The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Long Road Goodbye

Part 3 of 3

After another stop at the bathroom to clean ourselves up—during which time I made sure to keep a close eye on her—we got back on the highway. Trixie got back on the dildo. The miles flew by.

Then everything caught up to us all at once.

I felt my phone go off. I pulled it out of my pocket and did a double take. It was Mr. Abbott, the regional boss. He’d never called me before, not in the middle of a run. I answered the call. “Mr. Abbott?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Trixie stop humping the dildo beneath her. She froze in place, listening.

“Mr. Phillips.” Abbott was an older man, mid-fifties and a lifelong smoker. I’d had worse bosses, but his voice sounded like gravel and broken glass. “Are you on route with the product?”

“Yessir. Sorry, we’re a little behind schedule here—”

“I don’t care about that,” he snapped. “You’ve got Bluetooth in the car, don’t you? Put me on speaker. I want a word with number E489.”

Stranger and stranger. I fit my phone into the recharging dock I had rigged above the center dash. It automatically routed the call to the stereo.

“And how are we tonight, Ms. Park?” Abbott rasped through the car’s speakers. At the sound of his voice, Trixie immediately shot up straight, the color draining from her face. “How is Little Miss Feminist of the Year?”

Uh-oh, I thought. For whatever reason, Abbott seemed to have a major stick up his ass when it came to women. He tended to average at least one full, all-caps rant about feminism and social justice stuff each day—at least from what I’d seen, anyway, before I’d discreetly stopped following his Facebook feed.

“Sir!” Trixie blurted. I got the sense she’d been through this line of questioning before. “This fucktoy’s name is Trixie now, sir! This fucktoy is proud to be your whore!”

“Oh, yeah?” Abbott growled. I could hear this sucking sound from somewhere. It took me a second to realize it was coming from the other end of the line. Great. Could’ve gone my whole life without that mental image. “So what happened to Little Miss Genius Law Student, huh? What happened to Miss Nancy-Drew-Special-Investigator?”

“Sir! That bitch is dead, sir! This fucktoy begs your forgiveness, sir!”

“Yeah? Forgiveness for what?”

“Sir! This fucktoy regrets that she ever thought of herself as a person, sir!” She rocked back and forth in her seat. “Fucktoy knows she was born to be a stupid airheaded bimbo slut, fit only to crawl and beg at the feet of her betters! Fucktoy exists to serve her masters! Fucktoy’s only purpose in life is to be a—a foolish, trashy little cum dumpster for their amusement!” She swallowed. “Please, sir! Please accept this worthless fuckpig as your property! Let her serve your every whim for the rest of her pathetic life!”

“Oh-ho!” Abbott snorted. “Not bad, whore. Not bad. But not nearly enough. We’re not finished with you yet, cunt. Your punishment’s not over. Not by a long shot. Keep going, bitch,” he muttered to someone out of range of the microphone, “I’m nearly there.”

Abbott coughed and continued in a louder tone. “Think you’ve hit rock bottom now? Think we’ve broken you as much as we can? Well, guess where you’re headed? When they’re done with you, you’re not gonna have a name anymore. You’re not even gonna fucking know what a name is!

“We’re gonna grind you down to nothing, cunt! You hear me?! Nothing! You’re gonna be an object. A machine. A idiotic, drooling meat toilet without a single thought in your moron head! You’ll be lucky if you remember how to wipe yourself! And when you’re ready, we’ll ship you out to one of our less reputable client establishments. They’ll chain you up in a little cage out by the bar, so customers can use your holes while they wait for a real fuck. Won’t even charge for it. You’re gonna be even lower than a whore, understand? We’re making you a complementary service. Free to every diseased hobo and dirtbag illegal who wanders in off the street! They’ll take you out of your box twice a day to hose you down and shove some dog kibble down your throat. That’s gonna be every single fucking day of the rest of your life, cunt. Once you’re installed, you’re never gonna see the sun again. That’s a fucking promise.

“What do you say to that, Miss Law Student? Huh?! What do you think of that, you—you uppity, pretentious little waste of flesh?!” His voice trailed off into a groan.

“Sir,” Trixie said in a small voice. “This fucktoy looks forward to serving you in any way she can, sir.”

“Goddamn right you do.” Abbott coughed again. “Phillips, get this dumb cunt to where she’s going.”

He hung up without another word.

* * *

Neither of us said much for a while after that. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the noise of the road beneath the wheels.

“I wonder how long I have sometimes,” Trixie said. Her voice sounded strange. Sort of distant and... hollow, I guess. Drained of all color and feeling, like a bone left out in the desert sun.

I glanced over at her. She sat with her face turned away from me, as if looking out the window despite the blindfold. “You mean until we get there?”

“Until I’m not fuckable.” She idly started up the vibrator and pushed it inside of her. “Ten years, I guess? Maybe fifteen, if they get me fake tits and stuff.”

“Babe, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” I objected. “What Abbott said—he was probably just talking some shit to get himself hard.” At least, that was what I was desperately trying to believe myself. “Trust me. You got plenty of time.”

“But it’ll happen eventually, right?” She shrugged. “My boobs are gonna sag. I’ll get gray hairs and wrinkles. I’ll get fat, same way everybody does. Best case, I wind up as some ugly, used-up whore out on a street somewhere, giving blowjobs for spare change.”

“Might not work that way,” I said. “Maybe they’ll retire you. Set you up real nice somewhere.” Even as I said the words, I realized I didn’t believe them. Neither did she, of course.

She turned towards me. “... you know what the best part of being a fucktoy is?”

“What?”

“You don’t have to worry about anything.” She gave me a weak smile. “You know? The only thing you care about is who you’re gonna fuck next. Fucking, pleasure, making whoever owns your whore ass happy—that’s your everything. That’s all you need. Nothing else really matters to you anymore.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“They could even kill me, you know?” She mimed holding a gun up beneath her chin. “Any time they wanted. They could just take me out back and—bang. Bullet in the head. I wouldn’t even care or feel scared or anything. All they have to do is let me suck them off one last time, and I’ll be fine. I’ll even pull the trigger myself.”

“Babe...”

“Don’t.” She shoved the tip of the vibrator deeper into her pussy. “Don’t even start. I don’t want to hear it...”

I stared out at the highway through the windshield. Another mile marker passed by.

She sighed and tilted her head back. “Please,” she whimpered. “Please, may I cum? Please?” A single tear trickled out from underneath the blindfold and down the side of her face.

I took a deep breath. “... hold on a second.”

* * *

The third deviation. I took her for the last time in the backseat, the car parked off to the side of the road. Or maybe she took me. We started out in missionary, but she soon flipped us over and crawled on top.

She slammed herself down onto my cock with complete abandon, her stomach muscles writhing, her hips and legs gyrating up and down in time to a rhythm only she could hear. I tried grabbing her hips to help her keep balance, but she latched onto my hands and guided them up to her breasts. I caressed and massaged her mounds the way she seemed to like, ran the tips of my thumbs over her pierced nipples. She threw her head back and moaned wordlessly, her hair bouncing and shimmering like gold in the dim light.

She really did give me everything that time—every fiber of her being, every last bit of energy, every scrap of her soul that she still had left. I know she did. I tried to respond in kind. It felt like trying to keep up with a thunderstorm. In retrospect, I have to wonder how much of that passion—that incredible energy and enthusiasm and willing playfulness she invested into the sexual act—was just masked desperation on her part. Who knows? Maybe the process really had instilled her with some kind of crazed lust. Or maybe Trixie—or Miss Park, or whoever she really was—had decided to embrace the role the Business had forced upon her and make it her own. Use it, even as she was being used, to mine whatever pleasure and joy and comfort she could from her existence, before they could take those things away from her too. That’s my theory, at least. I guess I’ll never know for sure.

When she came, she went off like a firework, every moan and scream the sweetest of music to my ears. I didn’t last too long myself after that. Who could? Afterwards, she somehow found the energy to clean me off with her mouth before collapsing on top of me, completely spent. I put my arms around her. She clung to me there in the dark, her bare flesh pressed against mine, her warmth added to my own.

* * *

After we cleaned up, she silently put the blindfold and the cuffs back on by herself. I was and am grateful. To this day, I don’t know if I could’ve managed to do it myself.

The directions in the letter brought us to a concrete warehouse out in the middle of nowhere, just as the sun started to rise. Following the instructions, I drove around the windowless building and pulled up by the loading dock. There were three people waiting for us there—a short little man in a lab coat, flanked by two tall Amazon beauties, one white and one black, each decked out in identical leather corsets. The women looked to be exactly the same height. They stood at attention, perfectly still and silent, their faces devoid of expression.

I parked the car. The guy in the lab coat came over to my side. I lowered the window. “Mr. Phillips?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Sign here, please.” He handed me a clipboard and a pen.

As I put my signature on the form, I heard the passenger door open. I looked over to see the two Amazons drag Trixie out of the car. She didn’t resist. They pulled off her shoes and tossed them off to the side, then lifted her onto some kind of hospital bed. As I watched, they removed the cuffs and hooked metal restraints around her arms and legs. They left the blindfold on.

“Prep her,” the guy in the lab coat said absentmindedly.

The Amazons each unclipped an electric razor from the side of the bed. They proceeded to shave Trixie’s head. The platinum blonde tresses fell away like leaves. I heard a small whimper escape Trixie’s lips.

“Drive go okay?” Mr. Lab Coat asked me.

“Uh-huh.” I couldn’t move my eyes away from the hospital bed.

The black Amazon pulled Trixie’s head up by the ear, allowing the other to clear off the back of the scalp. Then they each shaved off an eyebrow. When they were finished, the woman on the bed looked like a completely different person. Smaller, more fragile. Like a malnourished cancer patient, shivering and alone.

“Don’t forget the cover,” Mr. Lab Coat said. The Amazons shoved a dark bag down over Trixie’s head. “Okay. Get her over to Sleep Deprivation. The doctors want to get started on her immediately.”

The Amazons wheeled Trixie away. I kept my eyes on her limp form until they disappeared into the building. I never saw her again.

“You can just dispose of any accoutrements that came along with her. She won’t be needing them. Here’s the delivery receipt.” Mr. White Coat handed me a piece of paper. I unthinkingly took it. “You drive safe now, all right?”

“All right,” I said.

He gave me a polite nod and walked back inside.

* * *

Once I was out of sight of the warehouse, I pulled to the side of the small local road and cried like a damned baby. I felt more sick to my stomach than I’d ever been before—or, for that matter, than I’ve ever felt since. Still kind of surprised I didn’t vomit right there in the car, all over those fancy leather seats Trixie had liked so much.

So what are you gonna do, jackass? I thought to myself. You gonna go back there? Rush in there like some John McClane Rambo and save the girl? Don’t you even fucking kid yourself. Face it, you goddamn coward. If you were gonna do anything, you never would’ve made the delivery. You would’ve just driven off with Trixie. Headed north to Canada or some shit.

Not that would’ve made any difference. I didn’t know the specifics, but the Business’ resources were vast. If I missed a delivery, I was fairly certain my life expectancy would’ve been measured in days or less. They would’ve killed me, then shipped Trixie back off to her fate. I’d be dead, and nothing would’ve changed.

But that wasn’t the part that hurt the most. Even as the rationalizations swam through my head, I knew that was all bullshit. Even the idea of myself as a coward was a comforting lie I told myself to hold the truth at bay. Underneath it all, of course, I knew better.

The truth was this: I was hooked. As thoroughly and completely as any junkie to any drug in history. I’d been a virgin before I took the job. No people skills, mostly. No ability to relate to or attract women. And as hollow and terrible as I felt—as much as I knew even then that that last image of Trixie being wheeled away would haunt me for the rest of my days... I just couldn’t imagine living without those Quality Assurance weekends. Without all those obedient little products lined up conveniently for me, already trained and tortured and warped until whoever they’d been was gone, murder victims still walking, compliant flesh molded and shaped until it would take any order, no matter how disgusting or horrifying. That would do anything at all—even willingly fuck a creature like me.

After a while, I started driving. I threw the suitcase and the toys into a river I came across. And somewhere along the way, I for the first time admitted to myself that I belonged to the Business now. The process had me too, maybe almost as much as it had Trixie and Miss Park. It had us all real good.