she thought. She unplugged the headphones from the control box mounted on the elliptical and folded the cords neatly in her hand.

The only sound now was the soft shooshing of the other cardio machines. There were two women sharing the cardio room with Miriam; she hadn’t even noticed when they came in. Bethany, a reporter for the Post, was climbing the endless steps of a stairmaster, and a woman Miriam had seen around but didn’t know was strolling steadily on a treadmill.

Neither of them noticed her noticing them. Their eyes were fixed on the televisions, the colors of the dancers glittering on their glassy surfaces. Their headphone cords swung back and forth.

Miriam had looked like that, a moment ago. Peaceful and empty-headed.

But she had to go home. Had work to do.

Watching the treadmill woman’s breasts sway back and forth seemed much more pleasant, though. Back, and forth, in counterpoise to her measured steps. They were larger than Miriam’s own, much larger than Bethany’s, whose pace the woman exactly matched. Miriam wanted to touch them, feel their smooth weight in her hands.



She wasn’t... ?

The thought woke her a little. Not enough to wonder, just enough to hesitate.

Enough to about face, and head for the showers.

* * *

It was just getting light outside as Miriam entered the gym. She said ‘hi’ to Carmen at the front desk, collected her player and her water bottle, and headed for the changing room to drop off her garment bag. No sense getting dressed for work at home and then changing again at the gym.

She was hanging the bag up in her locker when Cassandra walked in.

“Hey, Cassandra,” Miriam said, a little surprised.

“Miriam!” I didn’t know you were working out in the morning.”

“Yes,” Miriam replied, “I need to work out in the morning.”

“Yes,” nodded Cassandra, “I need to work out in the morning. Too.”

Cassandra smiled at her for a moment before walking to her locker; there was nothing else to say. Miriam closed her locker and put on her black armband, tucked the earbuds into her ears.

Since Cassandra was here, maybe they could work out together. She walked around the edge of the locker row.

Cassandra was putting on her own armband. It was white, white leather with a white Guide tucked into it and white wires which Cassandra was inserting into her ears.

No. They couldn’t work out together. Miriam’s Guide directed her workout. Cassandra’s Guide would direct her. Neither of them was programmed for a workout partner.

Miriam smiled fondly at Cassandra. Oh well. She turned and left the changing room.

* * *

“... eighteen, nineteen, twenty.”

Miriam let the dumbells slowly return to her sides. She stared at her reflection for a moment, enjoying her tight belly, her swollen shoulders. Wednesday evenings were for shoulders and abs. She would focus on improving them.

Coming to the Club three times a day was really improving her physique.

At the right place in the music, she re-racked the weights, slowly came erect. Her Guide was pulsing rest beats, so she waited quietly for her next activity.

She admired herself some more, her strong arms, her thighs, the slightly absent look in her eyes. Eleanor looked like that, she remembered vaguely. When she was handing out Guides. It must be a reaction to a really good workout. All the blood in the muscles, none in the brain.

Her Guide sounded a tone, and she turned and left the weight room.

In the changing room she stripped, putting her Guide in the slot with her name on it. She sucked the last of the water from her bottle, swallowed, and put it in the cubbyhole as well. Carmen or Eleanor would retrieve them and reload them for her session tomorrow morning. Her workout clothes she dropped on the bench next to her locker, from which she took her towel, and walked naked to the shower.

Showering felt soooo good—the hot water hitting that perfect spot on the back of her neck, running her hands slowly all over her taut, wet body...


She had such a great body. And it was getting better every day, every minute she spent at the Club. She almost hated to leave, to go back home.

A thirty-minute shower wasn’t too much of an indulgence. She could tell from the crash of water in other stalls that she wasn’t alone.

But eventually, she had to go home. Had to sleep, to get up and come back for her morning workout. Then work, then her noon workout, some more work and then back for three hours in the evening.

It was a busy schedule.

But oh so rewarding.

* * *

Miriam wished she could quit and spend all her time at the Club.

She’d been late that evening, two hours late, because of that stupid client presentation. And then another hour afterwards with Dick and Terry and Paul telling her what a great job she had done, how impressed the client had been with her work and how thorough, talk about making her the managing partner once old Kling stepped down.

So fucking unimportant.

She held her head under the sweet warm water and wondered when she had stopped caring. Her work was as good as ever—better, even. The focus that her workouts gave her let her cut right to the chase, let her power through reams of case material without wondering about... about anything else, really.

But she really just wanted to be here, blissing out on the elliptical or robotically powering through a weight set or ohhhh yesss standing in the shower touching her sleek hard muscles....

It had to be almost midnight. And her morning workout would start at six.


Stupid meetings. Those assholes had actually wanted her to have drinks with them.

How long would that have taken? She had a three hour workout that she must do.

But the workout and the shower made it all better. Miriam smoothed her hands up the gentle ripple of her abs, over her smooth breasts, and with a sigh turned off the water.

She picked up her towel, dried off, and tossed it in the hamper, which Eleanor had wisely moved into the shower aisle.

Nude, she walked back to her locker. Since she was just going home, she could get by without a bra...

The outer door opened. Curious, Miriam leaned over to see who was coming in.

It was Mist- Miss Snowdon.

Miriam’s heart sped up. She was in white, white workout clothes—a jogging bra and cycle shorts, both of which clung to her figure in just the right way. Her bare skin was cream flushed with pink, and dewed with sweat, her auburn hair wet-dark where it decorated her temples and her neck.

She looked like a movie goddess.

She saw Miriam, and her red red lips formed a small smile. “Miriam.”

“Mis- Miss Snowdon.”

She nodded. “You are looking very in-shape, Miriam. Your workouts are good?”

“Yes, Miss Snowdon. Very very good.”


She lifted her arms and Miriam’s heart almost stopped when she realized that Miss Snowdon was taking off her clothes.

The jog-bra went up over her head and her breasts flounced down, pale cream with rose-pink nipples and Miriam stared at them like they weren’t real. The perfect teats of a faerie goddess.

Miriam realized that She was hooking her fingers into her waistband and looked away before the sight of Miss Snowdon’s sex melted her mind.

This is silly, she told herself, staring into her locker. I’m naked too. In the showers we are all naked. In the showers we must be naked.

But it’s Misssss...

Her heart felt as tight as her nipples.


She had to look.

Miss Snowdon had gone into the shower aisle, stopped and was looking back. The smooth curves of her backside were perfection in porcelain flesh. Somehow Miriam looked up at her eyes.

“Mis- Miss Snowdon?”

“You seem tense, Miriam. Before you go home, you must get a massage.”

Must get a massage.

“Yes, Miss Snowdon. I must get a massage.”

She nodded, and stepped—naked, so beautifully perfectly naked—into the shower aisle, out of Miriam’s view.

She must get a massage.

Miriam hoped that, at midnight, there was still a masseuse on duty. She couldn’t imagine that Charles or Rita were working now. Didn’t they only work by appointment anyway?

No matter. She must get a massage.

Miriam considered the inside of her locker. What should she wear to get her massage? Her towel was in the hamper. But one didn’t wear clothes to a massage.

The massage rooms were down the hall. From the front desk one might catch a glimpse of her if she went naked.

She put her shirt back on, and slipped into her slacks. She could come back for her underwear and suit jacket, shoes, etc. later.

Barefoot, she left the changing room and walked down the hall. As she crossed the entry hall she could see Carmen at the front desk, headphones on, staring blankly at the front door. Her lips were moving, slowly. Singing to herself.

Miriam crossed the hall to the function wing—this is where the spin classes, the yoga, the self-defense happened. She’d never been one for group exercise classes, didn’t come down here much. That might change, though. This was also where the massage rooms were, each with a massage table and a cabinet full of the tools of the trade.

The light was out in Rita’s room, but it was on in Charles’.

Miriam knocked.

The door swung open.

It was Jillian.

Miriam’s breath caught.

Jillian was wearing a light grey spaghetti-string top, and her rings were clearly visible Os in the taut fabric over her breasts. Miriam’s peripheral vision caught sight of a bikini bottom but her focus was unable to wrench itself lower. She did manage to look up into her grey-green eyes.

Jillian smiled. “Hello, Miriam. Are you here for a massage?”

“I must get a massage,” Miriam replied quietly, nodding.

“Then come in,” Jillian said.

She did. Jillian swung the door closed behind her.

The room was small, perhaps ten feet by ten feet. One wall was covered by a life-size photo-print of some woodland grove. In the center of the room was the massage table, beige leather with a circular headrest.

“Is Charles...?” Miriam asked.

“Charles is no longer working here,” Jillian replied. “Please take off your clothes.”

Miriam did, her fingers trembling but not enough to keep her from undoing the shirt buttons or the hooks on her slacks. Without her panties, she was soon completely naked.

“Lie down,” Jillian said, gesturing at the table.

Miriam mounted it gingerly. The leather was cool but not uncomfortable. She let her weight press down into it, thankful that it disguised her nipples, which had become metal-hard at the sight of Jillian.

Jillian picked up and folded her clothes, which she placed on the sideboard nearby. Miriam watched, tried to watch the hands and not the nipple-capped circles under the grey cloth.

“Head down,” Jillian said.

The leather form held Miriam’s head gently. There was a flat-panel display on the floor beneath her, but it was black.

She heard wet sounds, the rubbing of flesh on slick flesh. A moment later warm, oily hands gingerly pressed down on her back.

“Mmmm, Miriam,” Jillian said. “You do have a wonderful body.”

Miriam stifled her whine. Those soft but firm hands on her back, that voice... Oh Lord, was she getting wet? Would Jillian notice?

Wasn’t she supposed to be wearing a towel down there?

“I’m not sure,” Jillian was saying, “why you came for a massage.”

“I must get a massage,” Miriam mumbled.

“I know. And you always do what you must. But you don’t really need a massage, Miriam. You are already so loose. So relaxed. It’s really just petting, what I’m doing. Your firm strong muscles are already relaxed, soothed, calm. Barely awake. I’m just stroking them, petting them, helping them further into sleep.”

She was speaking very softly but the room was still and Miriam wasn’t moving at all, just listening and enjoying the slow slick feel of Jillian’s hands on her. Her worry about Jillian’s seeing her sexual arousal faded.

“You are so relaxed, so soothed, so calm. Quiet and calm, almost asleep. Melted, melted like your muscles and the oil that I am slowly rubbing into your sleeping body. Your whole body is so loose, so relaxed, so asleep. I am pushing and molding it and there is no resistance, only slumber, only sleep.”

It was true. There was no resistance, only sleep, throughout her body.

“All parts of you are asleep, Miriam, loose and asleep and pliable. There is nothing you must do, nothing you must think, only relax and release yourself into sleep. Join your pliant melted body in sleep.”

In sleep.

“Sleep, Miriam. Sleep.”

The last little corner of her awareness sagged happily.

* * *

There was a woman standing in front of the front desk that Miriam didn’t know.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” Carmen was saying. “We aren’t accepting new memberships at the present moment. Please come back in a month.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Look, the Sports Club is a total pick-up scene and I heard that you’re a women-only gym, and I don’t see why one more person—”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” Carmen repeated. “We would love to have you as a member but we have certain restrictions and we are not accepting new memberships at the present moment. Please, if you give me your contact information I shall be in touch the instant a slot opens up. Hello Miriam.”

“Hello Carmen,” Miriam said. Carmen handed her her music player and her water bottle. They smiled at each other, and then Carmen went back to stonewalling and Miriam walked into the gym.

She hadn’t known they weren’t taking new members. Eleanor had said only... a month? two?... ago that they needed more members.

Oh, well.

Miriam changed in an empty changing room, put on her workout clothes and strapped her Guide to her arm. Then she went back into the hall to the weight room.

She was not to start her music before she began her workout, so she could hear clearly the soft voice coming from behind Eleanor’s closed office door as she passed.

“Yes. Yes. Yes, I have the complete list of home addresses. Yes. Phone numbers. Yes. Yes, Mistress.”


Miriam wanted to say it. “Mistress,” she whispered to herself.

She was already breathing hard as she picked up her weights.

* * *

By chance, Miriam finished her workout at the same time as Bethany. The tone sounded in her ears and she let her legs cycle down, stepped off the elliptical. As the wind-down music played, she stared at her reflection, taut and fit in the mirror. A perfect doll, strong and ready to dance on its strings.

She noticed Bethany was doing the same, standing at attention next to the stairmaster, staring blankly at her own reflection.

Their eyes met.

The tone sounded again, and they both pivoted to walk towards the exit.

Bethany held the door open for her.

“Miriam,” she said.

The music was still playing—for both of them, Bethany’s wires from her white Guide ran to the white plugs in her own ears—but softly enough to converse. “Hello, Bethany.”

“Miriam, I...”

They were walking down the hall, steps paced to the music. The changing room was fifty-eight steps ahead.

“Yes, Bethany?”

An emotion fluttered across her face. Her pretty face, so neatly framed in her short blonde hair. “Isn’t this all a little... strange?” she asked.

Forty-one steps. “Strange?” Miriam asked.

Bethany nodded. “How... robotic we are. I don’t... used to be different?”

Miriam did not know how to respond. Was it strange? It was utterly correct, that she was certain of. But it was... different.

She let the music guide her. Twenty steps. No need to respond.

“Miriam I—” Bethany tried.

“Yes, Bethany?”

“I’m a little afraid of what’s happening. It’s not, I shouldn’t be like this. Wasn’t like this.”

Miriam searched for a reply. “Oh,” was all she found.

They entered the changing room and split neatly to reach their lockers. Miriam removed her earbuds, drank the last of her water. Put the empty container and the player in the cubicle. Took her towel.

She rejoined Bethany on the walk into the shower. Bethany had a hard body, like hers only smaller, and Miriam wanted to touch it. Her blonde pubic hair had been trimmed until it was only a hint, her belly was hard and her small breasts capped with dark, hard nipples.

Like her own, Miriam thought—and they were hard for the same reason. Bethany was looking at the neatly trimmed hair between Miriam’s legs, and Miriam wanted to stop, spread, and give her a good look.

But it was shower time.

To her surprise—and gratification—Miriam discovered that the shower doors had been replaced; the frosted glass was gone, and instead a sheet of perfectly clear glass with a little bronze handle welcomed her to the stall.

Everyone could see her naked body as she showered.

She wanted to be seen.

Miriam hung the towel on the wall hook, and turned on the shower.

Bliss. Hot water and her hands on her body.

Sadly, Bethany had taken a stall further down on the same side, so Miriam could not see her. Poor Bethany, worried about...



It is... strange, Miriam thought. I am... working out to... a program?

It was strange. She never used to work out six hours a day. She was spending all her time here at the Club.

I love the Club.

Of course she was spending her time here. This is where she belonged, where she felt good. Miriam smiled and let her fingers dip lower, ruffling through her public hair...

There was a foot and then a body outside of her shower stall.

It was the woman she didn’t know with the big breasts. Breasts that were now free of clothes, hanging heavy and slightly outward over her curved belly. Her workouts were different from Miriam’s, aerobic training rather than strength, and her curves were fuller and smoother than Miriam’s own.

Miriam stared hungrily at her.

She stared back.

She had stopped in the aisle, transfixed by Miriam’s wet nakedness. Her eyes slid over Miriam’s body, over her flexed thighs and her strong arms. Over her breasts and her belly and her hand where it reached down for her sex...

Their eyes caught. She had deep brown eyes, and they were glassy and bovine. Entranced.

She looked down again, at Miriam’s slick body.

Miriam licked her lips, slid her hand lower, and worked her middle finger up into her pussy.

Their eyes met again.

Her lips moved, silently.

“I must shower now.”

Miriam nodded.

The woman with the wonderful breasts turned slightly and walked further down the aisle.

Miriam wiggled her finger just an iota and came.

* * *

Miriam walked stiffly down the street.

She now knew that she did not belong out here. She belonged in Club F. The people here were... irrelevant. Unimportant. All that was truly important was in the Club. Her workouts. Her music.

Her training.

They had wanted her on another case but she had declined. She would work as little as possible—her career meant nothing. She had to pay for food and rent and for her membership. She was too good for them to dismiss, and her clients loved her.

There was no reason to become a senior partner.

It was noon now. She would train for an hour and then return to work.


Startled, she looked over. Bethany was walking next to her.

“Hello Bethany. Are you going to the Club?”

The word seemed to touch Bethany physically. “I... no,” she stammered. “I don’t...” she stopped and took a deep breath.

Miriam kept walking.

A hand on her arm pulled at her. “Miriam. Please. Stop.”

Miriam stopped.


“Don’t go. Please. That place, it’s doing something to us. I’m not an automaton. I don’t work out all the time. I like to, like to, eat out and see friends and go to the movies. It’s not right, Miriam. Don’t you see?”

She was pleading, not just with Miriam but with herself.

“I...” Miriam said.

“I must go to the Club.”

Bethany swallowed.

Miriam turned, stared at her, drilled into her. “I must go to the Club,” she repeated, firmly, softly. “I must to go the Club.”

“ the Club,” Bethany whispered, her eyes wide.

Miriam slowly raised a hand, took Bethany’s where it gripped her. “Yes. I must go to the Club. Yes. I must go to the Club. Yes.” She lifted the hand off, but kept hold of it, laced their fingers together.

She felt her own will flow out of her and into Bethany.

“I must to go the Club,” Miriam demanded.

“Yes,” Bethany whispered.

Miriam kept hold of Bethany’s hand as she turned and began to walk.

Bethany matched her step.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Four-hundred seventy four steps to the Club.

There were two lights. The first one was green.

“I...” Bethany breathed. “I...”

“...must go to the Club,” Miriam finished for her. “I Must.”

“Yes,” Bethany replied.

The second light was red. They stopped on the curb. A man with a bad comb-over saw their clasped hands and raised an eyebrow.

“Must go to...” Bethany was muttering. Their fingers were slick where they knotted together. “Must go to... the club?”

Suddenly she looked up at Miriam.

“No,” she said, yanked her hand away, and ran.

Miriam watched her run only for a moment. Then the light changed, and she walked across the street, down the block, and into the doors of Club F.

* * *

It was hard to concentrate on counting with Cassandra’s breasts dangling over her, but Miriam did not need to count anyway. Her Guide told her when to start and stop.

They didn’t exactly dangle—Cassandra was in a pink babydoll T—but they were distracting nonetheless. Cassandra’s blank gaze was fixed upon Miriam’s flexing abs, but her Guide pulsed in tune, directing her attention to Miriam’s efforts.

Today they were programmed to work out together.

At the tone, Cassandra helped Miriam with the lift off.

Miriam lowered and raised the bar as the tones instructed, and then with Cassandra’s help set it back on the rack.

It was fifty pounds heavier than what she used to lift. Miriam would have been proud if she hadn’t been so deeply in trance. Her awareness was entirely focused on responding to command.

Not entirely. Some of it was ogling Cassandra.

The tone sounded, and Miriam found herself rising and heading for the dip bars. She waited in position, enjoying her body in the mirror, enjoying Cassandra’s receding ass as she left for the showers, enjoying the sheen of sweat on Yolanda’s ebony skin as she pulled on the cables.

A tone sounded, and Miriam gripped the dip bars and began to lower and raise herself, in perfect time with Yolanda in the mirror. Her chest was sore and fiery and it felt delicious.

She would become strong for her Mistress.

Mistress. Since the day she heard Eleanor say it, Miriam had wanted one. Someone to take her hard, perfect body and put it to use. To do with her what she was made to do.

To command her, so that Miriam could obey.

Tone, and Miriam was finished. She flexed her pectorals and enjoyed the soreness and the sight of her breasts jiggling in the mirror.

Tone, and she turned for the shower.

The changing room was busier than usual; Miriam obediently returned to her locker, finished her water, and removed her earbuds. Seated next to her, a light-skinned black woman was carefully shaving her pubic region. Her name was Janice, Miriam recalled.

Miriam had shaven her own pussy bare only the day before.

She didn’t know why, but when Ideas were placed in her mind she obeyed them.

It was time for her shower. She took her towel and walked into the shower aisle.

Cassandra was in the shower opposite her own.

Miriam stopped to watch her.

She was so beautiful. Young and pink, with soft breasts that would cup so perfectly in Miriam’s hands, with a nude slit beneath which she could see just the hint of lips.

She was covered in water, her hands sliding slowly over her belly and onto her thighs, then inward to part them and hold them open for Miriam to look.

Miriam gazed on Cassandra’s perfect pussy, then let her eyes drift up to Cassandra’s own. Light blue and smiling and glossy with tranceglaze. Just like Miriam’s.

She turned around and slowly stepped into her own shower.

The water cascaded over her body and she enjoyed it, enjoyed the hot wet force and enjoyed the knowledge that Cassandra was enjoying her, looking at her naked pussy and her hard belly and her breasts, was thinking about just how good Miriam would be to touch and stroke and suck on...

She opened her eyes, and she knew that they even as they focused on Cassandra in the glass-doored stall opposite that they never really focused any more. Not in the Club. But her glassy eyes were entirely adequate to enjoy the sight of Cassandra stroking herself, slipping one long finger up and down between those pink pussy lips.

Miriam ran her hands along her own body.

Then Janice appeared, taking a slow step along the shower aisle, and both of their gazes moved to her, to her coffee-colored smoothness and her ebon nipples capping her large breasts. Her hair was in glossy ringlets and her lips were shining cushions.

Miriam expected her to take her place in a stall, but when she reached for a handle it was not for one of the empty ones.

It was for Cassandra’s.

Janice stepped into Cassandra’s shower stall, instantly wet from the thick shower stream, and moved her body against Cassandra’s own, breasts pushing into breasts. Janice hesitated, breathing softly, then moved forward again, lips meeting Cassandra’s own, eager lips, a long kiss, then a touch of tongue. Cassandra’s hands slipped around Janice’s waist and down to her ass, cupping and pulling her foward.

Their tongues were active now, flexing and pushing slowly, in and around each other’s mouths. Cassandra was pushed into the wall, and broke oral contact to moan as Janice’s hand found its way to her sex. Miriam could see Janice’s forearm and its flexing muscles as Janice slowly probed and stroked Cassandra’s interior.

Which was just what Miriam was doing to herself.

They kissed deeply again, and then Janice was moving down, slithering down, sucking on Cassandra’s breasts and licking down her belly until she was on her knees, water cascading over her as her mouth found the treasure her fingers were buried in and she gave it her love.

Cassandra’s cry was high and wavering.

Miriam grunted softly.

Then Janice was rising, flesh against wet flesh, and eagerness flashed in Cassandra’s glazed eyes as she knew it was her turn to taste womansex for the first time.

A tone sounded in Miriam’s head.

Her shower was over.

She reached for her towel, eyes locked on Cassandra as her young friend slid down the body of her lover. Her hands stroked Janice’s waist as she stared at her first ever lover’s pussy, transfixed by its nearness and its beauty as the shower water rushed over her head.

Then she affixed her lips and Janice moaned, and Miriam stepped from her shower. She dropped the towel into the bin and walked to her locker.

* * *

“Roll over.”

She found herself complying, turning in place. She was on something soft but firm, her head had been supported by an ‘O’ shape around her face...

Massage chair. She was getting a massage.

Miriam finished her rotation and relaxed back into the slick warm leather. She had no idea how long she had been here, no sense of doing anything before or after this moment.

Jillian was looking placidly at her.

She was rubbing her hands together, turning them over and over, smearing the massage oil around. Gently, she brought them down on Miriam’s bare stomach.

Miriam made a low “mmm” and undulated just a little bit.

Jillian was speaking, too... Miriam hadn’t been paying attention but as her awareness began to focus the words slowly sharpened.

“...beautiful in trance but I need you awake for this, Miriam, come up, rise up, bubble back up to me. Slowly you awaken, slowly your mind looks around and sees. Slowly wake, Miriam, wake now and respond to me. Are you listening, Miriam?”

“Yes,” Miriam breathed. “Awake now.”

“Good. We’re almost finished with you, Miriam, you’re almost complete. Just a few more things left to finalize in your soft and remolded mind before we can harden it.”

Miriam smiled and waited. Jillian’s hands were warm and slick and probing on her strong thighs.

“Tell me, Miriam, tell me... you are naked now, completely nude, lying on a bench with another nude woman stroking your whole body. Does that bother you?”


“Do you like it?”


“How much?”

“Very much.”

“And would you like my hands to move just a little and start stroking your sex? The sex that you keep so naked and open? Would you like that?”


“How much?”

“Very much.”

“Spread your legs a little, Miriam.” Miriam did so, hoping that Jillian would do it, would touch her sex and stroke her.

“And my mouth, Miriam,” Jillian said, as her hands kneaded their way up to the top of Miriam’s thighs and began to circle, little slow circles, and each one came closer and closer to Miriam’s slit. “Would you like me to put my mouth on your sex? To kiss it and suck at it?”

“Oh yes,” Miriam breathed. “Please.”

“And would you do the same for me? Would you suck on my smooth pussy and work your tongue up inside? Taste me and suck on me until I came in your mouth?”

“Y...” Miriam paused. There was hesitation in her fog. Eat pussy? She wanted to, wanted to a lot, but she wasn’t... wasn’t...

“I’m... not... I don’t...” Miriam said weakly. Wasn’t she? Didn’t she? It was so hard to be sure...

No, she didn’t. She wasn’t. She was waking up. Petting was fine, felt great, but sex meant something and she couldn’t remember what right now but... “I don’t,” she tried more firmly, although it sounded as firm as a basket of puppies.

And then there were gentle fingertips turning her head and then it was there, right in front of her face.


Jillian’s pussy.

It was... beautiful. Soft smooth wrinkled lips pressed between creamy pink flesh. Miriam could see where the red-gold hairs would grow if they were allowed, but it was perfectly smooth now, and she wanted to kiss it.

To suck on it.

She didn’t... did...

“You are, and you do, Miriam,” Jillian breathed.


Miriam leaned forward slowly and in her mind she was giving it a gentle kiss but her lips touched lightly and electrically and she was moving farther forward, opening her mouth and letting her lips slide over it and then she was tasting it, sucking on it, and her tongue slid down and between those lips and up and down, and it was glorious and right and it was her Purpose.

Her mind didn’t feel blurry at all any more.

* * *

It was late, although not as late as some nights she’d been at the Club. Miriam walked proudly naked back towards the changing room. If anyone on the street happened to look into the glass front doors, well, they’d get a look at a magnificent body.

A magnificent, just-fucked body.

She was a lesbian. How odd that she’d never known. But it was so obvious now. So proven. A shiver went through Miriam as she thought of Jillian and the sex they’d just had.

It was the best thing ever.

It was indescribable. The physical sensations and the intense sense of correctness, of rightness, that as she sucked on Jillian’s cunt and Jillian sucked on hers all was exactly the way it should be.

That all had been perfected.

There was a light on under the door of the physical therapy room. Doubtless Eleanor, working late. She couldn’t have any clients at this hour, so she must be cleaning.

Miriam hesitated, then knocked. So she was naked.

Eleanor was running around naked most of the time too, now.

Of course, Eleanor won’t be glistening with massage oil and pussy juice. Miriam grinned.

No one replied, so Miriam tried the handle. It turned, and she peered in.

Eleanor was in the room—for a moment, Miriam thought she was with a client.

But Eleanor was naked. And the woman was-


She was strapped down. Her entire body, save only her face, was in some sort of black rubber suit. Mirrored goggles covered her eyes, and a spidernest of wires ran from several pole-mounted machines to her goggles, her suit, into her ears.

Eleanor was holding a dildo. Was lubing it.

It had wires attached, too.

As Miriam watched, Eleanor, face expressionless, moved Bethany’s legs wider open. There was a slit there in the rubber suit, and Eleanor leaned over and carefully inserted the dildo into the suit, and into Bethany.

Bethany moaned and arched her back.

“Hello, Miriam,” someone said.

Miriam turned to face the hall.

There was no worry about being caught—her delight in the voice drowned all other emotion.

“Mist—... Miss Snowdon.”

“Why Miriam, you are naked.”

Miriam nodded. “Yes.”

She was perfect. A goddess. Miriam’s goddess. Miriam licked her lips.

“You’re brainwashing her,” she stated. “You’ve brainwashed Eleanor and you are brainwashing Bethany.”

Miss Snowdon nodded. Her eyes were intense.

“You... you’re brainwashing me...”

Miss Snowdon nodded. “You are quite thoroughly brainwashed already, Miriam. But the process is ongoing, so yes.”

Miriam nodded. “I...” she swallowed. “I want to obey you.”


“I... I shouldn’t...?”

She arched a perfect dark brown brow. “Shouldn’t you?”

“No. I should. I must and I want to. But...” Miriam frowned. “I... I wouldn’t. Not without... not before.”

“Does it matter?”

Miriam looked at her, into those dark deep blue eyes. In the room next to them, Bethany moaned as she was brainwashed, tended to by an eager, obedient, mindless Eleanor.

Miriam looked into those bottomless eyes...

“No. I am your obedient slave, Mistress Snowdon.” She bowed her head. “I belong to you body and mind and I will obey.”

Mistress patted her head.

* * *

Slowly up, slowly down. Slowly up, slowly down. Rack.

With a clink, 648 placed the barbell onto the overhead rack. She had no idea how many times she had lifted the weight, or what it weighed.

She rose and enjoyed the sight of her sweating body in the mirror.

648 was a guard, in a guard’s uniform. Black latex choker, black latex boots, black latex bikini bottom and matching black latex corset. Around her glossy black 648’s flesh glistened with sweat.

She would have liked to fuck herself if she could.

648 turned and began to walk knowing that she was obeying. Slaves obeyed Control without thought; 648 did not know if she would now go on shift or if she would go shower and sleep or if she would be summoned to perform some other task for Mistress. She did not care; she was under Control and was assured of obedience.

648 existed solely to obey.

She entered the hall and pivoted in the direction that had slipped into her mind from the earbuds in her ears. She no longer was aware of hearing them. She passed other guards, other slaves, and enjoyed their bodies without any loss of focus on her own readiness to obey. Action or thought might be required of 648 at any time, and she must always be ready to provide it.

But she turned for the domiciles, and as she entered them she was deactivated. Her taut readiness left her; the eager tension drained from her limbs.

648 was to rest now until reactivated.

With Control loosed, 648 paused to look around. Sleep? Not yet necessary. Food? She was slightly hungry, no more.

Ah. A shower.

648 enjoyed showers.

Her guard uniform came off, all but the choker, and she deposited them in the hamper to be cleaned. Only her tight black neckband distinguished her from the other nude slaves in the domiciles now, although her hard body made it obvious what task this particular slave had been molded for.

The shower was empty except for one other slave, a slightly taller, younger slave, a glossy white choker tight on her neck.

She had a very appealing ass.

648 turned on the water under a shower head and savored the warm spray. She ran her hands over her body, enjoying how perfect a slave she was. So well molded, body and mind.


648 turned. The slave with the white collar was standing in front of her.

She was... Cass... Cas...?

“Slave,” 648 replied.

The slave nodded.

648 knew this slave, knew her from before her own acquisition and programming. They had been... lovers? No. Friends.

“I am D19,” the other slave said.

“648,” 648 replied.

“I remember you,” D19 said.

“And I you.” 648 blinked. “With fondness.”

D19 nodded.

“I am deactivated,” D19 said, with a touch of hesitation. “Would you like to...?”

Very much.

648 took her, enfolding her in her arms and kissing her, slipping her tongue into the other woman’s mouth. D19 froze in surprise, then responded eagerly, sucking on 648’s tongue before providing her own.

They made love in the showers, mouth to pussy and pussy to mouth, before moving to a sleeping pallet and the use of fingers and toys. The other slaves in the domicile enjoyed them, sensing a passion deeper than that which they all shared for sex with each other. Many of them pleasured themselves, watching; some formed their own couples and moved away. They all could sense that intervention was not desired.

Then it was later, before sleep.

648 stroked D19’s dark hair. Memory was unwanted. But 648 felt a connection, enjoyed it. Wanted to be with D19 whenever obedience allowed.

“I do not want to remember,” D19 whispered.


“But I want... I... you...”


It was a minor difficulty, easily solved.

“Control,” 648 stated.

“State your need 648,” came a voice in her ear, a voice that 648 could hear.

“This slave feels an attachment to the slave D19. This attachment predates this slave’s programming. Both of these slaves worry that there may be undesired inclination to access memories.”

“Understood, slave. Await resolution.”

“Yes, Control.”

D19 was looking up at her, into her eyes. For just an instant 648 wanted to remember and as she did she could, could picture looking up at D19’s breasts in a pink top as she lifted... could remember eating salads at a table, wearing clothes...

She forced it from her. D19 was watching her eyes, had seen her slip away momentarily, saw now as she came back.

Without breaking their gazelock, D19 began to nibble on her thigh.

“Slave 648,” came the voice of Control.

“Yes, Control.”

“Slave 648 and Slave D19 will be tasked together for an undefined period beginning with the slaves’ next activation. Slave 648 is to anticipate and desire new interaction with Slave D19, and is to think of any relationship with Slave D19 only in the context of current and anticipated interaction. Any emotional bonds are to be thought of in this context. Memory is undesired and unnecessary. Slave 648 will avoid and suppress all memory. Slave D19 is now programmed similarly.”

“Yes, Control,” 648 replied happily. The wisdom of Mistress knew no bounds.

D19 had likewise stared into space—although in this case it was at 648’s navel—as her Instructions came. Now she looked back up at 648 and smiled. 648 smiled back.

They... loved... each other for their future. They had no past. They needed no past. Memory was undesired and unnecessary.

They were lovers, now. All emotion came from this.

D19 was already wiggling her head back between 648’s legs.

* * *

END ‘Fitness’