The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

ISLAND OF THE ULTIMATE LOVEDOLLS

(Disclaimer: adult material, don’t read if you’re a minor, don’t try this at home. This is the third part of a trilogy. Parts one and two are already posted on this archive.)

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Part 6

Another meeting was taking place that very afternoon at the resort. Max wanted to show off the progress they had made with Robyn. Charlesworth lounged in Max’s office drinking a glass of scotch. Max sat behind his desk. He buzzed the intercom. “Send her in, Miss Lambert,” he said. The door opened, and in walked Robyn.

Charlesworth gulped down the swallow of scotch and stared. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

Robyn was indeed a sight to behold. The fast-paced marching walk that Charlesworth had always found vaguely irritating had been replaced by an undulating sensuous stroll designed to draw attention to her body. The rigorous physical training, combined with the constrictive bodysuit, had molded her body into perfect proportions. Max had elected to turn her bodysuit to the shimmering black latex look, since it showed her curves and movements to best advantage. She automatically pulled her shoulders back to showcase her jutting breasts.

But it was in her attitude that showed the most dramatic change. Not only was her face exquisitely made up with subtle cosmetics, making her her look absolutely beautiful, the fact was her very expression exuded an air of submissiveness. He eyes looked at the men with doe-like docility, then her lovely lashes dropped and she kept her glance downcast. Not a trace could be seen of the original defiance. Max felt an unaccustommed wave of sadness—why, he could not say.

The feeling was punctured by Charlesworth. “So, you got her programmed to do whatever I tell her?”

Max said, “Not exactly. She’s conditioned to general obedience. The next step is to customize her mind to obey you specifically, and to add any particular behavior patterns you may prefer.”

“Well, hot damn,” said Charlesworth. He got up, drink still in hand, and sauntered around her shapely form as she stood motionless on her high heels. “So she’ll do anything I say?” he asked Max.

“Anything.”

“All right then,” said Charlesworth. He cleared his throat, uncertain what to do with her. “Drop to your knees!” he commanded.

Robyn immediately sank to her knees with one graceful, fluid motion. Charlesworth giggled nervously.

“Put your hands behind your head!” he barked. Robyn complied.

Max said, “You do not have to yell at her. Conversational tones will do.”

“Yeah,” sneered Charlesworth. “But what if I want to yell at her?”

Max’s shoulders went up with a shrug.

“On your back!” snapped Charlesworth. “That’s it, roll over! Spread those legs!”

Robyn lay flat on ground, her thighs spread in an inviting “V”. Max said, “I’ll show you something.” He picked up a riding crop from his desk that he used as paperweight. He drew the leather flap at the end to draw across the woman’s open pussy. Robyn reacted to the touch by automatically arching her back and opening her thighs even wider, her pussy lips spreading lasviciously, like a flower opening its petals to the first warming touch of the sun.. Max pointed to a button on the hand controller.

“That amplifies her sexual desire,” said Max. “You control whether she’s merely simmering in heat, or to increase her sexual craving to the point where it is so intense, so desperate, all she can think about her hunger for you. Charlesworth pressed the button, and Robyn began to gyrate her hips slowly. Her eyelids fluttered, and her breathing became quick and shallow. The first glistening of moisture appeared on her sex, like dewdrops on the petals of a flower that opened at the first touch of warmth from the morning sun.

“As far as commands,” continued Max, “There are standard numbers that go with each position, to make it easy on you, in addition to any special training commands you’d like programmed into her. All that will be in the user’s manual.”

Charlesworth took a long pull on his drink as he regarded Robyn offering her body for his pleasure. “Well, Max, I got to hand it to you,” he said at last. “You deliver.”

Max nodded politely.

Charlesworth resumed his seat. “Crawl over here, Robyn,” he ordered. Robyn dutifully took to her elbows and knees, and made her way across the floor to the front of Charlesworth’s chair, her back and ass curving nicely with each movement, somehow making even that movement a study in sensuous grace. Charlesworth made a point of lifting his legs and planting them square on the crouching girl’s back, using her like an ottoman. “Not so proud now, are you, you little bitch?” he hissed. Robyn looked straight ahead with her blank, empty eyes.

Max looked at the ceiling, his fingers steepled, to avoid looking at the man’s disgusting hesmirk.

“Awright, Max, now about that special training. . .”

“Yes?”

“How much pain can she take?”

“Pain?” asked Max. The question took him unawares. “What do you mean, Mr. Charlesworth?”

“Well, naturally, I intend to show her who’s boss,” said Charlesworth.

“She already knows who is the boss,” countered Max. He did not like the way this conversation was going.

“Yeah, but I but I want her to really know. So answer the question.”

Max frowned. “Well, if it is physical discipline you are referring to, you could probably punish her until she faints, loses consciousness, the same as anybody.”

“Yeah, but what what I want to know is, can you guys bypass that, make it so she can’t pass out?”

Max leveled his eyes through his rimless glasses at this customer, the eyes that seem to see everything and reflected nothing. “You mean, allow her to be tortured indefinitely,” he said flatly.

Charlesworth squirmed under that hard gaze. “Hey, she’s mine to do with as I want, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Charlesworth, but there are limits—”

“Screw your limits, Max. Don’t give me a lecture on morality. You’re one to start preaching, with this wild-ass while slavery ring you got going here. So I’m asking you—can you make it so she’s got to take whatever I dish out, for as long as I want?”

Max studied the motionless, upturned face of Robyn , looking off into space. Her face, as blank as a mask, betrayed no awareness of the conversation taking place. Max hoped that was the case.

“I suppose it is possible,” he said slowly. “It would take some special conditioning techniques, I would have to consult with the medical staff—”

“Do it,” said Charlesworth.

“I’ll think about it,” said Max.

“Well, think about it with this,” said Charlesworth. He swung his legs off the kneeling girl’s back and advanced to the front of Max’s ornate desk. Charlesworth pulled a checkbook from his coat pocket, slammed it down on the desk, scrawled off a check with plenty of zeros, ripped it out of the checkbook and tossed it toward Max. “There! Double your usual fee,” he snapped. “But don’t go getting all moral on me. But she’s my property, got it? You think I’m laying this kind of cash on you so you can babysit the bitch? Our deal was delivery of a completely conditioned LoveDoll. Here in the States, a deal’s a deal, and I don’t care how they do it in Munich or Budapest or Lower Slobovia or wherever the hell you’re from.”

Max looked down at the check without touching it. His silence seemed to agitate Charlesworth.

“We both know you can do it, Max, and we both have our little bag of negotiating tricks. For example, I got friends in high places. Maybe some of them would like to know about your little operation here,” he said, his eyes narrowed to sly little slits. Now do we have a deal or not?”

Max studied the check a long time. He glanced at Robyn, still motionless as furniture, and something seemed to writhe within him. Just for a moment, he thought he saw a tiny spark of soul behind the girl’s doll-blank eyes. He looked harder—did he imagine it? Max pushed himself away from the desk and turned his back to Charlesworth, his hands locked behind him, deep in thought. Finally he turned, slipped the check into the drawer of his desk. “Very well,” he said. Stay at the resort. Come back to the compound tomorrow.”

“I knew it,” said Charlesworth smugly. “Money talks, right?”

Max kept his features impassive. “Until tomorrow, Mr. Charlesworth.” Anybody who knew Max would have seen the danger signs in that expressionless gaze. Not Charlesworth—he took it as a sign of resignation.

The invitation came the next morning—not to Max’s baroque office, as Charleworth expected, but to the clinic. He arrived with the escort of Bambi andThumper, the two amazon security Dolls. Max looked the same as always—well-tailored, reserved, in control. Charlesworth was about to ask him why the clinic, when he saw Robyn strapped to one of the chairs. Her bodysuit had been switched to transparent. Charlesworth felt his pulse quicken at the sight of her naked body clamped down, vulnerable and helpless. Her forehead was covered with electrodes, and he could see the cord running to the jack inserted in the base of the young woman’s skull.

“So what’s the deal?” he asked.

“I just thought you might enjoy observing the final changes yourself,” said Max. “You can even throw the switch, if you like.”

Charlesworth beamed. “Yeah! I like that, Max! Now you’re thinking!”

“We programmed the consciousness bypass protocols. Once we implant the routines in her into her mind, she won’t be able to faint, regardless of the level of her . . . discomfort.”

Charlesworth nodded enthusiastically. “Good work, Max. I knew you could do, all you needed was a little incentive, right?” He winked at Max, whose face remained impassive.

Max said, “There’s something else. I thought you might like to witness her final subjugation. In a virtual reality kind of way.”

“What do you mean?”

“As you know, the system works by reinforced images and sensations injected directly into the cerebral cortex. We’ve set up a dual-relay observer’s program. You can get a feel of what she’s experiencing. This is a little treat we reserve for our preferred customers. Most of our clients are never allowed into the clinic, you know. It’s up to you,” added Max casually.

Charlesworth mulled that over. “Do you strap me in one of those couches?” he asked a little uneasily.

“No, not at all. You can take your pick of any of the chairs around the CPU, and just slip these goggles over your eyes. We do that all the time here, to monitor what the subject is experiencing. We’ve programmed in scenarios for her visual cortex, where you are disciplining her, and she is conditioned to stay responsive the whole time. A taste of things to come, you might say,” said Max, with the first hint of that cold smile that served as a warning sign to those who really knew him.

Charlesworth thought a bit more, glanced at the strapped-figure of his future LoveDoll, and realized this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see ther final moments of her self-awareness blinked out forever. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it. What do I do?”

Max said, “Just have a seat, and slip those goggles over your head. Then sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.” One of the clinicians showed him to a padded chair and handed him the head set.

“This is going to be good,” said Charlesworth as he settled the goggles into place. “Don’t cut if off too soon, okay? I want this to enjoy this a long time.”

“You got it,” said Max dryly. He nodded to the clinician. She flipped a switch. Robyn remained motionless on her couch. But Charlesworth—

Charlesworth shuddered. He let out a yell and tried to pull the headset off. But suddenly Bambi and Thumper sprang to his chair, dragging his flailing arms back to the armrests. “What the hell are you doing?” he shrieked.

Max gazed at him mercilessly. He said, “My contract with you required me to furnish one well-trained LoveDoll. I’m merely carrying out the terms of our contract.” Charlesworth’s tried to escape from the iron grip of his two captors.

The trapped man kicked a few times, his head thrashing wildly back and forth. Then he went limp.

Max gave the inert form of his former client a disdainful look. Imbecile, he thought. “To think he tried to blackmail me.” Then he said to the clincian by the computer, “Prepare the reversal programs for Miss Dorset.”

“We’ve never tried those before, sir,” said the clinician.

“I know. But theoretically we can retrace all the neural pathways we etched in her brain before, with her prior conditioning. I want her back the way she was.”

Robyn Dorset was shown into Max’s office a week later. Max rose from behind his desk when she came in.

“Ms. Dorset,” he said gravely, “please have a seat.”

Robyn hesitantly took the offered chair. She glanced around the room. Darcie McVey, his human sculpture, was still stretching herself in her endless round of provocative postures on the lighted pedastal from across the room. Other than that, the office would have looked like a don’s study in some European university—dark carved wood, leather bound books, oriental rug. Just like it was a few weeks and an eternity ago, when Bambi and Thumper dragged her here for her interview with Max. Other half-remembered memories made her shudder.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“All right. A little weak.”

Silence.

Finally, Robyn said, “Okay, Max, I give. What the hell is going on here?”

“What do you remember?”

“I have vague memories of this room, and that creep Charlesworth making me do stuff.”

“Yes, that’s all over, now.”

“What?” Robyn narrowed her eyes, obviously suspecting some new surprise. “You mean I didn’t pan out as his concubine? So it’s back to the auction block for me? A new buyer?”

Max got up from his chair and began to pace the room.

“All of your psychological conditioning has been reversed. The medical staff tells me you may experience some trace after-effects, but those will fade away. You are mentally, emotionally, and psychologically your own person, just as you were before. And it was not because you did not pan out’, as you put it. You were an ideal recruit, it so happens—I think one of finest efforts.”

Robyn couldn’t help smiling. “Glad I didn’t disappoint you. But what happens now?”

Max sighed. “Ms. Dorset, you present us with a bit of a problem.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Max, call me Robyn. You know my mind inside and out, how much more intimate can we be?”

“Very well. Robyn, we honestly don’t know what to do with you. You have seen our little island, have a pretty good idea what we do here. This could be dangerous for us. We could imprison you here. It would be a golden cage—you’d be on perpetual vacation—but it would be cage nevertheless. Or we could set you free. Give you some money, exercise some dilligence, make clear our intentions should you ever betray us.” He stood next to her, relaxed, his back to his desk, polishing his rimless glasses with a hankerchief. It occurred to Robyn that was the most informal she had ever seen him. Without his glasses, he looked much younger.

Robyn sat back, silent for a minute. “So this is no joke? You’re really prepared to throw me back in the water.” She said nothing more. Either did Max, she noticed. He had the manner of not intruding on another’s silence. Finally she said, “What do you want to do with me, Max? Not the organization, not your medical staff. You.”

Max paused, “You may find this hard to believe, Ms. Dorsett—Robyn, that is—but I rather enjoy your company. Maybe if I let you go, it would give me satisfaction to know there is one pure and perfect thing left in the world out there. Knowing that, might make the rest of my life h

Robyn stood up, next to him. She watched him closely. “It’s more than that, isn’t it, Max?”

Max looked at her. “Yes,” he said at last. “I must say that I seem to have fallen in love with you.”

Robyn said nothing. Then she tilted her head up and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I got news for you,” she said. “Screwy as it sounds, I seem to have fallen love with you, too.” For the first time in peculiar relationship, she saw him speechless. Then she walked over to where Darcie McVey held herself under the spotlight in toe-touching pose. “But what about all this, Max? Could you give it up?”

Max shook his head. “Not really. It’s. . . it’s what I do. If I walked away from it, the organization would fly apart, security would be broken, I’d be a hunted man on five continents. And all this would be taken over by others far more ruthless than we are.”

“Max, your friend Andre—charming man, by the way, but I would not trust him with any woman friend of mine—your friend Andre told me a story. About a cemetary in Vienna, I think it was. And your wife who died. Andre told me he followed you, and heard you say some words at her grave—something about not taking care of her. What was that all about?”

Max was silent for a minute. Then he said, “She was an extraordinary woman, much like you, Robyn. But headstrong. We were on holiday in the Alps. She wanted to go skiiing down a mountain—a very bad slope, beyond her abilities, beyond anybody’s abilities, probably. I argued with her, but she insisted. I should not have let her go. I should have fobidden it.” He clenched his fist, which made his quiet voice all the more terrible. “I should have thrown her to the ground and held her in the snow to keep her from going. But I didn’t, you see. I let her go. The slope was too steep, with hidden rocks. They say she died instantly on impact, thank God. But I have never since forgiven myself.” He looked at Robyn deeply. “Ever since then, I have had a desire to control everything about my life, and the women in it.”

“And Andre?”

Max broke into a smile. “No great traumatic event there. I think he just likes women,” he said.

Robyn said, “Well, I think I understand a little about you.” Her eyes roamed to the displayed form of Darcie McVey. Living sculpture, the latest in interior decorating, she thought. “I am not sure I could stay here on my own free will, though.”

Max nodded, his face both sad and understanding. “I understand. It would be too much to ask. I’ll arrange transportation to the mainland for you immediately.”

Robyn laughed. “You big lummux,” she said and went back to him, sliding her arms around his neck. “Do you know when I first loved you? Remember when you stopped me from trying to run through those two women guards?”

“Yes, Bambi and Thumper, our two SecurityDolls,” said Max. “I remember. They would have done you great harm. You loved me when I saved you from that?”

“No. I loved you when you spanked me.”

Max raised his eyebrows.

“More than that, Max.” Her voice took on a gentle certainty. “At that moment, I knew I wanted to belong to you. Lock, stock . . . and mind.”

“You mean—?”

“What I mean, Max, is that I will accept nothing less than becoming your personal LoveDoll.”

Max could only stare at her in amazement.

“Only one condition,” continued Robyn. She pointed to the Darcie McVey. “That hussy has to go from your office. I want nobody for you, but me.”

Max slid his arms around her again. “There never was,” he said. “And there never will be.”

“By the way,” said Robyn, after another kiss. “What did you do with Charlesworth? You didn’t let him go, did you?”

“No, we try to find a use for everything on this Island,” said Max mischieviously.

“Whatever you do to him, serves him right, the little creep.” she said. She took a deep breath. “Okay. Are you ready to love, honor, and totally control me, Max?”

“From the moment I saw you.”

“Then take me to your infernal clinic for a mental makeover. Let’s do this quick, before I lose my nerve.”

Six weeks later, Robyn and Max were back in the office. Her reconditoning had gone smoothly. Max’s desire for her grew with every passing day. He rarely had to give orders, since she seemed to know what he was thinking anyway. Her hair was cut short, the way he liked it, and her taut and toned body showed the results of continued physical training.

“You know this next interview is quite important,” said Max. “Still think you’re up to it?”

Robyn nodded. “Yes, Sir. Thank you for letting me do this on my own. I won’t let you down.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” said Max. “If you can pull this off, I promise to give you a good ravishing tonight.”

Robyn’s eyes lit up, as they always did whenever the thought of pleasing her master entered her mind. “Thank you, Sir,” she said demurely. Then she stood back. “How do I look?” she asked, feeling the familiar wave of hunger for his touch.

Max studied her outfit. She was dressed in soft black leather: studded collar and wristbands, high stilletto-heel boots, waist cinching corset that added more curves to her permanent bodysuited form. And in her belt she carried a leather flogger. “You look very . . . suitable, Robyn. I believe our latest client is waiting.” And he gestured to the door to the anteroom. Robyn strode through alone.

A middle-aged woman waited for her in the anteroom. The woman’s face was handsome rather than pretty, and she obviously took care of herself. Back in the days when Robyn dressed for success, she might have envied the woman’s expensive wardrobe. She held in her well-manicured hand one of the gold calling cards that gained entrance to the Island of the LoveDolls.

“Miss. Bradford? I’m Robyn. I understand you’re looking for some . . . permanent companionship of the submissive variety.”

Mrs. Bradford studied Robyn with the same care she scrutinized her stock portfolio. “My people first talked to a man called Max’,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I’m his associate, Ms. Bradford. You will be meeting him shortly. Max thought that I might have a better notion of your particular, um, preferences.”

Ms. Bradford seemed to gather herself. “Well, young lady,” she said, “I can be rather demanding.”

“So I surmised,” said Robyn. “We expect most of our clients to be quite demanding. Shall we sit and discuss what you’re looking for? Let’s see. From your profile, you want a man around the house. Not physically overbearing, well-mannered—and psycholologically conditioned to obey your every whim. Is that a good start?”

“Well. . .yes,” said Ms. Bradford. “But I want an exclusive relationship. If I just wanted a gigilo, I would have arranged for one. I want true. . .” She let the sentance hang.

“Devotion?” suggested Robyn.

The ghost of a smile crossed the older woman’s lips. “Yes, my dear. Devotion. I believe you understand me.”

Robyn smiled in return. “Since we opened our island resort to male guests, we have had a chance to, um, acquire. . . quite a large stock of suitable candidates. After we talk, we can tour the premises and you can make your choice. My advice would be not rush your decision. And don’t worry about attitude or behavior—we can fine-tune your choice to fit all of your needs precisely. And I do mean, all your needs. But before we begin, why don’t you get comfortable?” Robyn leaned over and pressed the intercom by her armrest. “Send him in,“she said.

The door opened, and in walked Byron Charlesworth. He wore leather briefs and a leather collar. His slack body had been physically toned by enforced relentless hours in the gym. His eyes were downcast and he seemed to tremble slightly as he knelt in front of Robyn. “Yes, Mistress?” he whispered.

Robyn addressed the matron. “Ms. Bradford, this is Byron. And he’s going to be your pleasure toy for today, aren’t you, Byron?” she asked in a sweet voice laced with venom as she tilted the sharp toe of her boot against his chin. “Byron was a bad boy today, Ms. Bradford. He sprinkled sugar all over Mistress’s desk when he served me coffee this morning. Bad boy,” she repeated as Byron winced. His eyes strayed to her flogger, then darted back to the ground.

Ms. Bradford stared at him. “Has he. . .I mean, is he one of your. . .?”

Robyn smiled. “Oh, yes. We use him around here for errands since his conditioning. I think he adores me. Don’t you, you bad boy?” she said, with another nudge of boot.

Byron blushed. “Yes, Mistress,” he said, his expression showing how he was forever trapped in that zone between terror and adoration.

Ms. Bradford eyed him with interest. She said, “He looks rather cute.” She leaned forward and raised his chin slightly with the tip of the gold calling card.

“Well, yes, I suppose so, said Robyn. “He’s actually quite clumsy if he’s not supervised. And forgetful. That’s why he was more than glad to sign over his business interests to our organization, so he wouldn’t make a mess of those interests the way he tends to make a mess of everything else. But, " she added with a touch of charity, “He does have his uses.” She nudged him hard, with her boot. “Now go and show Ms. Bradford some of your uses, Byron.”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Byron, as he turned on his knees and kissed the crossed legs of their newest client.

Robyn explained, “His vocabulary has been reduced to three phrases: Yes, Mistress’;

No, Mistress’and No excuse, Mistress.’ It make communication with him so much easier.”

Robyn said, “You might unbutton that skirt—that’s it. Go to it, Byron.”

Ms. Bradford stared in amazement as the young man obediently burrowed his head between her thighs. “Robyn,” she said uncertainly, “is this all right? I mean, does he mind?”

“That’s what he lives for, Ms. Bradford,” assured Robyn. Now, Max will talk to you about the financial arrangements, but what I would like to know are your precise sensual preferences, the sort of thing we might talk about woman to woman.”

Ms. Bradford instinctively opened her thighs a little wider to accomodate kneeling young man. “Well, I—” and then as she felt the warm breath and expertly probing tongue, she said,—oh, my!”

“All of our candidates are trained in oral technique,” said Robyn. “But before we go any further, how about some music? Do you like classical?” She pressed another button. “Here’s one of my favorites.” And Robyn and Ms. Bradford talked about her choices, as Byron licked and lapped away, and in the background lilted the melody of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto. Robyn settled back in her chair. “Now just tell me what you had in mind. . .”