The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mira: A Slave’s Story

25 — Louise’s New Owner

“Louise. Awake.”

The bioslut’s eyes fluttered, not in the clichéd, melodramatic fashion of a woman slowly coming to her senses, for her reconditioned nervous system had no need of that, the improvements made providing the slave an almost immediate sensory awareness of her surroundings. Rather, her eyes fluttered in sheer loving excitement.

Her blank eyes opened, and she gazed upon her Master for the first time.

True love swelled within Louise. Awe swelled. Majesty reigned.

He was so beautiful. Uncontrollably, obeying instincts that were not truly instinctual, instead the thoroughly programmed responses of a bioslave developed in the artificial conditions of a lab, the new slut fell to her knees before her Owner and Master.

“Master,” she declared, the words no more her own than the actions. “I live to serve you.”

Dimly, dimly, the newly awakened bioslut was aware of two other girls beside her, fellow slaves. It was hard to concentrate with her god standing before her, looking upon her as the erotic toy she was.

She had never met either bioslut before, never seen them before; yet she knew their names—they were Lana and Laurel—and she knew the extent of their erotic skills, for they mirrored precisely her own.

Louise felt another motion go through her . . . a movement again not of her own instigation. It was as if her sexuality, her enhanced bioslut appetite, had a mind of its own inside her. That rampant sexuality spread her knees and offered itself to her Owner. For a moment Louise panicked, then she held herself still. The movement—an urge to move her body this way, move her body that way, to throw herself abjectly upon her Master—was there, yet, all the same, recognized now, it was utterly controllable, she knew. She was just excited . . . understandably enough, in the presence of her godlike Owner. Her mind drew a comparison, like the good high-functioning fucktoy that she was. What she felt was like standing on the beach waist deep in the ocean. Louise could feel the waves pressing upon her, pushing her this way and that, and if she wanted she could allow herself to be pushed along; but she could also exert just a little effort and remain still. Such was the power of her sexuality. Louise could feel it trying to direct her movements—her posture, the way her arms swung, the ways in which she could sway her hips—and it would be easy to go along. At the same time, though, she felt like she had control. She did have control. Louise lifted her hands to her chest and touched it: this was not something her sexuality wanted her to do. “I am Louise, if that name pleases Master,” she said, presenting herself formally.

She had been labeled “Mira” in the brothel. But now she was a sold bioslut, and the love-matrix inside her told her that she was now “Louise.” That was her identity, needing only confirmation to make it so.

“I am your master, Darrel Hampton,” her Owner told her, told the other sluts kneeling beside her. All three of them, at once, went down to their hands and knees and put their faces to his bare feet. He was naked and beautiful. Louise knew everything about him. She had never met him before. This was their first encounter, their first meeting; but she had been programmed with all his likes and dislikes, his views and opinions, his appetites and his fetishes; and everything that was her had been molded to see those things, to see him! as the pinnacle of perfection. Because he was . . . perfection. He was perfect!

“You are Lana,” this paragon of humanity told the slut at the end of the row. She sat up and thanked him for the name and identity. “You are Laurel,” he told the slut in the middle. “Thank you, my Master,” she said.

“And you are Louise,” he told the former “Mira.”

“Thank you, my Master,” Louise said. Awareness filled her. Concepts came to her instantly, with the weight of old knowledge.

Their Owner, Darrel Hampton, their God, their Master, had purchased the three of them as a set.

Louise’s sense of place adjusted itself, instantly. She was to be no favored fucktoy—she would be in this place, this mansion of the Corporate elite, just one slut among the three bought to serve their mutual Master, and that was the way it should be. She was just a slut, after all. Everything was perfect.

How long she had been in stasis, later on, Louise had no idea. Her awakening had been immediate, and because of the small but crucial surgical improvements to her brain that allowed that, her transition from the dreamy afterglow of her love-matrix enhanced first glorious impression of her Master to a state resembling actual consciousness was without distinction. Louise had not so much awakened as she drifted from one ecstatic state unto another . . . a permanent state of ecstasy in being in his presence.

A pulse of desire emanated from her pussy. She heard her Master’s voice in her head, a constant refrain (I am your Master . . . I am your Master . . . you are Louise . . . I am your Master) that was like the sound of traffic outside one’s window, or the sound of water trickling into a brook beside a river: a noise that was there but so far background that after a time it became impossible to focus on.

The Master gestured to her to rise. An impressive level 10 orgasm swept through her, just in this casual application of his absolute power over her. If he asked her to jump out a window, she would. As she stood, Louise slowly, silently began to gyrate in that exaggerated, particular way that biosluts do, touching herself, stroking her thighs and boobs, inviting her use. It felt good to touch herself like that.

“Please me, sluts,” the Master said. Never had three more beautiful words been spoken. Sheer poetry.

Laurel moved first, solely in consequence of her closer position. If it had been Louise there, she would joyfully gone down on their Master first. Laurel bent low and commenced kissing the insides of their Master’s legs. She slowly licked his mighty shaft, moving directly onto the head of his glorious member and drawing him in her mouth. Louise could see the bioslut shuddering in exquisite pleasure. Aside from a few tells, though, which only another resequenced bioslave would even be able to notice, her fellatio was performed without imperfection—her concentration was bent solely on pleasing her Master.

It was a lesson to Louise, this helpless shuddering. She had allowed herself to shudder.

In doing so, Laurel had denied herself at least three or four orgasmic levels in her dedication to pleasing the Master. She had done the right thing, of course, for the Master was all-important; but a more accomplished, expert bioslut, more familiar with her Owner, would have been able to achieve the same results and kept the level 25 or higher orgasm.

But they were new to their Master. It was an excusable lapse, if performed once. In time, they would please him with even greater devotion. Every day they would get better. It was the way of things.

Lana joined Laurel on her knees sucking the Master into ecstasy. Louise saw the approach she would have to take to maximize the full potential of this orgy.

Going to her hands and knees, she crawled around Lana, lifting her leg, and then straddled her, using her back to rest upon as she reclined against their Owner. Her massive, white-green breasts now within easy grasping distance—deliberately so—Louise released an orgasmic gasp as she taken hold of for the first time by her Master. Fantastic pleasure swept through her.

Her nipples were so hard! Her pussy was so wet and needy! Her skin and breasts yearned to be touched more. Her body needed—demanded!—penetration.

Her Master looked so good. He was so handsome, so powerful, and so very, very male!

She was nothing compared to him. Nothing. An empty cock shell, she was.

It took all her strength to avoid going to him, pushing Laurel and Lana out of the way. She denied herself this pleasure, as Laurel had, for him. She would do anything for him. Forever and always. She had known her Master but minutes, yet already her entire existence was devoted to him. She would be devoted to him forever and forever.

She had always been devoted to him. Before meeting him, her life—whatever she had been—was meaningless. Her Master finally gave her life meaning. Only him. Louise leaned further in and kissed her Master . . . absolute bliss! Beside her, Louise felt/saw Laurel crawl up close, kissing the side of his neck. Louise stood to allow Lana to change position. Lana fell back and spread her legs, and, with the assistance of Laurel and Louise, helped their Master achieve his first real penetration of one of his biosluts. His cock entered Lana’s tight, wet, precise-engineered pussy, and he began pumping into her.

“Lana loves her Master!” the slut exclaimed, allowing her head to fall back in an apparently casual gesture. It wasn’t. She cried out in ecstasy—Lana’s climaxes were real, her pleasure at being taken exactly what it sounded like; but the tones were as carefully calibrated as everything else in a bioslut, designed phonetically to increase the drive and energy of a user. The bioslut moaned, and her moans were his aphrodisiac.

Louise suckled her Master’s neck and face (Laurel performed mirror precision, complementary motions). First he kissed her and fondled her tits, then he did hers. They massaged his upper body while Lana occupied his lower, their hot, squirming bodies enveloping his to maximize his entertainment, his happiness, his pleasure. When he came, they came; and their cries excited him again.

They continued to fuck for the entire afternoon and early evening.

Their new Master took each of them in turn, after that first potent orgy. Delightfully, he started with Louise, pushing her onto her back and fucking her like the living doll she knew he wanted her to be.

As he plowed into her, Louise’s hands massaged his back and shoulders. She felt his cock inside her, using her, and she squeezed about him with the expert knowledge her intensive training had provided.

She gave him her tits to suckle. She wrapped fingers, mouth, and pussy repeatedly about his organ.

The other two slaves weren’t entirely passive throughout these exercises. Laurel sucked his pre-cum as it dewed. Lana manipulated the nerve centers of his feet. Yet it was Louise’s pussy that he explored this second time around, and though she knew each of her two new sisters would try repeatedly to supplant her performance—and she herself would try to improve continually over this one, and every future one—now she was the one fucked, and that was heaven, that was everything. She was Serving her Master. She was Fucking the Master . . . Fucking her Master . . . Fucking and Serving the Universe, for she was a slave, a tool, a toy for pleasure, and this was all she had ever wanted to be.

All she was ever destined to be was here, now, in this use of her body. She had found her place. She was coming, her Master was erupting inside her, his cum was jetting inside her; and Louise screamed inarticulately (though rhythmically): “Oh Master! Master!! Thank you, Master!. Thank you!!”

And afterwards, if such were even possible, it got better. Her Master slapped Louise’s ass and told her to bring him a sandwich. He had used her, and then he had casually dismissed her, making her know deep in her bioslut heart that she was nothing more than his empty plaything. It was perfect!

He knew well what a slave was for! It was a wonderful first sign.

“Yes, Master,” she breathed, loving him, loving his casual use and dismissal of her. “At once, my Master.” Lana moved to take her place on the bed. She stepped backward away, resisting the lure of the still entangled flesh. Then, because it was Obedient to do so, just let the love-matrix guide her out of the room and toward the kitchen. She knew the layout of the entire mansion. The knowledge had been deeply programmed into her psyche.

Going out, she didn’t have to reach for the doorknob to open the door: it silently opened for her, the automatics in its construction recognizing her for what she was, a bioslut on an errand for her Master.

The way her Master’s cock had felt inside her! Her Blessed Master! She still wanted him. She would always want him. She wanted to turn around and go back to him. Why do I not? she asked herself, without stopping, and at once the knowledge came to her: Obedience!

No disappointment in this. None at all. The bioslave rubbed her massive rack, feeling the arousal inside her, staying inside her. It was her place to serve him. Her Master hungered. She must feed him!

The housecomp could have brought any food to him, of course, from anywhere in the house. But her Master had sent her . . . Her! . . . to do it. He had made her feel so very low. Exquisite bliss. Every motion she made brought her bliss, for it was in his name that her motion was made. He was bliss.

He was her Master.

Moments later, she was back, and she waited with the tray in her hand as her Master finished taking Lana. She repressed a moan of need. Just a few moments ago, she had been luxuriating in the afterglow of her experience. She had been thoroughly, completely satiated. Seeing her Master cavort with Lana had done more than merely reawaken her passion. It was as if her sexual need, having been successfully satisfied at the one level, had been suddenly ratcheted up to the next, a new goal having thus been established. This was a carnal desire frightening in its intensity, like nothing the slave had ever felt at this stage of her new existence.

Lana screamed as she came. Laurel moved in at once to clean the Master with her tongue. Louise would have loved to have done this herself, but her duty at the moment was to deliver food. She was silent, respectful of his pleasure, in awe of his majesty; and she waited.

Eventually, the Master turned to her. “Aww,” he said, and Louise’s heart melted even further, if that were possible. She loved him. She would always love him. Her breath would be for him.

He took the sandwich from the tray and then—in a moment that just wonderful—patted Louise on the top of her head, as one might a dog.

A level 20 orgasm.

She had found her place. She was Louise, the bioslut. And that is all she would ever or want to be.

. . . to be concluded (Ch. 26 — “Smiley Face”)