The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The island appeared on no charts, no nautical mapping. It existed only in rumor to those who sailed past, leaving or returning from the mainland many miles away. Sailors in years past had ventured onto the welcoming, grassy shores, but those sailors had never returned home and, after time, boats no longer ventured onto those lustrous shores.

One boat, and one alone, travelled safely to the dock nestled into a beautiful cove, its motor throaty and full, disturbing the calm of the island. As it approached, the motor died, drifting naturally towards the dock. The captain peered out of the windows of the bridge, a low tower raised from the deck with room for the captain and his first mate. As he steadied the wheel, Clarkson bent to see through the clearest glass, along the ridge towering over the cove. His eyes, paled by years at sea, were clear and sharp, quick to follow the flap of a bird’s wings or the intermittent sway of high grass along the ridgeline. The rumors of the island swam in his head, his eyes darting along the geography for proof.

“Any sign of life, Captain?”

Clarkson started, finding himself uncharacteristically jumpy. He turned away from the window, addressing the long, dark-haired woman standing in the doorway. Her white blouse whipped at her waist, pulled free of the tan jodhpurs. Despite the cloth she wore to tie her hair back, the black curls whipped across her forehead and mouth.

“No, Ma’am. Nothing at all.”

“Good. Best to keep it that way. I won’t be staying quite so long this time. I expect you back at this time in three days.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Captain Clarkson. We appreciate your service. And your discretion.”

“Very welcome, Ma’am.”

The woman smiled, easily, but not without cruelty. As she exited, Clarkson exhaled, realizing he had trapped his breath in his lungs until her presence faded from the bridge.

When the motor stopped, Mischa felt her heart race. Her pulse quickened as the props beneath the water slowed and grew still. The small cabin below the deck was cramped and musty-smelling, decorated for utility. The long trip to the island had been uncomfortable as well as ill-conceived. Her search for Marnie had led her first to the Sea of Cortez, where the last signals from the boat Marnie sailed on originated. There had been no sign of Marnie, or Mischa’s aunt or uncle. While her own parents succumbed to grief, to the thought that Marnie and her parents were dead, claimed by the sea, Mischa refused to believe it so readily. Her time at college done, Mischa drove south, over the border, into the panhandle, through villages filled with locals who saw her passage into their world as an unwelcome intrusion.

Still, the money she had secreted away in college had served her well, and Mischa learned the international language was not love—it was currency. A gap-toothed sailor in a shanty bar had told her the stories of an island in the Sea of Cortez, an island that no sailor would travel unless invited. When Mischa removed nautical maps from her backpack, complete with Canadian flag patch, the old sailor had laughed and waved the maps away.

“The island will not be there, senorita,” he said with a chuckle, whistling through is teeth. “She is a secret.”

Upon pressing him, Mischa learned that only one ship was set to travel there, a boat called the Muñeca, and Mischa wasted no time in tracking the boat to a small port town with no discernible population beyond the fishermen and their wives. Mischa, with her blonde hair and bright green eyes, resembled her cousin, at least in broad features. Where Marnie had been lean and athletic, Mischa was curvier, not quite voluptuous. Despite her hiking with her boyfriend in the California hills, her thighs still filled out, her bottom rounded and full, her breasts heavy. Even now, she quietly cursed the tank top that stretched over a black bra, entirely too visible. The captain seemed to pay her no mind, so Mischa resigned to the cabin for the journey. She hadn’t seen the woman much at all during the trip.

“Are you ready?” the woman’s voice called from the head of the steps to the cabin.

“Just getting my things.”

“Meet me on the deck when you’re ready then.”

Mischa grabbed her backpack and gave the cabin a final glance. With breath coming fast, she ascended the steps.

It was a beautiful day, the sun bright in a blue sky, the breeze from the sea just cool enough to keep the heat at bay. Mischa stepped onto the dock, backpack over her shoulder, the captain looking down from the bridge behind reflecting glass.

“It’s a bit of a walk,” the woman said, and Mischa nodded, shouldering the loose strap to secure the pack in place. “Perhaps a walk isn’t such a horrible idea.”

Mischa paused at the comment as the woman stepped onto the dock and into the grass beyond, her knee-length polished boots digging into the soft earth as she began her climb up the ridge. Was she making a dig at Mischa’s weight? Mischa tried to shake off the implied slight, and followed the woman’s steps up the hill.

In the fishing village where Mischa had first seen the Muñeca, Mischa had gotten her first sight of the tall, angular woman. She was standing with the captain, wearing a loose dress that accentuated her well-tanned skin. She was attractive, certainly, but a coldness radiated from her that made Mischa uncomfortable.

“When are you going to tell me your name?” Mischa called from behind.

The woman never broke stride, mounting the ridge quickly, leaving Mischa fighting for breath as she matched her pace.

“Carmen,” the woman said, and laughed, a rolling, light sound.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me before?”

The laugh came again, purer this time. “I never give my name unless I’m on this island, Mischa.”

“That’s not very convenient.”

“No. But it’s necessary.”

The woman who Mischa now knew as Carmen paused at the top of the ridge and Mischa hurried to catch up.

“Why?” Mischa managed, air coming in big lungfuls.

“Because of this.”

Carmen nodded towards the manor not far in the distance, a beautiful house, the bright stucco well-tended. Mischa would have been lost in the sight of such a beautiful estate had it not been for the spectacle in the field beyond. She could see a fenced field to the right of the house, and there women could be seen in the grass, on all fours, some painted to resemble cows. When the first moo came, carried on the breeze, Mischa shuddered.

“What happened to them?”

“They fulfilled their fantasy. Come along.”

Mischa had tried not to stare at the women in the field as the pair approached the house, but it was difficult not to steal glances at them, to measure the perversity of their shapes, their mindless expressions. Carmen caught her staring and smirked, sending Mischa’s eyes back to the ground where she could concentrate on the much easier march to the house, now that the ridge was behind them. When they reached the rear entrance, where a patio was set with a small table and chairs, Mischa thought she heard the whinny of a horse, only a horse whinnying through a human larynx. She tried to push the sound, and the image it begged, out of her mind.

Carmen did not pause, opening the double doors of the manor. Mischa followed, her mind reeling with what the sights of this island represented. For Marnie. For her.

“Carmen!” a voice called from above them. “And you brought a visitor.”

“Solita,” Carmen replied, voice emotionless. “You look well.”

“Thank you. I’ve been in wonderful spirits lately. Please,” she continued, descending the last steps to face Carmen, “introduce me to your friend.”

“Her name is Mischa. Her friend went missing in a boating accident I told her the only place she could have survived is here. But that would be impossible.” Her tone grew colder than normal. “Any unauthorized visitors are immediately reported to the office. Since we have no such report, young Mischa must be mistaken.”

Solita’s smile narrowed, but never quite disappeared. “Perhaps we should discuss it in private.”

“Yes, perhaps we should.”

Carmen turned to Mischa, her cool gray eyes pinning Mischa to the entryway.

“One of the servants will show you to your room. After I speak with Solita, I will come for you and we can resolve the matter of your cousin. Until then, relax and enjoy all that the island has to offer.”

“Thank you,” Mischa said, hoping her voice sounded less afraid than she felt. When the click-clack of boots diverted her attention, Mischa was greeted with a new perversion of the island’s inhabitants, a tall, latex-clad exaggeration of a woman, costumed like a French maid. The maid paused before her, extending her arm.

“Give her your bag, Mischa, and follow her. I’ll see you shortly.”

Mischa gave a shallow nod and looped the strap of her backpack over the maid’s hand, who promptly turned on a sharp heel and began up the steps. Mischa glanced at Carmen and Solita as she trailed behind, and the smoldering look Carmen was giving Solita made her glad, momentarily, to be following the ridiculously-proportioned fetish maid.

As she rounded the curving staircase, the two women disappeared from sight, and now Mischa could take in more of the manor’s decoration, tasteful and elegant. It was a truly beautiful building, save for the bizarre dress of the women who called it home. She was admiring one of the statues—a woman standing with legs crossed and arms behind her back—when Mischa gasped. She had seen the rib cage of the statue swell and fall as the living woman breathed beneath a skin of rubber, painted to look like marble. Mischa looked into the statue’s eyes, apparently covered by contacts that simulated the same marble texture. She wondered if the woman beneath knew she was there, then decided she wanted to know no more than she must to get her answers. If Marnie had come here, was she trapped like these other women? Was she a statue on a pedestal, or perhaps one of the girls in the field lowing like a dairy cow? The thought made her shudder and she shook her head to clear the image. Marnie wouldn’t be here. Mischa would spend three days secluded in her room and go back to the mainland. Drowning, Mischa thought, is not the worst fate she could now imagine.

The maid led her to a well-decorated room, complete with an attached bath. The maid deposited her backpack on the bed and turned to face Mischa.

“Thank you,” Mischa said, peering into the hooded face of the maid. The eyes were dim, unthinking green orbs that regarded her without emotion. After a moment, Mischa continued, “That will be all.”

The maid retired from the room, closing it behind her. Mischa sat on the wide bed, clutching her backpack to her chest, and whispered a prayer that she would be delivered from this island and back to her family, with or without Marnie.

The study door slammed shut behind Carmen as she strode to the center of the room, facing the desk behind which Solita sat.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“If you have that girl’s cousin, tell me know or the consequences of your deception will be dire indeed.”

Solita laughed. “You always were the dramatist. I have been overseeing this island for almost ten years. What complaints could you possibly have?”

“If you have taken an unwilling girl, you risk exposing us and the services we provide. Our clientele would not appreciate, nor would the Board. Or perhaps you would like to speak to them yourself?”

Solita waved the idea away like an errant fly. “There is no risk.”

“Then you do have her? This girl, Marnie?”

“She was in a boat accident. I provided her shelter.”

Carmen sighed, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. “What did you do with her?”

Solita smiled and rang a bell on her desk, the high jingle echoing in the room. The sound of heels on tile followed, then the girl appeared. Whatever humanity had been in the girl was hidden by the pink latex covering her body, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, now long and dyed a bright pink to mach her catsuit. Upon seeing Solita, the pink doll crossed to her, kneeling down and nuzzling against the fabric of Solita’s dress.

“Not now, Marnie,” Solita smiled, pushing the girl’s head away from her lap. Marnie obeyed, as she always did, and sat back on her heels, staring up at Solita in pure adulation.

“Jesus, Solita,” Carmen hissed.

“She should have drowned. Why anyone would assume she hadn’t is beyond me, but there is no evidence she was here.”

“Besides the fact that she is, you mean.”

Solita stroked Marnie’s cheek lovingly, smiling down at the doll. “She only knows she is Marnie because that’s the name I gave her after the process. She has no memories of anything in her life before. She can’t give away the location of this island, because she doesn’t know she is on an island. She only knows pleasure, now.”

“She is an unauthorized conversion and a violation of everything this island stands for. This is a place where women live out their fantasies, not have someone’s fantasy thrust upon them. You have gone too far, Solita. You have—”

“Been running this island for nearly a decade without incident,” Solita interrupted. “I took a girl that was and is dead as far as the outside world is concerned. She is the one reward I have taken for myself in a place of complete isolation.” Solita calmed herself, idly petting her doll. “Carmen, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for the opportunity here, but what I did was an act of love. The girl has never felt more bliss. And her conditioning has left her in no place to return from it. I ask—I beg you—allow me this one pleasure. I will never take such a liberty again.”

“No,” Carmen replied flatly, “you won’t. I’ll confer with the Board and they will decide. Thank you for being honest with me.”

“Of course.” Solita paused, then spoke again. “And the girl upstairs?”

“She knows of the island, she knows of us. Despite the hypocrisy of the action, she cannot be allowed to leave. The only question that remains is what role she will serve.”

Mischa slept the afternoon away before waking as the chill of the evening breeze stirred her. Unpacking a change of clothes from her backpack, she changed in the bath. Her shorts were replaced with a similar, darker pair, the shirt now a fuller tee. She hoped she would be able to wash her sparse wardrobe before setting back for the mainland. She was staring out the window onto the field beyond, lit by the rising moon, when a knock on the door startled her.

“Mischa,” Carmen’s voice called from the other side. “We’re setting down to dinner. Would you care to join us?”

Mischa weighed her options—starve or scavenge when she could—and decided that it was best to go along with her hostess for the duration of the trip. She crossed to the door and opened it, forcing a smile onto her face.

“Of course, I’m starving.”

Carmen smiled. “Of course you are.”

Mischa tried to keep her head down during dinner, eyes jerking away every time she was greeted by the image of one of the latex serving maids, teetering on their pointed heels, carrying trays of food and drink around the dining room table. Carmen and Solita engaged in surprisingly banal conversation—Carmen’s journey, the beauty of the island, Carmen’s return. When Solita directed a question to Mischa, she expressed surprise, quickly swallowing the remains of her mouthful of salad.

“What do you think of the island?” Solita asked.

Mischa stammered a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. It’s like some crazy fetish club med.”

Solita laughed and even Carmen cracked a smile.

“Did Carmen tell you how these girls came to be here?”

Mischa felt a knot of fear coil in her belly. “No. She said something about fulfilling fantasies.”

“Yes,” Solita said, leaning back into her chair. The speech was one given and practiced. “There are very wealthy women in the world, Mischa, and my theory is that, with that sort of money and freedom, the usual pleasures don’t satisfy. They begin to explore extremes of delight and soon find that not even those sate the desires they have fostered. For those who must explore the depths of their lust, we provide a simple service—be whatever you want, within reason, for as long as you like. We condition them to think and feel how they wish, and wake them from this dream when they decide. Beforehand, of course.” Solita gave a muted shrug and smiled. “They return to their lives with an unparalleled experience, their deepest fantasies expressed. Sometimes once is enough, some return every year.”

“Those women painted like cows—”

“Cows, ponies, dolls, maids, statues...” Solita interrupted, “We have seen any number of things, but there have been recurring themes over the years. There are always ponies in the stables, always cows in the field and always maids attending. A few unique fetishes have been accommodated, but we find our menu satisfies most.”

“But Marnie would never have done anything like this.”

Solita’s eyes flitted to Carmen, then back to Mischa. “I’m sorry, dear, but your cousin never came to this island. I hope you will enjoy the scenery over the next two days and return home knowing that you have done far more than most for your family. I only wish we could have offered you an answer.”

“Solita does go on,” Carmen said, diverting attention. “But I think it is time for me to retire. Mischa, you have freedom to go where you like, so long as you do not interrupt the fantasies of the women who have paid a precious sum to be here. Solita will extend you every courtesy.”

“Of course,” Solita affirmed.

“Thank you. I wouldn’t dream of disturbing the women, but I may take a look around if it’s no trouble.”

“Of course not,” Solita said warmly. “Make yourself at home.”

Mischa prowled through the house, lit by the soft glow of candles placed intermittently throughout the rooms. Each room she found possessed its own sexual mystery. The library was tall, lined with books from floor to ceiling, a ladder reaching up to the highest shelves, placed on rollers to move to any position in the room. Within, another statue, this one of two women, locked in a kiss, only their blinking giving away the living beings posed there. The kitchen was abuzz with the latex maids, and Mischa found an infirmary where corresponding latex nurses went about their business or simply stood still, awaiting use. She ran across a catgirl near the back stairs, dressed in a calico-painted latex catsuit, long nails extending from the latex gloves, her hair teased out. Seeing Mischa approach, the catgirl turned and bounded up the stairs, surprisingly nimble on all fours.

She saw these sites with a mixture of curiosity and wonder, her fear fading since dinner. They were here by choice, and Mischa felt as if she was peeking into the psyches of women addressing their innermost fantasies. She wondered what sort of conditioning could change them so completely into these strange beings, but Mischa assumed it was a subject best left a mystery.

She returned to her room after her exploration of the house, tired and mind reeling from all the sights of the island. She decided that, tomorrow, she would explore the grounds outside the house. If she was to be trapped here, she would see how the richer, more depraved half lived. It would be a story for the closest of friends, but one she would revel in telling.

Carmen closed her laptop with a sigh. She knew that the Board had considered their decision carefully before ruling, but Carmen couldn’t help but feel that her own recommendations had been ignored. Their decision would leave much to be done in a very short time, and Mischa’s fate would be left for Mischa, and Carmen, to decide. Despite a few extra pounds, Carmen thought she was a pretty girl, and likable. After the revelation of the island’s purpose, she had taken it in stride, as well, which perhaps bade well for the girl.

Carmen sipped red wine from the glass by her bed and leaned back into the soft comforter. Regardless, the fates of the island’s matron and its newest guest would be known tomorrow.

Mischa fund herself surprisingly upbeat as she descended the stairs, the morning sun shining brilliantly through the high windows of the entranceway. Solita sat at a breakfast table, along with Carmen, both wearing dresses of a loose material that made Mischa feel as though she was going to dine on the shores of the Mediterranean. They greeted her with a smile, Solita’s more convincing by far, and offered her a seat.

“Thank you,” Mischa said.

“Did you sleep well?” Solita asked, pouring milk from a pitcher for the girl while a maid brought a variety of breads and fruit.

“Very. I think the sound of the waves rocks me right to sleep.”

“Have you thought about your plans for the day?” Carmen asked, unexpectedly.

“Yes. If it’s no trouble, I was going to take a walk around the island. It’s such a nice day, I thought a hike would be nice.”

“Indeed,” Carmen agreed. “Be sure you go by the stables. Our ponies pay quite a lot for that service, and love to be admired.”

“I will,” Mischa said uncomfortably. The thought was enticing, but she didn’t care for the icy Carmen’s recommendation.

“Good. I’m afraid I have to excuse myself,” Carmen said, standing. “I will see you both after lunch.”

“Enjoy yourself, Carmen.”

Solita and Mischa watched her exit the room, graceful and determined. When she had disappeared into the back rooms, Solita smiled, leaning to Mischa conspiratorially.

“She’s a real stick in the mud, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know how to take her.”

“She’s all business. I don’t think she understands what fun means. Can you believe she’s mad at me for bringing a friend to the island? Do you have any idea how lonely it is here without a friend? Just rich women with their fantasies, most of which leave them silent. Except the girls downstairs, but they’re a different story.”

“What’s downstairs?”

“The dungeon. Most of the women here are beautiful in their own way, but the ones that insist on exploring slavery... it can get unsettling. Stick to the outdoors, I say.”

“Creepy.”

“Some of them,” Solita nodded. “Some just like it a little rough. Anyway, that’s hardly breakfast conversation. When you get your fill, don’t hesitate to ask me if you have any questions about where to go.” Then, quieter, “Then again, discovery is half the fun of exploring, isn’t it?”

Carmen slipped into Solita’s chambers, wrinkling her nose at the disorganization. Clothes were cast about the room, open books were piled on top of open books. The result of being alone for so long, she supposed. But Solita wasn’t completely alone here. Kneeling by the bed was her doll, quiet, eyes staring straight ahead. She had been a pretty girl before her conversion. She was still pretty, but the blank look in her eyes made her something less than human, an automaton programmed to please Solita.

Carmen bent to the doll, who finally met her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Marnie. But at least you may have your revenge. Activate Lazarus”

Mischa circled the house, wondering at the cows shuffling through the field, idly chewing grass or rubbing against one another affectionately. Their breasts hung heavily beneath them, and Mischa could see one clearly lactating. She wondered if that was part of the package—to be a cow in the purest sense, to produce milk for drink Then Mischa’s hand flew to her mouth, thinking of the glass of milk she’d had for breakfast. Surely that wasn’t-

She diverted her eyes from the cows, as if that would erase the notion she couldn’t shake. So what if she drank human milk? She didn’t linger on the thought, the stables coming into view as she rounded the corner of the house. As much as Mischa hated the thought of being led there by Carmen’s suggestion, she couldn’t shake the curiosity at seeing what this fantasy-made-flesh would look like. Diverting towards the barn-like structure, Mischa resigned herself to see yet another image she would never shake.

Solita hadn’t seen Carmen since breakfast, and she had no urge to seek her out and hear another lecture about her responsibility from the Board. Instead, she went to her quarters, where Marnie would be waiting. She had agreed to keep her hidden on the off-chance that Mischa recognized her cousin, despite the hood she wore and the change in her body’s shape thanks to the heeled boots she wore and her change in diet.

When she closed the door behind her, she found Marnie where she had left her this morning, kneeling by the bed. Solita broke into a loving smile, sitting on the bed and drawing her doll to her, kissing her pouty lips. Marnie responded in kind, her slick latex hands finding Solita’s face, caressing her Mistress. Solita closed her eyes in ecstasy, feeling her doll’s legs wrap around her, Marnie’s tongue exploring Solita’s neck and shoulder. Solita fell back onto the bed in rapture, writhing beneath her doll, moaning. She barely noticed as Marnie’s hands closed around her wrists, or the way Marnie’s legs pinned Solita’s to the bed. When the door opened, framing Carmen, the first twinge of panic struck her.

“Get out of here,” Solita hissed.

“I’m afraid not,” Carmen replied emotionlessly. “The Board has decided. I’ve interpreted their ruling in the most favorable way possible. At least you will have your doll.”

The cool shade of the stables was pleasant after the warming sun rose. The smell was earthy, like fresh-cut grass. At first, Mischa thought she was alone in the stables until she heard the heavy steps from the shadows near the open doors. Beyond, Mischa could make out a few figures, but too distant to tell their details. The woman who emerged from the shade was over six feet in her boots, tall heels shaped like horse hooves buckled around her calves. She was largely bare, save a harness that was secured over her shoulders, down her chest between her breasts, and looping around so that it concealed her sex. Her skin was tan, but smooth, and Mischa wondered if the skin beneath the harness was pale or if the faux pony had been tanned before the harness was applied.

A bridle had been fixed to the woman’s head, complete with a cylindrical bit fixed between her teeth. Her eyes sparkled with life, brown and wide, the bridle she wore framing her face. The two-legged pony shifted on her faux hooves impatiently, leaning towards Mischa as she approached the fenced borders of the interior stable. Mischa hesitated, then extended her hand. The woman tilted her head, bringing her cheek against the back of Mischa’s hand. Mischa ran her hand over the pony’s cheek, down her neck. The bound woman sighed happily at the touch, sending a shiver down Mischa’s spine.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Mischa started, jerking her hand away and turning to the entrance. Carmen stood in the door, observing for an unknowable amount of time.

“I was just—”

“it’s fine, Mischa. I’m glad you like her. Jasmine has been here for two months, now. She’s due to be awakened in another week, when she will decide if she would like to continue or return to her life.” Carmen approached, standing close enough to Mischa for the younger girl to smell the citrusy perfume she wore. Carmen pet the pony idly. “I do believe she will stay. She has taken to being a pony so naturally.” Carmen’s eyes turned down to Mischa.

“Does she just stand there all day?”

“Oh no. She runs, she plays with the other ponies. Occasionally she and her sisters pull our buggy, and we tour the island, giving them some much-needed exercise. They are well-cared for.”

Mischa opened her mouth to speak, found no words, and closed it again.

“I’m pleased to see you haven’t hidden in your room all this time, Mischa,” Carmen said, smiling. “Some who first see the sights here are more... reluctant.”

“They chose it. I suppose it’s their right to live how they like.”

“Exactly. Unfortunately, some choices are more difficult than others, don’t you think?”

“Yes. I suppose.” Mischa looked back to the pony.

“In fact, we have come to a bit of a crossroads here, Mischa. Solita will be unable to fulfill her duties from now on. The island must have a matron. Someone who lives here, among the customers, providing for them when they need it, assisting in their conversions both into and out of their fantasies.”

Carmen circled Mischa, who followed her with her eyes, head turning as her body stood still.

“To complicate matters, we cannot let you leave. You found the island of your own accord, but that knowledge comes with a price.”

“But, I—”

“Shhhh. You have shown great ingenuity in finding us, and even greater acceptance once you arrived. Though we cannot let you leave here, we can offer you a life of great peace and natural beauty. Your wants will be addressed. Your own island paradise, Mischa.”

“And if I refuse?”

Carmen’s smile faded, grew chilly. “Then you would have to assume a different role.”

The conversion room hummed with sounds, a low thrum that pulsed and echoed in Solita’s skull. She was fully bound, straps securing her arms and legs, her torso, her head. She had no choice but to stare forward, at the images flashing on a screen, a tall, rubber-clad nurse standing on either side, watching her without expression. Occasionally, Marnie would touch the woman she had come to know as an owner, caressing her arm or dabbing sweat from her forehead.

Solita’s felt sweat roll down her face, between her breasts, down the small of her back, unsure if the heat came from the room or from within. Her nude body strained and twisted as much as it could, but she knew all too well that the restraining table was secure. The process begun by Carmen was still a mystery to her, the images generic—all sexual, all displaying submission—but those were a prelude to the specific programming she would undergo. By the time that programming began, she would have no resistance left, if the customers and her Marnie were any indication.

As if on cue, Marnie eased around the table and settled before Solita, offering soft kisses over her dampening folds and sliding her tongue over the swelling button within. So much pleasure Solita could remember coming from those lips, that tongue, and those thoughts she clung to as the rhythmic bass coursed through her body, the images shifting and melting together as they paraded across her mind. Marnie lapped at her, latex-covered fingers worshipping her as she had been programmed to do, as Solita herself had imagined from their first meeting. Solita hoped she would remember Marnie, both before and after, knowing her own identity would most likely disappear in the growing fog in her brain.

Mischa ran, sandaled feet kicking up dust along the dirt road that led away from the stable and the house. There had been a brief moment where Mischa couldn’t imagine what Carmen meant, what her offer truly entailed, and then panic slammed into her. As Carmen said, she would not be allowed to leave of her own accord, and thoughts of her family in the States, the life she had left behind there to search for her cousin, the future that she would never have if she allowed Carmen to catch her, drove her forward. She followed the road towards the dock where they had arrived, then veered away, into the deeper woods where she could hide.

When she finally stopped, near-collapsing against a tree, her breath coming in huge whoops, she turned back to the barely-visible road. It was empty for now, and now she was not sure if she had been pursued at all. Looking up, she found low-hanging branches leading up to the peak of the tree. Just like as a child, Mischa climbed, nesting herself in the crook of the tree thirty feet off the ground. Straddling the wide branch, she leaned back, head resting against the bark. The whole situation was almost laughably ridiculous if the fear didn’t convince her of its seriousness.

As she sat with her eyes closed, she finally began to relax. She slowed her breathing, taking deeper breaths, until she felt her heart rate slow and the adrenalin fade. She would wait for night and make her way to the beach, hoping that some ship would pass by, or that a dinghy had been left there for emergencies. She would trust her fate to the sea rather than the deranged residents of the island.

Exhaustion settling over her, Mischa surprised herself with a yawn. She shifted in the elbow of the tree, making herself more comfortable. She scratched at the back of her neck where an itch was growing, unnoticed during her flight. Her nails struck a tiny spine and cast it away after plucking it easily from her nape. A part of her expressed curiosity, even alarm, but her body was drifting now, feeling leaden and slow. Eventually, her eyes drew closed and she slumped in her hidey-hole, oblivious to the hot sun of the afternoon.

In a nearby tree, a camera panned back and forth, stopped, pointed at her. The lens narrowed as it focused on the sleeping girl. From within the manor, Carmen smiled.

The music thrummed still, but slower, the images on the screen now less submissive in their content than fetishistic. Headphones had been placed over Solita’s ears, who barely registered the voices that now filled her head. The nurse-dolls still stood on either side of the screen, but they had become background, the flashing images stealing Solita’s focus entirely. Marnie sat at the base of the restraining table, occasionally attending to Solita’s damp sex with rubbery fingers or tongue, which produced low moans of pleasure from the bound woman.

On the screen, a woman was being encased in rubber, sealed within, the reflective second skin white and skin-tight. A corset was secured around the woman’s waist and tightened, secured by buckles, then locked with small padlocks. The restraining table responded, tightening the restraints around Solita’s waist until she gasped as her breath was expelled from her. White heels were then fixed to the woman on screen, zipped up and likewise secured. Solita felt her own feet being pulled down by the restraints into a point, her calf stretching to accommodate the severe angle.

Though still nude, Solita could almost feel the tightness of the latex on her body, the pleasure of it coiled in her mind, reinforced, made all. The headphones droned on, encouraging her obedience to the island, her servitude to its needs. These thoughts had existed before, but now they were given priority, shutting out unnecessary digressions like identity or personal desire. The woman on screen was fitted with a hood, holes left for her eyes and nose, a zipper covering the mouth. Solita cried out at the image, seeing the woman become something less than a person and more than she could be as an individual. She understood the need for the zipper, the need to be silenced. She understood the role of the woman shown to her as a true servant of the island.

A latex skirt was fixed to the bottom of the corset, secured there, a red cross on the front in parody of a medical symbol. The voice in her ears filled her mind, the previous hours’ work having driven out of her memories into a tight, hidden ball, leaving her mind so blank, so receptive. When the voice told her she was the same as the girl on the screen, Solita believed it. There was no reason to dispute it, no will left to resist it.

In time, the images on the screen froze on the image of the rubber-clad nurse, faceless, motionless, and Solita mimicked the tranquil silence. The women on either side of the screen disappeared behind it, leaving the remains of Solita in relative silence, only the thrumming of the ambient echoing in her mind. When they returned after only a moment, Solita saw they held the uniform she had seen applied to the girl on the screen. She greeted this realization with no expectation, no desire, only the immediate pleasure of knowing her belonging.

The straps on the restraining table released, but Solita did not move. She had not been told to, and she knew that, above all, she was to do as she was told. Some echo flitted through her mind—something about punishment—but how could this be anything but a gift? She was content, obedient, unable to imagine a life without service to the island. It was, after all, what she had been created for.

The assistants prepared Solita, cleaning her first, then applying a cool lubricant to her skin. She stood passively as slick latex hands applied the cream, exploring her every fold. There was a brief moment of arousal, but it faded as hands moved away from her sex and down her legs, giving Solita’s body a plastic-like sheen. Solita herself took no notice, merely waited to be instructed, to be given purpose. That was her pleasure, she knew. In the fulfilling of her tasks, she would find ecstasy. True pleasure did come as she was led a step away from the table, and one of the assistants lifted her leg, easing it into the leg of a pristine white catsuit. The assistant worked the latex up to Solita’s knee, smoothing as she ascended, making a flawless second skin. Once done, the other assistant took over, fitting her other leg into the catsuit in similar fashion. Once she stood on her own once more, Solita could feel the two working in tandem, bringing the material up, covering her, smoothing her. Her arms were lifted gently, bent as gloves slid over her hands. Before she could appreciate the sensation, Solita was covered neck to feet, the feeling of blissful enclosure assuring her that this was right, she was being made perfect.

A corset matching the one she had seen on the screen for (minutes? hours?) some time fitted around her waist and cinched tight. The exaggerated shape made her breath hitch at first, but she quickly acclimated to the shallower breaths she had leaned on the table. She felt her obedience like a tangible thing in her belly, an ache that must be answered, reinforced by the sound of small padlocks being secured at the buckles of the corset.

Solita was lead back to the table where she could recline, her feet lifted once more as heels were affixed to her feet, bending her soles in a curve on towering heels that forced her to balance carefully. She did. She had been trained to.

While the skirt was attached to the lower lip of the corset by one of the assistants, the other disappeared behind the screen again. As she waited, she looked down at the pink doll crouching beside her, feeling a sudden rush of love and loyalty. Solita extended a hand and pet the doll, which responded with a moan of pleasure. Solita responded with a similar moan, realizing instantly that part of her role was to care for the doll, just as it would care for her.

When the assistant returned with the white hood, the mouth-zipper open, Solita leaned her head forward to greet the final piece of her uniform. There was darkness, then light as her eyeholes were aligned with her eyes and a ZIP from behind informed her that the hood was now secured. The pink doll stared up, then pulled itself upright using Solita’s hips for purchase, pressing against the new doll’s body with a squeak. The pink doll ran its fingers over the hood, caressing the shape beneath, then leaned and kissed Solita deeply, tongue invading her open mouth, body writhing against her uniformed shape. Breaking the kiss, the doll smiled and Solita felt another wave of love and concern flood through her. Still smiling, the pink doll pulled the mouth-zipper slowly closed, sealing away Solita’s voice and the last remnant of her identity.

The door in the far wall opened, revealing Carmen, hair pulled back casually, eyes sparkling.

“Oh, good, you’re ready. Here, you’re going to need this,” she said off-handedly, stepping into the room. She bent to the pink doll, who had resumed her place on the floor beside the new nurse, and clipped a leash onto the collar that circled her neck. Carmen released the length of the leash, placing the loop into the new nurse’s hand. “She’s your responsibility, now. We’ll touch her up later to make sure she reinforces your new role, too.” Carmen tilted her head, looking into Solita’s eyes. “Not that it appears you need much. So docile, now.” Carmen’s face softened into something approaching sympathy before snapping out of her reverie.

“You three,” she said, swinging a finger at each of the nurses in the room, “I want this reset for a quick programming session. Clean the table and reset the screen. Make it fast.” Carmen turned to leave, then paused, turning back to Solita, or, as she would be forevermore, the Nurse Doll. “Oh, and prepare the cow script for tomorrow. We have a new customer arriving. And maybe a new administrator. Don’t worry about loading the cow script just yet, though. I have one more appropriate for our next guest.”

The Nurse Doll obeyed.

Mischa’s eyes flitted open, her mind hazy and slow to respond. She remembered the tree, feeling safe, then...

Mischa tried to move, to run, but her body informed her that she was held by bands across her legs, her waist, her chest, even her head. She had been rendered immobile. Worse, something had been placed in her mouth, her tongue sliding over the top and bottom in an attempt to define it. Whatever it was seemed to have been buckled behind her head, and she could feel the clasp there when she presses her head back. She was on her back, staring up at a cold white-tiled ceiling. She tried to speak, the words coming out garbled.

Beyond her field of vision, she heard the click of heels on tile, then a door opened. She tried again to speak, to beg for help, but the cylinder placed across her mouth once more reduced the words to gibberish. The door closed, opened again. This time, two sets of heels, coming close. Her eyes looked to the direction of the sound, growing wide as Carmen’s face filled her vision.

“There you are, sleepyhead. I thought you’d never come to. And we have limited time, I’m afraid. New arrivals soon, Paying customers. They have priority, you understand. Still, we can’t have you running around the island unattended. Not with all those horrible thoughts running through your head.” Carmen raised a hypodermic needle, tapping it as she depressed the plunger to free the trapped air. Satisfied, she turned back to Mischa. “Generally, I prefer the slow methods, but this will do in a pinch.”

Carmen unceremoniously pierced the skin of Mischa’s arm, injecting the clear fluid within into her vein.

“We have to wipe out all those ideas you have. About this island. About escape. About anything, really. And this little cocktail, invented by one of the members of our Board, will help us do that quickly. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Mischa struggled again in the restraints, but already she could feel a slow warmth creep out from her belly, like she was lying nude on the beach and the sun had just peeked from behind a cloud.

“That’s better,” Carmen smiled, stroking Mischa’s hair. “Relax and let it happen. You’re about to step through a door into a new life, Mischa. One of pure joy. And I think I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for you. Now, be a good girl and have a look at your future.”

The restraining table raised her up, her body secured in an upright position before a blank screen. On either side, a white-clad nurse stood, the ones she had glimpsed before, encased in latex, faceless and nameless. Mischa tried to shake her head no, but managed only the slightest of movements.

“Not them, Mischa.” Carmen raised a remote control from the table, pointed it at the screen and pressed a button. There was a flare of white, then the image of a girl filled the screen—her nude body interrupted only by the harness that circled her bare breasts, around her waist, and looped under her sex. Her hands and feet had been secured within latex and steel hooves, her back arched as she stood on the rear hooves. Mischa realized that the gag in her mouth was a bit, just like the girl wore on the screen.

Mischa screamed.

Carmen, laughing left the room as the Nurse Dolls attended Mischa, fixing the headphones to her ears.

Distantly, the chug of the boat’s motor could be heard, still a mile away, but close, now. New guests would be arriving. Carmen breathed in the sweet smell of the stables, enjoying the earthiness of the scent. She almost fell, eyes shut tight, when she was nudged, but caught herself on the rail of the stable.

“Easy, girl,” she said, stroking the hair tied down Mischa’s back. “Almost done.”

Carmen pulled the final buckle of the boot tight and stepped back, admiring her work. The harness cut into Mischa’s pale skin a bit, but the extra pounds would shed quickly enough as her skin tanned under the sun. She wouldn’t be strong enough to pull her own weight and a cart, yet, but she would grow stronger in time.

Mischa rose, taking a couple of unsteady steps towards Carmen before settling back on her hooves. Her arms curled against her ample chest, ending in smaller hooves than the ones she stood upon. The bridle framed her face well, holding the bit in place. Mischa took a more confident step, her head turning to the closed double doors.

“You want out, is that it?” Carmen asked, grinning despite herself at Mischa’s chuff and nuzzle against her shoulder. “I know, pretty girl, come along.”

Carmen made her way to the double doors, sliding the bar which secured them aside. Behind her, she could hear Mischa eagerly shift her weight on her hooves. Carmen threw the doors wide and Misch was off, running with uncertainty, but running nonetheless. It was unsurprising, given her programming. There was nothing but pony in that body, now, nothing but the desire to run, to play with the other ponies and to grow strong and beautiful. Carmen knew she would fit in nicely.

Turning back into the barn, she heard the boat’s motor huffing louder. The guests would be here soon, and there were arrangements to make. Carmen afforded herself one final look back at the field where Mischa had found a dark-haired and tan pony and the two nuzzled one another affectionately. It was nice, Carmen thought, to bring so much happiness.