The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Home Farm

by Writer345 ©

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Chapter Four: April 2005 — Developments.

Lily had long since stopped shouting out to who ever was holding her captive, in fact she hadn’t said anything at all for well over a month. The electric shocks that the thing in her mouth had given her every time she as much as whimpered had long seen to that. She no longer made any sounds at all and had even been cured of the habit of moaning with pleasure every time she made herself cum. She would have recognised this as aversion therapy back in the days when she was able to think about such things. Now, although she didn’t for she had also lost the habit of thinking. Thoughts had become so difficult and then had ceased altogether. Besides, reacting was much, much easier. It was better too for she could now sit peacefully in a corner without a single worry regarding her current predicament rising up to distress her. There was no longer a past, with all of its disappointments nor was there a terrifying future, with its work-related stress, that threatened her. All that remained was a warm and comfortably endless ‘now’ in which her every need was taken care of. Lily relaxed and breathed out a silent, but contented, sigh and would have smiled, if the mask and ring gag had let her.

When she had emerged from the last drugged sleep some three weeks ago, she had found that she had little contacts glued to tiny shaved spots all over her skull but when she wondered about them, she received nasty little electric shocks. Shocks to her temple, not to her mouth. The first couple had caused her to squeal which in turn had resulted in an equally painful shock across her tongue to remind her that there was no need to make any noise. After these, she had suffered in silence.

The next few days had been pure hell with shock after shock after shock for no apparent reason. However, gradually, ever so gradually, the frequency of the shocks had decreased. Lily hadn’t wondered about this and was just vaguely thankful that the stabs of pain had gone away. In fact the woman no longer wondered about anything much and just vaguely bumbled her way through each ‘day’ as it came.

Time passed without Lily thinking about anything at all and now that she had lost the habit of thought she was more than content. She ate when the bell ‘dinged’, drank when she was thirsty, relieved her self when she needed too, played with herself when she felt the urge and slept when she was tired.

Yes, reacting placidly to things was so much better than thinking about them.

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Although both girls were unaware of it, Anna was housed in the next room to Lily and the former had responded to the therapy even more rapidly than her friend and now crawled around her tiny cell quite happily. Although she retained memories of walking upright, she no longer wanted too as going around on all-fours seemed so natural. Besides she loved the way that her breasts hung down in the air: it was so much more comfortable than before. Being a well-endowed girl, she had suffered from annoying under-boob sweat most of the time but ever since she had begun moving around on her hands and knees this particular annoyance hadn’t afflicted her in the slightest. And besides; she loved the way that breasts swung around gently in time with her movements as the cool air played across them. Life was now stress-free and so good!

Stress! A vague memory bubbled up from the depths of her placid mind: one of rows and rows of little children, seated around tables, staring at her... She shuddered and the memory faded. Anna sighed soundlessly, a feeling of contentment seemingly wrapping itself around her like a familiar old comfort blanket. There was no stress now: it had evaporated along with her need to think.

The bell dinged and she scuttled happily to the feeding tube, copious amounts of saliva drooling from her mouth in response to the bell. Pavlov would indeed have been proud of her!

After Anna had sucked out all of the tasty savoury paste, she moved over to the other nozzle and washed her meal down with several mouthfuls of... Well she’d forgotten what it was called, but she drank it happily.

Next came a visit to the drain, after which she began to feel really sleepy so she flopped down onto the floor and was asleep almost immediately. When she awoke she found that her mouth was empty: the mask, the gag and the bit that pressed against her tongue were all gone.

* * *

Meanwhile, not far away from where the two former schoolteachers were housed, there were people who could and did think.

Julie, for instance: she had monitored their conversion processes just as she had been doing since long before the time that they had arrived. She had been given charge of their processing and noted the sequence of improvements as they were brought about. Julie moved things along when it was appropriate but when any problems arose she had efficiently made the necessary adjustments to the protocols. Naturally she was proud of the changes that she had wrought in girls’ minds and bodies. Mistress required this of her so did everything that was deemed necessary. Julie had carried out such procedures scores of times before and was now very skilled at it but more than that: she was proud of what she achieved.

Occasionally, she gazed enviously at the two mindless creatures displayed upon the monitors and fondly recalled the time, many years before, when she had been just the same as them... It had been so relaxing... If only Mistress Mary would transform her into a mindless animal once again...

Julie had other duties besides that of conditioning the new acquisitions. She also oversaw the girls who cared for the livestock: it was a farm after all and she was so much more experienced than they were. There were six of them, pretty little things ranging from their late twenties to their mid-thirties; Mistress rarely kept them for more than ten years although there were the odd exceptions such as Julie herself and Donna, the cook up in the farm house.

Despite working almost exclusively with the livestock, Julie went to the big house everyday as she was the only farmworker who ate with Mistress and her family. Even the house staff didn’t eat with the family which illustrated just how special Julie was in the eyes of her Mistress.

As families go, it was small: just Mistress and her two daughters: Fiona was nineteen and a half and Megan, the baby, was just turned eighteen. There was also Mistress’s mother who in the past had run the farm but these days was semi-retired and lived in a farm cottage close by which she shared with a couple of her favourite pets. The pets also looked after her. Oh the older woman was still seen around most days and would lend a hand when necessary although she said that she was happy to leave things to Mistress Mary and tried not to interfere—sometimes she succeeded.

Temple Farm had been here for about eight hundred years; although not, it must be stressed, in its present form. Mistress’s grandmother had acquired it at the end of the war, the details of how being unknown to Julie although she did know that she was the one who had begun everything.

Temple Farm had been taken over as a military establishment during the war and a large concealed bunker had been constructed behind the farmhouse: it was this structure that had been the initial attraction. The first livestock had been brought over from Germany in April 1945 after being acquired and imported surreptitiously: an easy task facilitated by the chaotic nature of the world at that time. Temple Farm had been purchased the same year when the stock of nerve gas shells that it housed had been dumped out at sea and its laboratories decommissioned. The Farm had been sold off almost immediately as it was a potential source of embarrassment and somehow Mistress’s grandmother had purchased it at a knock-down price. The livestock had been quickly moved into the bunker and the enjoyable work had begun. The current facility being assembled around the slowly growing numbers over the ensuing years. Girls were acquired and then trained: many stayed for a few years, but almost all were moved on sooner or later.

To an outsider the farm looked like any other with its fields of conventional crops and grazing animals. This, however, was carried out on a contract basis: the fields being rented by the local farmers. Yes, that side of the business was profitable: but nowhere near as lucrative as the activities carried out inside the long-forgotten underground bunker which now resembled like a low wooded hill.