The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Just Do Me

By Captain Eazy


Half Moon Beach was a tropical paradise. As Jane, Darla, and Shawna followed the path toward it, lush greenery gave way to a manicured lawn. A free bar, a shower station, and a facility for borrowing beach umbrellas, beach chairs, towels, floats, and other equipment were discreetly tucked in nooks of palms and palmettos. Flowers spiced the air, and colorful birds sang above the hiss and crash of waves. Offshore, gulls wheeled and creaked. The sky, vibrant blue to the horizon, drifted with small white puffy clouds.

The beach, a broad, gentle slope of fine crystal-white sand, led down to the lovely sea. The curve of beach contained a sort of lagoon, protected from rougher waves by offshore sandbars, its twinkling waters almost emerald in the afternoon sun. Jane, now wearing her sensible one-piece bathing suit–though it felt uncomfortably, unaccountably tight across her bosom–was wondering why she had felt compelled to come to the clothing-optional area with Darla and Shawna. Already a couple of dozen naked guests sprawled on towels or lounged on the beach chairs. Some topless girls were breasting the incoming waves and shrieking with delight when one smacked them. Guys, too. More were sauntering in from the different pathways that led, Jane supposed, to the various dorms.

“There you are,” said Frank, standing up from the place where he had been sunning on an enormous red beach towel, easily big enough for three. Jane couldn’t take her eyes off his long, thick cock, dangling free in the breeze. He grimaced at Shawna’s teeny-tiny string bikini. “Are you gonna wear all that?”

In reply, a smiling Shawna stripped the suit off and tossed it aside. She reached for Frank’s cock. “Are you gonna leave that all soft and swinging?” she asked impishly, squeezing the shaft, stroking it, pulling him toward her as though it were a tether. He reached to stroke her big tits, and she arched her back, sighing. Jane caught her breath as Frank’s massive member began to twitch and stiffen. She swallowed hard and looked around. Darla was already a dozen yards away, stripped down and cuddling close to a bronzed guy whose hands were roving over the dark flesh of her ass. Beyond her another couple was . . . fucking! Out in the open and everything, obviously not giving a damn whether they could be seen or not. The woman lay on another huge towel with her legs spread wide, her ass curled up off the blanket, her hands gripping the crooks of her knees and pulling them back and apart, and he was pounding into her as she gasped and cooed–Jane forced her eyes away from the specatcle.

But when she looked back at Frank, Shawna was on her knees in front of him, eagerly licking and nuzzling Frank’s swelling, enticing cock, running her tongue and lips teasingly up the veined shaft, swirling her tongue around and around the big purple head. She glanced back over her shoulder at Jane, all the while softly stroking and squeezing. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll let you lick it a little.”

Jane ached to take her up on the offer, and Frank smiled and made a welcoming gesture. Just to taste it, just to feel it in her mouth, crushing her tongue, so hot, so delicious . . . men love a girl who can give good head . . .she made herself shake her head. With a tit-jiggling, carefree shrug, Shawna turned back to Frank and boldly took his cock in her mouth. She began to fondle and tickle his balls as her head bobbed. Frank leaned his shoulders back and stroked her short brunette hair and began to pump. A passing couple stopped to admire her technique and the guy said, “Yeah! That’s the way!” before his smirking girlfriend knelt before him and started to show him her way. With an appreciative smack, Shawna pulled away from Frank’s engorged dick, a proud, rigid, gently curving eight inches. “Ooo, look what we have here. That’s better,” she said. She reached for a bottle of tanning oil that rested on Frank’s beach towel. “Just the stuff. I’ve never tried this kink, but for some reason I’m just dying for a titty-fuck. Oil me up, Jane.”

She didn’t want to, but oh, she wanted to so much! Jane felt herself kneeling, the soft sand hot on her rounded knees, saw her hand take the brown plastic bottle, watched herself open it and squirt a stream of oil over Shawna’s breasts, felt her fingers and palms spread it over that hot brown flesh, felt herself getting wet as the deeply pink nipples swelled and throbbed beneath her touch. “Mmm, feels so good. That’s enough,” Shawna said. She lay down on the towel, caressed her shiny, slippery jugs with their lewdly thrusting nipples, and said, “Fuck ‘em, lover!”

Frank obediently knelt, straddling Shawna’s torso, laying his huge fat erection between her tanned, gleaming, slick-silk tits, and she pressed them together, trapping his throbbing dick in her irresistible buns. He started to fuck them as Shawna stroked, kneaded, and stimulated her own nipples. Frank gave her slippery tits long, loving strokes that brought the helmet of his cock high enough for her to lick and kiss it. Jane heard herself moaning. Her hands were still well lubed with oil. She moved to the side, still kneeling beside the busy pair, and saw herself reach out, and then she was cupping and oiling Frank’s hanging balls, feeling the heavy wrinkly swelling sac, felt the bulging balls within, following their movements as they swung and jiggled with his exertions. She forced herself to look away, only to see Darla down the beach astride her chosen stud, riding him backward, her ass toward his stomach, his shaft firmly lodged in her pussy as she rolled her hips, lifted, sank, and had what looked and sounded like the ride of her life. Jane couldn’t see the guy’s face, but his cock, sinking in and pulling out of Darla’s pussy, looked just as long and heavy as Frank’s. Behind Darla, yet another naked girl walked up and simply squatted down delicately over the guy’s face, her hairless pussy pressing against his mouth. As he enthusiastically began to eat her out, the girl reached around to caress and fondle Darla’s spectacular tits, and it could have been Jane, she could have been the one riding the guy’s tongue and feeling those glorious melons–

I can’t do this.

“Come in my face!” a delirious Shawna begged Frank. “I want to feel your hot load! Come in my face, come in my mouth!”

Jane sprang up and ran. At the edge of the sand, she took one look back. Shawna’s face was bathed in white cum, hairline to chin, and she was licking more off Frank’s cock. And past her, the beach had turned freaky bawdy, licentiously insane. Everyone was sucking and fucking, in pairs and threes and foursomes and moresomes, everyone!

They produce all the semen they can, and we take it away.

She found her beach clogs–she didn’t even recall slipping them off. Stepping into them, Jane walked determinedly down the winding pathway, away from the beach. She had a career to think of, she had . . . well, in her grandmother’s words, she had her morals to think of. She couldn’t let herself be distracted by lovely stiff cocks penetrating her, gliding in and out and making her feel so nice, making her come–

Command me. Control me. Tell me what to do.

–or pink glistening pussies, so pleasantly lickable, sixty-nine, another girl’s beautiful rounded ass in her face, another girl’s fingers in her tight hot wet slit, slow and loving. She didn’t want a firm, flexible rod squeezed between her tits, feeling its slide and seeing its owner’s growing excitement, until he spurted! Didn’t want to feel the jets of cum splashing her lips and cheeks as she laughed and licked–

What would it taste like? How would it feel on my tongue?

She walked briskly for twenty minutes until she arrived at Serenity. In her room, she stripped off the stupid one-piece suit

Everyone else was naked. They must have thought I’m such a prude.

and took first a very hot shower, then a very cold one. She huddled in her big queen-sized bed, wearing her nightie and those absurd tiny sheer panties that she couldn’t remember owning. She couldn’t help sobbing.

Someone tapped softly at the door. Wiping her eyes, Jane got out of bed and cracked the door. It was Wanda, dressed in cool-looking beige linen slacks and a loose white top. “Hello, dear,” she said. “Why, you’re all upset! May I come in?”

Gulping, Jane nodded. Wanda passed her and she closed the door. Wanda settled on the foot of her bed and patted it. “Come and sit beside me.”

Jane did, feeling miserable, her throat aching. She couldn’t say anything.

Wanda stroked her hair gently. “There, there. I saw you as you came in and thought you looked a little troubled. We can’t have that here, not at Renu You! Tell me what your problem is, and I promise I’ll help you feel better.”

“I just feel–so strange,” Jane said. “I’m s-supposed to be writing up Renu You for our website, b-but I haven’t done anything, and, and, and–eveybody’s fucking!“ She clapped a hand to her mouth as she heard the dirty word issue from her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“What, because you said ‘fucking’?” asked Wanda with a forgiving smile. “Dear, words are only words. You didn’t offend me. I’ve had my share of fucking, believe me, and I’ve sucked cock, and I’ve muff-dived–do they still call it that? It’s all good, believe me. But look at you, here in bed at four in the afternoon, and there’s so much to do here! Don’t you think it would be fun just to let go, indulge yourself fully, explore your body and your senses, and gather impressions? Then you can write your article later, after you’ve had some experiences here.”

“I–I suppose,” Jane said, feeling unconvinced. “B-but casual sex–I’m not that kind of girl. I know it sounds, oh, cheesy and old-fashioned, b-but I wasn’t raised–”

Wanda chuckled. “Don’t do anything that you don’t feel an urge to do, of course. There are all sorts of activities you might enjoy. You can go biking, horseback riding, relax in the hot springs, snorkel, sail, anything you like. What would you most like to do? Tell me, dear. Tell me honestly.”

Some evil impulse seized her. “I want to fuck,” she heard herself say in a gross, eager voice. “I want someone to order me to take his cock in my mouth, my pussy, my ass!” She felt a jolt, as if she had just experienced an electric shock. No! That wasn’t what she meant to say!

“Well,” Wanda said as if Jane had merely remarked that she’d like to go for a quiet walk, “I’m sure that any of the male guests here–well, most of them–would be happy to oblige you.”

“B-but I d-don’t r-really want–” Jane began. And then, as if she were two people in the same body, she rudely broke in on herself, almost savagely, though her voice fluted up to a bimbo singsong: “Yes, I do! I want to be a fucktoy!”

“You’re upset, dear.” Wanda got up and went into the bathroom. Jane heard water running, and a moment later Wanda was back. She handed Jane a glass of water “Here. And take this.” She dropped a round white tablet into Jane’s hand.

“What is it? I don’t like to take–”

“Jane, take the pill.”

Automatically, obediently, like a good child, Jane popped the tablet into her mouth and washed it down with water. Wanda took the glass from her and set it on the bedside table. “Don’t worry, it’s very, very mild. It will help you relax and then you’ll feel much better. Jane, you’re not a virgin, are you?”

Jane shook her head, not looking Wanda in the eye. “No. I’ve slept with a couple of men.”

Wanda nodded. “How was it? How did you find the experiences?”

Jane shrugged. “Not what I expected, not as–not as good.”

“Were they quick about it?”

With a scornful laugh that sounded more like a sob, even to herself, Jane replied, “Yes. It didn’t last any time at all. Just enough for me to feel–you know, sort of aroused. But I didn’t reach, you know–climax.”

“Mm,” Wanda said. “You’ve been unfortunate in your choice of partners, my dear. Men could learn so much from us. When two women make love, they know how to make it all slow and lovely, soft and then urgent, and they’re considerate of each other’s pace and each other’s feelings. You really ought to practice with Shawna to see how nice lovemaking can be. She’s completely bisexual and very comfortable with that.”

“Since I can’t find a cock to suck, find myself a chick to lick,” Jane chimed in automatically, feeling ashamed at once.

“Well . . . you ought to follow your feelings more often. That’s all I’m saying. Just follow your feelings.”

They sat for a few more minutes. Then, very faintly, Jane heard Wanda say, “Jane? Dear, are you awake?”

And she couldn’t even bring herself to answer. Everything faded, faded . . . .

* * *

When Dr. Andrews was sure that Jane McKay had become completely unconscious, she took a tiny transceiver from her belt and called for a transfer crew. Before they arrived, she stripped off Jane’s nightie and panties, putting the nightie in Jane’s drawer and dropping the panties into the laundry basket. She spread Jane’s legs and with two fingers opened her pussy, inspecting Jane’s enlarged clit with dispassionate interest. The second she touched it it swelled like a bud in spring, eager for more attention. Dr. Andrews shook her head regretfully as she rose from the bed and studied the beautiful naked unconscious girl. Such a pity! She had never encountered such unpredictably strong inhibitions. Jane had all the equipment now, and she certainly enjoyed a strong sex drive.

The personality was the problem. The other girls were much more pliant. They could be altered into sexual servants without even being aware of being changed. Shawna thought that her tits were original equipment, not realizing they had been enhanced over the past weeks; she thought it very natural to offer herself to Frank, to fuck him joyously out in the open, in public. She and Darla did not hesitate to enjoy a lesbian encounter. In a few more weeks, Shawna would think herself the most fortunate girl in the world to be a slave, to belong to someone who would tell her what bawdy things to do. No matter how perverted, how dirty, she would glory in the actions, feel nothing but the keenest pleasure in her servitude.

But Jane . . . What a pity, such a lively, lovely girl. It would be a shame if her personality had to be erased, if she became a compliant but blank-minded slave, like the ones who were Dr. Andrews’s assistants. Fucking was so much nicer when the slaves had a self, like dear Harold–though in those cases, it was sometimes better to leave the slaves unaware of their own enthralled condition, so they thought the moments of passion, the fucks on the lab floor, were their own idea. Poor dear Harold was so devoted to her, not realizing that their trysts were all her own idea, that if she cared to give the order he would not even realize how he serviced her, would remember nothing of their encounters. If he only knew that she could turn him on and off like a robot with his control word–

The door opened, and two silent, white-jacketed female slaves rolled a narrow gurney in. They needed no verbal instruction, for this was part of their normal function. They gently moved Jane onto the gurney, and then Wanda followed them out into the hall. At the end, a double door marked “Staff Only” opened with the touch of Wanda’s thumb to a pad. They rolled Jane into a large freight elevator. It took them straight down to the lab, bypassing the prep level.

Wanda supervised as they placed Jane into one of the conditioning chairs, oversaw the attachment of electrodes and the placing of the helmet. Her hair was still short enough to be no impediment to the microneedles that twirled as they penetrated flesh and bone and brain. When the helmet was in place and functioning, Dr. Andrews raised the gel bath and lowered Jane into it. The slaves applied the mud-pack gel to her face, with two short tubes inserted into her nostrils so she wouldn’t aspirate any of the gooey substance.

Wanda heard a footstep and turned, surprised. No one else was authorized to–

“Oh, it’s you, sir,” she said.

“Yes. How is she?”

“Still deeply conflicted, I’m afraid. We may have to erase her personality.”

“No, I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. She does have a beautiful body, doesn’t she?”


“How about the rest of the new group?”

“They’re down at Half Moon, fucking their brains out,” Dr. Andrews said with a laugh. “Except for Ramon and Jules. They’re . . . entertaining each other in their room. Turning them was a tragedy for the ladies. They were both so well-hung before. Now they’re beautifully endowed, but unfortunately they have no lingering feelings for girls now.”

“True, but their future owners–” He shrugged, a what-can-you-do? gesture. “Harold has already loaded the individualized program for Miss McKay. It’s very intense, and I think–or at least I hope–it will fully prepare her. She has the physical need to be dominated and the craving for sexual experience. Now we have to fully integrate her lingering conscious resistance, find a way to fold it in to her sexual programming.”

“You couldn’t do that with Lailie.”

“No. But that was ten years ago. We’ve learned a lot.” He gazed down through the pink gel at the floating body of Jane, the helmet already stimulating her pleasure centers, the subliminals already suggesting. In another week she would begin to hear the soothing, insistent voice of Brent, telling her he was her new master, that she had to do everything he said, and all the while the helmet would be spiking her pleasure so that she would come to be responsive and compliant, with no will to resist her new owner. The man beside Dr. Andrews stood beside the tank, looking at the lovely nude body floating there. “We’ll lick this problem. Or if we don’t, we’ll at least deliver a compliant slave, so we won’t have to make a refund. She is such a lovely, lovely girl. She arouses me.”

A worried line furrowed Dr.Andrews’s forehead. “It would be unethical to–”

“I know. Mona.”

Dr. Andrews gasped, stiffened, and then relaxed, smiling, anticipating.

“I am going to fuck you right here, my dear. That will take care of ethical conflicts.”

“Yes, sir.” Dr. Andrews stripped quickly, joyfully. “How will you take me, sir?”

He unfastened his trousers and stripped down himself, carefully folding his clothes and placing them on a counter. She licked her lips at the sight of his big, springy cock. Of course the founder of the company had used the company’s services on himself. He said, “You hold onto the edge of the tank. I want to see past you, to see Jane’s body. I’ll take you doggy-style.”

“Ooh,” she said, thrilled at the thought. She grasped the edge of the Plexiglas tank and bent over, arching her flexible back, feeling cat-sinuous, bitch-ready. She felt him stroke the rounded mounds of her ass and she began to move, rotating her bare rear end in a suggestive oval, her legs spread, her quivering hot pussy ready. He touched her there, making sure she was nice and wet, and she shivered in a first, preliminary orgasm. Then she felt him rubbing the bulbous head of his cock up and down her slit, lubing it in her own juices, getting it all slippery and ready–and then he glided into her, and she began to undulate, to pump him. He had the nicest cock, so long and stiff and thick. It gave her a delicious sensation of fullness. He grasped her hips and guided her. She heard the smacking, slickery sounds of his dick slipping in and out of her tight welcoming passage, felt the slap of his balls. She closed her eyes and hummed to herself. So nice. So nice. She opened her eyes again and looked dreamily at the submerged body, feeling sadly regretful that Jane wouldn’t let herself–ahh!–experience this most wonderful of pastimes.

As though she were picking up the nearby sexual activity on some unknown wavelength, Jane stirred beneath the pink gel. Her own hips were thrusting as though in empathy with Wanda. A dream of fucking was being fed into her mind at this instant, and her body, free of her disapproving awareness, was enjoying it to the fullest.

Behind her, he was plunging harder now, smacking into her–so good, so good–and she gasped and thrust back hard, wanting all of him buried balls-deep in her, feeling her hot center becoming molten. He would come in a second, he would give her permission to come–oh, she was so close, so close! Her tits tingled, her pulse throbbed, pleasure filled her head–

“Come with me!” She threw back her head and screamed, feeling her whole body go taut, her stiff nipples brushing the edge of the tank, her pussy melting, no, exploding! The orgasm ripped through her like a lightning bolt, white-hot and blinding. When he pulled out dripping, she couldn’t even stand, but sank to her knees on the tile, then turned and licked and slurped at his softening cock, feeling tears of sheer pleasure hot on her cheeks, so good, he was such a good fuck–

“Extraordinary,” he said. “She has such a beautiful body. With you licking me like that I think–yes, I think I can come again. Twice, and at my age! Suck me now. Suck me until I come again in your mouth.”

Dr. Andrews, with her mouth so gloriously, abundantly full, could not speak, but she thought the words: Yes, Master.


The dream went on forever, and because it was just a dream, Jane’s disapproving self faded, faded, into just a distant impotent censure, a mere whisper at the far edge of hearing. And at some point in the sensuous dream, she began to hear Brent speaking to her, and she thrilled at the sound of his manly baritone: “Jane, I give you a new name. I will call you Jani. You will be Jani. As Jani you will be my sex slave. You will do my bidding. You will give yourself to me, without pause or hesitation, and you will obey. You will obey.”

Yes. It is such a pleasure to obey. It is so right to obey. Yes. It is my place to obey.

Pleasure, such bliss, blossoming inside her, burgeoned with every word that she heard.

Far, far off she sensed a tiny feeling of criticism, of rejection. Such an inconsequential person that must be, so small-minded, so simply ignore her, ignore her. Listen to Brent. Listen to your body. Be Jani, be . . . a slave, a glorious slave.

More dreams, dreams of pleasuring Shawna, of receiving pleasure from her. Three girls, four, a man, two men, an orgy, a crowd, all licking, stroking, fucking her, bringing her willing body to orgasm, to its fruition, making it serve its purpose.

To serve is ecstasy.

Mm, time to suck again. So nice, so nice. Her mouth full, swallowing. Deeper, thrust it in deeper, fuck my mouth, she thought, fuck my throat.

In Jane’s dream, the feeding bottle became Brent’s cock. She heard his voice: “Jani. Suck me, Jani.”

Yes, her purpose. He produced the semen, she took it. The rubber bulb, the cock-headed bottle, firm and pliant between her lips, pressing on her tongue. It pumped in and out, and she sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed. It went deep, deep, but her gag reflex had been completely suppressed. Oh, to let him fuck her mouth and throat like this, and at the same time to let Shawna lick her pussy, so nice, so natural, yes, to serve them, to be their fucktoy. It was her purpose. She was complete.

no no no no

The disapproving voice became fainter and fainter. It was not even a person any longer, just a fragment of a personality, a splinter, easy to ignore.

Pleasure filled her, filled her to the very brim, overflowed!

And the orgasms . . . ah, they became hotter . . . more frequent, longer-lasting . . .and hotter. Hotter! Hotter!

* * *

“Jane, dear. Can you hear me?” It was a soft voice, a woman’s voice, kind and concerned.


“It’s time to wake up, dear.” Concern and a hint of amusement there, almost . . . almost motherly. Almost grandmotherly.

Jane opened one eye. Light stabbed at her, and she winced away from it. “Too bright,” she moaned.

“Wait a second . . . there. I’ve dimmed them. Better?”

Feeling woozy, Jane tried again. This time she was able to open both eyes. The painful glare had faded to soft shadows. “What . . . Wanda? What’s happened? Where am I?”

“You’re in . . . well, think of it as a recovery room, dear.” Wanda was wearing baggy white scrubs, like a nurse, or a doctor. The room was much smaller than the dorm room, a windowless tile-lined cubicle. She seemed to be lying in . . . a hospital bed? Side rails, a sheet over her body, no IV or monitors, but the room reminded her of the place where she had visited her grandmother during the old woman’s last terrible illness.

Alarm flared inside Jane. “What’s wrong. . . am I sick?”

Wanda laughed. “Not at all. Quite the contrary, in fact; physically you’re in better shape than you’ve ever been. You’ve just gone through a rather strenuous process, my dear, a beneficial one. Can you sit up?”

“I’ll try.”

Jane swung her legs off the bed and, supporting herself on her outspread hands, sat on the edge of the bed, the sheet falling away–“Oh! I’m naked!”

“Here, put this on, dear.” Smiling in an indulgent, accommodating way, Wanda held a robe, a lightweight white waffle-weave affair, plain and unadorned–like something you’d be issued in a hospital, Jane thought.

She stood on shaky legs and managed to get into the robe and tie the belt. As she looked down to make the bow, her hair swung forward, brushing her cheek–

Puzzled, she raised her hand. Her hair was short. She remembered it as being very short, somehow. No, it fell down over her ears, perhaps shorter than she normally wore it, but longer than–than when?

“Is there a mirror?”


Staring at the oval of her face, Jane couldn’t help blinking. Her blonde hair was three times as long as she remembered, but full, with an attractive wave, very sophisticated. “I don’t remember looking like this,” she said as Wanda took the mirror from her again.

“You’re just a little confused,” Wanda said, patting her arm. “That’s quite understandable. But believe me, you’re in excellent physical condition, Jane. Come with me. I have to take you see someone. You’ll find slippers there.”

She looked down and saw the pale blue fabric slippers. They were just her size and very comfortable. “Are–is this still Renu You?” she asked, sitting on the side of the bed again to tug the soft shoes on.

“Yes, the Administration building. Ready? Come along.” Wanda helped her stand, then gently held her upper arm and led her out the door and into a corridor, white-tiled and brightly lit. “Would you feel more comfortable in a wheelchair?”

It was cool, a little too cool for comfort. Jane felt her nipples thrust out against the white waffle-weave fabric, feeling so damn good that the sensation distracted her momentarily. “N-no, I can walk. I just don’t understand–I thought my hair had been cut, and–and I feel strange.”

“Your hair is growing back,” Wanda said. “It looks nice, dear, we brushed it while you were still asleep. You look beautiful. This way, Jane.” She opened a charcoal-gray door and stood back to usher Jane inside . . . a small waiting room, very different from the sterile room and the tiled hallway, a cozy little nook with blond-oak wainscoting, pleasant wallpaper in a pastel floral pattern, comfortable-looking armchairs. “Sit here. I’ll be back for you in a moment.” Wanda opened a second door, leading into a dimly lighted room, and disappeared inside, closing the door behind her.

Jane sank into a chair. She felt dizzy, light-headed. A confusion of memories spiked and sparkled in her mind, and she wasn’t quite sure when she had done some of those delicious


things. No, she couldn’t have, she would have remembered better. Dreamed them, she thought. It had all been an erotic . . . an incredibly sexy dream, that’s all. She explored her sensations: She didn’t feel sick, not exactly, just . . . off. Off center, off balance.

The inner door opened again, and Wanda beckoned. “This way, dear.”

They walked into a room that could have been an upscale parlor, dark antique furniture gleaming in the soft, subdued illumination of indirect lighting, a deep maroon carpet underfoot, sofas that complemented the rug’s color arranged along one wall and standing free in the center of the room. A kind of dais raised the floor level at one end of the room, with an imposing desk and an executive swivel chair behind it. Beyond that, the far wall of the room was glass, looking out over the sea. To Jane’s mild surprise, deep night had fallen, and a crescent moon rode low on the horizon, silvering the gently rolling waves. A man sat behind the desk–it was the size of an aircraft carrier–well, no, certainly not, that was an exaggeration, but it was an enormous desk, highly polished and quite clean. He might have been a youthful sixty or an experienced forty–impossible to tell. He was tanned, dressed casually in a short-sleeved white shirt and pale beige trousers. Medium brown hair in a Caesar cut, gray at the temples, and he had a serious, handsomely chiseled face with a strong chin, a good nose, level gray piercing eyes. “So,” he said. “Miss McKay.”

She clutched the robe a little more tightly against her ample tits. “Who–who are–”

“Who am I?” The man rose and came around the desk. He was fairly tall, a good six feet one, and strongly, though not particularly heavily, built. “My name is not important, Miss McKay. All that matters is I’m the man behind Renu You. That’s all your really need to know. How do you feel after your transformation?”

Jane wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. “My–my what?”

“Your treatments. I don’t expect you remember anything–it would be remarkable if you did–but we’ve changed you, you know. We’ve enhanced your breasts, your nipples, your vagina and your clitoris. We’ve given you forty to fifty years of youth . . . and more to come after that, I expect. We’ve given you perfect health and an ability to relish the sexual experience that few women outside this island will ever know.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Jane wailed.

With a smile that made her shiver, he said softly, “I’ll show you . . . Jani.”

Her whole body . . . tingled. Felt effervescent. She heard herself giggle. It felt so good, so right. She was . . . Jani.

“What are you?” he asked.

“I’m a slave,” she said happily, though she had not intended to speak at all. “Slave Jani!”

. . . no, not my name, not me . . .

The man was encouraging: “Quite right, quite right. Slave Jani. You are a slave. And how do you feel about that, Jani?”

The very thought thrilled her. “It’s what I want to be. It’s what I love to be,” she said eagerly. “I am a slave. I have no will of my own. I live to serve my master and to bring him pleasure. When he feels pleasure, I feel pleasure.”

He stepped closer, lifted her chin, and looked into her eyes. His own eyes, gray and sharp, gazed into her, she felt, all the way to her heart. “I still see Jane down in there,” he said softly. “She doesn’t like this. Not at all. Does she?”

The little voice was far away, far away, a whine at the edge of consciousness. She wouldn’t let it gain control over her tongue, wouldn’t let the annoying complaint break out into sound. “I’m . . . Jani,” she said. “I am a slave. I have no . . . no will . . . .”

He did not move the hand cupping her chin. His gray eyes drank her in, consumed her. “Jane? Speak to me. Jani, I want to hear from Jane. Speak up, Jane. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Jane said, “I don’t like this,” but her voice came out flat, without emotion, without affect. “What have you done to me?”

He finally let go of her chin, but her head remained tilted back, staring into his face, into those compelling gray eyes, as a fascinated bird will stare at a snake that is approaching it. “You’re not angry, you don’t feel rage, do you notice?”

“No,” she agreed, not able to look away from his eyes. “I’m not angry, I’m not afraid, I’m not anything. I don’t feel anything. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Let me explain, and I’ll also explain the choice that you must make, my dear. In your weeks with us–yes, weeks, months, really, not just a couple of days–your body has been drastically modified. We have multiplied and augmented your neural system, making it more complex, more advanced. When you came here, you felt with your body and thought with your mind. Now we’ve supplied so much more in the way of neurons and ganglia that–well, to put it simply, we have given your body a mind of its own. And your body’s consciousness, its personality, has its own name: Jani. Your sensory body is free of that part of your consciousness you call Jane. It has cut off the emotional receptors. Jane is . . . only a passenger in your head now, without control, without access.”

Jane heard herself say, with no agitation at all, no tension, “But the things my body wants are not the things I want.”

“No. Sadly, no. And that is where you will have to make a decision, Jane. For the rest of your life, you will be a passenger in that lovely body, nothing more. You are no longer driving, no longer at the wheel, no longer responsible. So you can protest, you can worry yourself needlessly, or . . . you can enjoy the ride.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t know how fortunate you are. A lifetime of indulgence ahead of you, a long, fulfilling lifetime, with no hesitancy about experiencing every variation of lust. You will indulge your senses, you will become a connoisseur of perversion. You will undoubtedly outlive your owner, Jani. And when he passes away, you will come back here to the island–that is built into your conditioning, it will be as instinctive a journey as the migration of the birds–and you will undergo a process of rejuvenation. I’m sure by that time, years in the future, our techniques will be even better than they are now. You will be renewed, and you will then be sent to serve another owner. More owners, who knows how many, for how many years? All without guilt, with the perfect freedom of the slave to relish her servitude, to enjoy the most intense orgasms.”

“But I am not like that. Not . . . not like Jani, I don’t want . . . I don’t . . . .”

“Shush, Jane. You should accept your situation, because there is no avoiding your condition. I’ll show you. Jani, strip.”

Her body moved beyond her control, shrugging off the robe, letting it drop, kicking off the blue slippers. The pile of the deep rug felt luxurious under her bare feet, wonderfully prickly, softly textured, and warm. She stood comfortably, completely at ease with her complete nudity, smiling brazenly at the man, her shoulders back, her sharp-tipped tits proudly displayed. She waited for his orders.

“You see?” he asked. “You would never have done that as Jane. But as Jani, your body knows what it wants, and you have no say in the matter. Your body wants to be a slave, Jani. A perfect fucktoy, a subservient creature eager to please. And the rewards are so great. For every bit of pleasure your body gives another, it feels ten times that amount in return. Your body is going to be absolutely happy in its new role, Jane. You should give in . . . Shawna has done so. She is perfectly contented as a slave. There is no division in her, nor in Darla, nor in any of the others who have gone through our process. Take some well-meant advice and be like them. Give in.”

No, impossible. It didn’t make sense.

“You’re just standing naked, Jani,” he said. “Show me your body. Put on a demonstration, show me how your tits are so sensitive, how wet you are down in your pussy.”

Smiling–it felt like such an empty smile, such a bimbo smile!–Jane began to run her hands over her smooth, pliantly swelling breasts, shivering as she touched her nipples, feeling her areolas puff, feeling the thrust of her stiffening flesh. She pinched her nipples, pulled on them, gyrated her hips in coarse temptation. Slyly, enticingly, she swept her palms slowly down her sides, back over her ass, around the tops of her thighs. She arched her back and opened her legs, thrusting her pelvis forward, slipped her hand over her beautifully smooth love mound, opening herself with her fingertips, showing off her pink and moist slit.

“Nice,” he said. “Very nice. Jane, doesn’t this feel good?”

Despite the inane smile on her face, Jane’s voice came out dull and dead: “I don’t feel anything.”

“Yes, you do,” he said with a chuckle. “Concentrate. You can’t feel the emotions, but you do feel the pleasant tactile sensations, the stimulation. When your body experiences an orgasm, you feel that. You just don’t want to admit it. You have a very lovely body, my dear. Masturbate for me. Let me see you make yourself come.”

Wanda had come around to stand beside him. She sank into a chair now, leaning forward, her eyes bright, her wet lips slightly parted.

I’m turning her on!

Purring, Jani swept her left hand up again, teased her straining nipples, felt the pounding pulse in her throat against her palm, combed her fingers through her hair. She lowered her chin, her mouth a pout, and her eyes became bedroom-heavy and bawdy, challenging. Her right hand had reached down to her crotch. Her first and ring fingers pressed down on the padded lips of her outer pussy, spreading them again, letting the delicate pink folds of her inner lips show. Her crooked middle finger stroked herself, first the delightfully slippery patch of flesh just above her begging clit, then dipping inside for her flowing juices and finally, lubricated, rotating with sexy pressure on the burgeoning pearl of her sensitive clit. She moaned, growled, pumped with her hips.


God, if she only had a cock in her! Her heart pounded, she panted, she pressed tighter, got her middle finger all the way inside, flicked it up and down, faster, faster. Her legs trembled. She sank to her knees on the carpet, thighs wide-spread, and leaned back, back, displaying her breasts proudly, happy that her lusty exhibition of her body had captured her audience’s attention. She felt the press of her bare heels against the plump round swell of her buttocks–God, everything seemed so sexy–and with her free hand, she reached behind her, stretching, until she could curl her hand under her, beneath the crack of her ass, and sink two fingers of her left hand inside her clenching pussy. Hip-thrusting, breaking into a fine sheen of sweat, she returned her attention–or rather her right hand returned its attention–to her pulsating clit, and she felt the heat building, building, and then it released! She almost collapsed from the orgasm, felt the room spin around her, heard herself moan lasciviously.

The man said something that she didn’t catch, and when after half a minute she was able to look at him again with lewd-lidded eyes, she saw that Wanda, lucky girl, was stroking his erect cock, while he casually caressed her spread pussy. They had both undressed. He had a good body, a huge, thick cock, God, imagine that splitting you open, and she looked like a twenty-five year old. With a flush of pride as her orgasm ebbed, Jani thought I did that! I got them all horny! Sex is so good, sex is so nice, sex is what I was made for.

no no i have a life, had a life . . . .

“Beautiful, my dear,” said the naked man as he languidly fondled Wanda’s spread pussy. “Very impressive. But your body was never made to be a solo instrument, was it?” He picked up something from the sofa cushion beside his thigh–it looked like a small remote control–and pressed a button. But he spoke into the device. “You may come in now.”

The door opened, and Jane looked over her shoulder. Shawna! Shawna, her dark hair now longer, just covering her ears, Shawna frankly, unashamedly naked, her face showing nothing but keen, open desire. Jane smiled at her, but her roommate ignored her, speaking instead to the man in a cool, deferential voice: “You sent for me, sir?”

“Yes . . . Shanni. As you see, Jani has consented to perform for us. I want to make sure she has no lingering hang-ups. Jani, you and Shanni will now fuck.”

Jani giggled. “Yes,” she heard herself say. “I’d like that.”

With unimaginable grace, Shawna–Shanni–took sinuous panther-steps across the room and lifted a poofy cushion from one of the chairs. “This will help,” she said, arching a dark eyebrow.

She came and dropped the cushion on the floor next to Jane. “Hi, lover,” she whispered, her voice husky.

Jani stretched up to kiss her in reply, an open-mouthed, very wet kiss. Their tongues entwined, and Jane shivered as she felt the warm touch of Shawna’s palms on her yearning tits. Oh, it was so good to be touched, fondled like that, much better than doing it for herself. Her nipples throbbed, stiffening even more. When the two girls broke the kiss, she looked down and was pleased to see how lewdly her firm nipples jutted, how they signaled her willingness for–for anything. Shawna drew her head close, and Shawna’s darker-colored nipples probed her lips, and she opened her mouth and sucked one in. Oh, it was almost like sucking a little cock! So erect, so tense, so excited! And she had done this, Jane, no, Jani had done this, had aroused this much sexual tension in the beautiful Shawna!

“Lie back,” Shawna whispered. “I’m going to fuck you like crazy, baby.”

Compliant, obedient, Jane’s body moved, leaning on one hip, swiveling both legs around, then reclining on the beautiful soft prickly carpet. She obediently raised her ass from the floor, allowing Shawna to place the pillow beneath it, and then when she saw what Shawna was about to do, she scissored her legs open. Shawna settled down with her legs straddling Jane’s open cunt, teasingly lowering herself until their smooth-shaven pussies kissed, open-mouthed as it were, and she was oh, so hot, so wet!

Strange feelings rioted through Jane: she fantasized that her pussy was a brimming champagne flute, so tingly did it feel, so bubbly and alive. Kneeling, Shawna pressed tight against her, and they began to undulate their hips in perfect sync, rotating, making their pussies glide together in a slow, luxurious oval. God, Jane had never been so wet, so ready. “You’re driving me wild,” she groaned.

Shawna was gasping, too, smiling wickedly. “Feel my clit, baby?” she asked. “God, I feel yours, so soft, so nice. Oh, I’m wet! Can you feel how wet I am?”

“I love to watch your titties,” Jane heard herself saying, staring with open admiration at the swing and bounce of Shawna’s wonderful full tanned boobies, so flexible and so lewd with those naughty outthrust nipples. And, oh, how nice that slippery open cunt felt on hers, how right, how inevitable. When you can’t find a cock to suck, find yourself a pussy to fuck.

Jane had never done anything like this, never thought of another woman in that way, never wanted to make love to another girl. But Shanni was so sweet, so eager, and they were fucking, she and another woman were fucking, and it felt phenomenal!

. . . wrong . . .

“Oh, Shanni, I’m gonna come,” Jani groaned, shivering, feeling her abdomen tighten, her tits tense with the rising tide of release. “I’m coming, Shanni, I’m–”

Above her, Shanni bucked and thrashed, grinding her bare love-mound down hard, yelping like a vixen as she shuddered through her own orgasm. Shiny with her efforts, she stood up, her pussy dripping its hot juice into Jani’s, a scrumptious feeling, and then she lay between Jani’s legs, reclined on top of Jani, their tits flattening against each other, what a lovely sensation, and she was kissing greedy Jani on the mouth again, and Jani felt a rivulet of pussy juice (her own? Shanni’s?) dribble down across her sensitive puckered asshole, and then down to her coccyx, losing itself at last in the fabric of the cushion.

The gray-eyed man tapped Shawna on the shoulder. “Very good,” he said. “Now Wanda needs your attention, Shanni. Sixty-nine her.”

“Okay!” responded Shanni–Shawna–brightly, rolling off Jane.

“Jani,” the man said, “I will fuck you from behind. You can watch Shanni and Wanda while we do it.”

“Thank you!” said the Jani-voice that Jane could not control. She felt exhilaration as she rolled over onto her knees, leaning forward, supporting herself on her outthrust hands. Her swinging tits brushed the cushion, stimulating her nipples and areolas even more. On the nearby sofa, Shanni and Wanda already had intertwined, their mouths, lips, and tongues busy at each other’s slits.

I want to do that with Shawna!

The man’s thick, bulging cock pressed into her, and Jane caught her breath. Mmm, she felt so stuffed! She felt her pussy begin to do something weird, something she didn’t know it could do: it rippled, sending waves of pressure down along his firm shaft. He remained almost still; she fucked him, moving her ass rhythmically, slapping back against his thighs. Everything she felt seemed new and was better than the last experience. “Fuck me,” she moaned softly. “Oh, I love your big cock inside me! Fuck me, please fuck me!”

. . . so . . . wrong . . . .

Helpless, a captive in her own head, Jane felt the tactile responses, even enjoyed the orgasms, and felt guilty about the pleasure that Jani took in watching the two women love each other, in feeling the man begin to thrust, then to savagely fuck her from behind. She felt paralyzed, detached, frightened.

But–she had to admit it–but oh, God, the sex was fantastic!


They flew back home six weeks later, in December, two tanned and sexually voracious girls. At the office, they rode straight up to the executive level in the elevator, and Brent, who knew they were arriving that day, met them. “Jani,” he said. “Shanni. Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Master,” said Shanni, and Jani echoed, “Thank you.”

“Well,” Brent said with an anticipatory smile, “tell me all about the island!”

The two girls had been well prepared for this. Their last month on the island had been a boot camp in the permutations of perversions–they could no longer initiate sexual encounters on their own unless given explicit permission by their owners, but they could, and would eagerly, do anything. Anything.

Except give an honest response to any question about their experience on the island. Their conditioning kicked in, and Shawna said, “Oh, it was fabulous!”

Jane heard her Jani-voice chirp, “We got soooooo tanned! All . . . over.”

Brent turned an extraordinary shade of pink. “Really, well that–that’s nice. Oh. Oh, see what I have for you.” He took a keyring from his pocket and led them down a corridor to an imposing double door. He unlocked it and ushered them in. “This is your apartment. You girls–you slaves–will live here from now on. Only the top executives will have access to it, and to you.”

Shanni and Jani squealed in delight. It was an exquisite apartment, beautifully, even decadently appointed, with two spacious bedrooms (custom beds, bigger than king-sized, suitable to the most enthusiastic of orgies). A gourmet kitchen, a dining room with a big window overlooking the bustling city and the quiet city park, a positively sinful bathroom with an enormous whirlpool tub, a shower stall big enough to accommodate a dozen at a time, and, interesting, some trapezes. Some rings high on the wall, just right for bondage games. Jane felt herself getting hot.

“It’s a penthouse,” Brent said, taking them into a sunroom. Beyond that was a private enclosed rooftop garden, rather forlorn in the winter, but Jane could see that in the spring it would be almost as vibrant with flowers as the island. It even boasted a swimming pool, a big, beautiful pool, tarp-covered now but in the warm months it would be just right for naked swimming and underwater fucking.

Back to the living room. “Well,” Brent said, looking at his watch. “I have some time. Miss Ransom is technically your owner, Shanni, but she’s in Tokyo right now, firming up a deal.”

“We’ve been conditioned to obey you both,” Jani said. The last stubborn reserve of Jane inside her would not, would not let that bimbo-voice call him “master.”

“Really?” he asked, looking pleased.

“Yes, Master,” said Shanni demurely, standing with folded hands and downcast eyes, the classic submissive posture.

“That’s–uh, that’s great, uh–slaves. I, I understand you girls go both ways.”

“I love to lick pussy,” Jane heard herself say.

His grin turned positively evil. “So if you’ll both obey me, I think I’ll take our slaves for a test run. Slave Jani, Slave Shanni, we’re going to make love.”

Before he could say another word, they both swarmed him, undressed him, pushed him back onto that enormous soft bouncy bed, and then they stripped for him, drawing out the process and teasing him. He watched them with hot interest as they made the most of it, showing off their new breasts, suckling and nibbling each other to excite him and bring him to the peak of hardness. It didn’t matter that his cock, unenhanced by the gel treatment, was on the skinny side. They had been conditioned to come when their master came, regardless. They put on a show for him, first Jani kneeling before Shanni and eating her out, and then they reversed positions, both of them shamelessly playing with their tits the whole time. “God,” said Brent, lying back, his cock jutting up stiff as a mast on a boat. “God, that was the best money we ever spent! Fuck me, Jani!”

“I’ll help, Master,” cooed Shanni. Brent lay with his hips on the edge of the bed; Shanni quickly knelt between his thighs and began to blow him. “Let me make you wet and ready, Master. Mm, you taste so good!” She deep-throated him, lavished lots of loving lick on the bulging head of his dick, and then rose, leaving his shaft glistening with her saliva. “Let me plug you in,” she said to Jani. Jani obediently came to stand with feet far apart beside the bed, thrusting her hips forward.

Jani felt her rub the taut, rounded, lubed head of Brent’s cock against her quivering slit, and she settled down, her legs still spread apart. After fucking the fat cocks of the men on the island, it was almost ridiculously easy to take Brent’s whole depth. She pulled his right leg up, straightened at the knee, and embraced it between her tits, churning up and down and watching her bare pussy take in and then ride up on his shaft. It was almost as if it were her cock and she were fucking him with it. Shanni reclined, her eyes on a level with Jani’s pussy, and watched avidly. “Oh, Master, is she tight? Is she hot? Jani, your pussy is so pretty! Oh, she’s fucking you so well! Oh, it’s so beautiful, Master!”

“It’s good,” he said, his face red from excitement, not exertion, because Jani was doing all the work. “Faster!”

With a grin of pleasure, Jani changed the rhythm, hugging his stretched leg tight, its thigh against her belly, its calf between her big bouncing tits, fucking him faster, harder, thinking of how she loved the feeling when Shanni fucked her so hard their pussies made wet smacking sounds. Shanni lay back on the bed, legs spread wide, fingering herself now, writhing. When Master came, the slaves would come; that was part of the conditioning, part of the reward of servitude.

“Oh,” Jani said, “this feels so good! Your cock is so good inside me! I love it, I love it!”

“I–I–I’m gonna come!” he gasped.

He had lasted almost no time at all, Jane thought.

But she felt the twitch and spurt inside her, and her own orgasm took her–

Jane could feel it. Inside Jani, Jane could feel it.

And she thought, It isn’t fair!

And Jani told her, Shut up, you whiny little bitch!

And a chastened Jane thought humbly, I–I want–I want to join in. May I? May I, Mistress Jani?

Though it all took place in the microsecond of time between the twitch of the cock inside her and the hot spurt of seed, it seemed to the captive Jane that an hour dragged by while the grasping, pleasure-greedy Jani considered letting the former driver of this hot, lusty body at least sit beside her in the front seat, maybe not at the wheel, but there with her, participating. Jani was eager, Jani wanted sensual stimulation, Jani reveled in being a thrall. It would be so easy to reject the wet-blanket Jane, the faded whiner, the spectral complainer. What would Jani say? What would she say?

Jane felt and heard Jani’s response at the same instant that Brent’s seed erupted within her/them:


And it was like the sun bursting out after a year of darkness! Jane and Jani merged, became one, and that one girl felt electric, incredibly alive in every part–the orgasm that clenched her and shook her was the best she had ever experienced, whole-body, whole-mind!

Yes! I want this, yes! Oh, God, what a fool I was–yes, this! I want this, I want to BE this–Yes!

“Oh, my God,” Brent gasped. “Jani, I think you wrecked me!”

“Master,” pleaded Shanni, “May I drink your cum from her cunt?”

They produce all the semen they can, and we take it from them! Yes!

“Uh–yes, Slave Shanni. You–you two girls can do anything to each other you want!”

Shanni, slipping off the bed, darted a triumphant glance at Jani. The Master had said it! Their time together in this apartment was going to be a marathon orgasm!

Jani gave her a secretive nod–yes! As soon as we’re alone!

But aloud, with pert devotion, Jani said to Brent, “And I’ll clean you up.” She slipped off the flaccid cock and knelt beside the bed, raised high on her knees, her thighs wide spread. Shanni lay on the softly carpeted floor, her head directly under Jani’s crotch, positioning her mouth, and Jani felt her begin to suck and lick and nibble, swallowing all the cum she could coax out of Jani’s opening. It was wonderful. They could do anything to each other–and that meant they could make each other come!

Jani took Brent’s poor, shriveled, limp dick in her hand and tongue-washed it with loving care, savoring the taste of his cum. She held it in a semi-erect position and glanced up. “Did I please you when I fucked you?” she asked shyly.

“Oh, God, yes!” Brent said. “You were fantastic, uh, Slave Jani!”

He would have to get used to her new name, her new title. Never mind. It would come.

“Thank you . . . Master,” said Jane/Jani, and she engulfed his cock, sucking it, drawing out every last pearl-white drop, grateful for his approval, happy that he was happy, and at last completely at ease with–no, more than at ease, utterly thrilled, absolutely enthralled, to embrace her glorious enslavement.