The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

6 Months Later …

Reyna puts her hand on the small of my back and pushes me to turn. I follow her lead down the alley. Her smooth hands and long fingers on my skin still thrill me. Her touch and her breath still thrills me. The very notion of her commands, of her preferences, thrill me. It is a thrill to be in and with her. It is the thrill of being alive and being free.

Today, if I’m good, I’ll get another tattoo. More tattoos move me closer to my piercing. Once I’m pierced, I’ll be Reyna’s forever. She swears she’ll only abandon me when I’m ugly. As long as I’m young and beautiful, I’ll never have to think for myself. That’s heaven. That’s paradise.

Of course, beautiful is no longer in the eyes of the beholder for me. Beauty is in the eyes of Reyna. She picks my wardrobe herself. She started me off in flowy sundresses and lots of sheer materials. She never picked anything that covered my slut tattoo. I got used to men staring at my chest. I got used to wearing strapless bras or no bras. I got used to showing off my skin. I got used to simplicity. Then things got shorter. The skirt got shorter. My tummy was shown off. I lost a lot of weight on the diet and exercise Reyna had me on, so I was proud to show off my slutty body.

Today, I’m in a lace dark green bralette and a white mini skirt. Reyna teases that one day she’ll have me walk nude. I hope not. People stare at me wherever I go, especially because of my collar, but I try not to look at them. I look at Reyna. She looks at me. I try to imagine I’m only dressed for Reyna and her eyes. That helps.

We come out of the alley and onto Main St. There are no cars allowed on the street, just the trolley and pedestrians. As we walk, every woman we pass is another test. Reyna could ask me to do anything. She could take any woman into her control. She can have whatever she wants. A walk with Reyna is never simply a walk. The men at least aren’t tests. I don’t think Reyna’s a lesbian. I don’t think she has any preference except submission. But I’ve never seen her order someone to serve a man, and I’ve never seen her take control of a man that stayed a man.

A group of women, all beautiful, strut past us. My heart stops. Reyna could take me to them on my knees. She could bend me over and offer my ass to them. She could throw me to me knees and fill my mouth with their cunts. She could do anything, and I would obey. But I’m still scared. I wonder if they have any diseases. I wonder if they’re clean or if they’ve trimmed their bush. I wonder if they will be cruel or laugh at her offer or take pictures of me. I don’t want her to ask me to do it. I want Reyna to take me somewhere safe, somewhere private, and serve her and only her until I’m out of breath and body. I want to serve those Reyna wishes, but those she trusts and knows.

But I want to be used. I want to be broken. I want to pierced and taken and fucked. I want all those things. I’ve given them to Reyna. She decides now. She rules my fate. But my mind still buzzes. My brain is still whirring with possibilities and anxieties. Reyna refuses to take it from me. She tells me a thoughtless slave is useless. She says she will break me before she makes me empty.

All I want is to be nothing. I want to taste the absolute desolation of mindlessness and be all action, all body, and no consequences, no thoughts, no fears.

Damn. I’m not ready to be pierced.

Reyna pulls me into a small cafe with a patio. Internally, I sigh with relief. Business is slow at the cafe. One woman works the register. She has tattoos and bright blue pixie hair. She has several piercings in her lips, her nose, and her ears. She seems to be the only one working. There is a man reading the newspaper at a table and another man on his phone drinking coffee. Reyna guides me, her hand teasing the small of my back to the register. She leaves me at the register and goes to sit. I know her order. I know all her preferences. She doesn’t need to speak to control me anymore.

“Howsit goin’ darlin?” asks the girl at the counter. Her accent is thick and adorable. She smiles at me and pops a pink bubble of gum. I smile back. I don’t get to talk to strangers anymore. The women at Reyna’s clubs don’t care for conversation, and most of the slaves at Reyna’s estate don’t talk at all. It’s nice to be seen.

I glow from the girl’s attention and smile back. “Good, thanks,” I say. Sarah used to blush and be shy. She’d say ‘thanks,’ and walk away. But this slut doesn’t worry what the cute pixie girl thinks of her. She can smile and flirt. She can laugh and connect. It’s all thanks to Goddess, and it all returns to Goddess in the end.

“What can I get for ya?” she asks.

“Two iced dirty chai lattes,” I say.

“Sure thing.” She punches something into the register. “Size?”

“Regular. Medium. Whatever it’s called. Nothing obscene.”

“Gotcha. No problem.” She finishes typing and looks back up to me. She smiles. “Anything else?”

“That’s all.”

“$9.87, hun.”

I hand her Reyna’s black card. It pays for everything.

“You want a receipt?” she asks.

“No, thanks.”

“Sure thing. That’ll be ready for you in just a sec.”

I hesitate. I’m not sure what the system is for paying or picking up the coffee. Sarah would have been worried or awkward. A slut can flirt and find out. “Do I wait here and watch your cute self make it or do I get the pleasure of you serving me and bringing it to my table?”

The pixie-haired girl blushes. “I’ll bring it to you, darling.”

“Good girl.” I wink.

I turn around and go back to Reyna. She’s watching the man on his cellphone. “He hasn’t looked up once,” she says as I sit down.

“Who?” I ask.

“That man. He hasn’t looked up from his phone once.”

“Sounds about right.”

“No. That’s not right.” Reyna looks at me. “You all accept terrible normals too easily.”

“You all? Americans?”

“Mortals,” she sighs. She leans towards the man on his phone. “Excuse me,” she says to him. He looks up, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Me?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I’m on my phone.”

“I see that. What are you doing on your phone?”

The cute pixie-haired girl stares at Reyna. The man reading his newspaper lowers it and stares at Reyna. When they stare at Reyna, there’s no way they don’t see me. She’s making a scene. Why is she doing this? If he wants to be on his phone, let him be on his phone. There’s no reason to harass him.

“I’m checking Facebook,” he says slowly, as though Reyna is stupid.

“It must be very interesting,” says Reyna. She turns from him dismissively.

The pixie-haired girl comes to our table with our coffee. “Here you go, miss,” she says and winks at me. She places the coffee on the table and quickly walks away.

“She likes you,” says Reyna.

“I flirted with her a little.”

“You like her,” says Reyna. It’s not a question.

“She’s cute,” I explain with a shrug.

“Go fuck her,” says Reyna.

My mouth starts to form a question, but I choke it. Reyna isn’t to be questioned. Ever. I get up to obey, but my mind races. How am I going to get her to fuck me? Do I fuck her out here? I need to get her in private. I’ve already flirted with her. I’ve laid the groundwork for a sexual advance. But what do I say?

Normally, Reyna orders women to fuck me or use me. She’ll pour out her power into them and have them sit on my face. She’ll command them to spread their legs and tell me to dive into them. She sets me up. She protects me.

This is what you wanted, Sarah.

I don’t need to worry about what the girl says. Reyna worries about that. I need to obey. Obedience is my only concern. If the girl won’t comply, I’ll force it somehow. Reyna will help. She wants me to fuck her. I will fuck her.

I go around the counter, smiling at the cute pixie-haired girl. She’s doing something on her phone, so she doesn’t quite notice me. “I never got your name,” I say. I look back at Reyna. She’s sipping her coffee and watching me intently.

The cute girl looks up at me and smiles. “Claire,” she says with her adorable accent. “What’s yours?”

“Sarah,” I whisper. I look back to Reyna. She nods. I look down at the floor. “But you can call me Slut.”

“What?” asks Claire.

I step closer to her, but I can’t look at her. “I’m a slut, you know?” I step closer. “You can call me a slut.”

I look up, hoping she’ll be interested, but she’s not. She’s disgusted. Her mouth is wide, and it looks like she’ll either vomit or scream at a moment’s notice.

I grab the bottom of my skirt nervously and twirl. “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Don’t I look like a slut?”

Her eyes roam over me, and it’s like she’s taking in my outfit for the first time. A micro-skirt and tiny crop-top. Heels with straps that wind up my legs. I pull my hair out of the way and show her my tattoo, ‘slut,’ over my breast. It’s like somehow she managed to overlook these things when I was a flirty customer, but now she sees them as abominable signs of my debauchery. My knees go weak with lust.

“I’m … uh … not going to call you that,” she finally says.

“Why not? You can see that I’m a slut, right?”

She steps away from me. “I hate that word. No one should use that word.”

I gently rub my hands over my tattoo. “You don’t like my tattoo?” My voice gets higher as I go. I fall into the role. I recite the lines of porn and erotica. And as I act, the further I commit into attempting to fuck this stranger, to obey my goddess, the easier it gets.

“Hun …” She looks around the room. One man is still on his phone and the other is reading his newspaper. She looks at Reyna and her face relaxes. She goes still.

Reyna looks to me. “I won’t help you with this. But you must obey,” she says across the coffee shop. No one notices.

I nod at my goddess and step right next to Claire. She’s holding her breath, under Reyna’s sway for just a moment, a moment for me to think. What does Reyna say? All women are sluts. All humans are slut. They all want to cum. They all want to feel connected and alive. They all want to be united to something. I can press upon her, urge her. I can show her how badly she wants a sluts little mouth on her pussy. Yes. I can do it. I can fuck her.

I grab Claire’s hand and pull her into the back room. It’s a kitchen and dishwasher area with supplies scattered everywhere. Claire tries to pull back on me, but she’s weak.

“Please,” I whine. “Can I please eat your pussy, Claire?”

“W-what?” she asks, still dazed from Reyna’s eyes.

I sink to my knees and slide my hands under her apron, reaching for her shorts. “I need your pussy, Claire.”

“What? … No.”

She tries to push my hands away, but she’s weak. “Please, Claire, I need to. You don’t understand. I have to.”

“Why are you doing this?” I unbutton her pants and unzip them. She barely stops me.

“Because I’m a slut.”

“You’re not a slut, stop it.”

My hands stop. I look up at her intently. Claire is looking out into the coffee shop. She’s worried about customers. She’s worried about the men. She’s worried about Reyna and what Reyna did to her. More than likely it was nothing more than making her a bit more comfortable, a bit more … likely.

“Claire,” I whine. She looks down at me. “Look at me,” I say. She stares into my eyes, and I stare back into her. I raise my hands and show off my ‘slut’ tattoo. “I’m a slut.” I hook my thumbs under the straps of my top. “It’s not an insult.” I slide the straps off my shoulder. “It’s not derogatory.” I slide my arms out of my straps. “It’s a fact of reality.” I lower my crop-top and expose my chest. There, Claire sees all the tattoos. ‘Slut’ is above the right breast. ‘Whore’ is below it. ‘Dyke’ is on my left breast. ‘Pussy eater’ surrounds my left nipple in tiny script. ‘Reyna’s’ is underneath my right nipple. Each of them are in a lacy calligraphy. At a distance, they look like whirls or some kind of strange bra over my skin like body paint, more a design of my new skin, Reyna’s skin, than words. Each tattoo was earned. Each marks my progression into Reyna’s oblivion. With each tattoo, I’m one step closer to thinking nothing but feeling everything. Then, after the last tattoo, I’ll earn my piercings.

“See,” I say. I squish my tits together. “It’s okay to call me a slut. I like it.”

“Whu …” she mumbles, but she doesn’t take her eyes away from my tits.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” I coo. “You can call me a slut.”

“I don’t like that word.”

“You don’t have to like it for it to be true.” I run my hands under her apron. She doesn’t stop me. “You don’t have to like me, for that matter.” I unzip her pants. “You can hate me. It’s okay to hate sluts.” I pull down her shorts. I bite my lower lip and look into her eyes. She’s beautiful. She deserves to be served. She deserves to be pleased. I can do it. I’ve learned so much. My tongue can do so much. “All you have to do is use me.”

She doesn’t move. She doesn’t look away from me. I know she wants me to keep going, but she’s too afraid to ask. It’s okay. Good sluts don’t need to be told to be slutty. I rub my hands over her panties. They’re a little wet, but I was hoping for more.

“You’re wet, Claire,” I giggle. “You like sluts?”

“I’m … not …”

“We’re all a little queer, Claire. Besides, a tongue is a tongue is a tongue.” I stand up off my knees and move centimeters from her face. “And I have such a good tongue.” I kiss her, and she doesn’t resist. She hesitates, but she kisses me back. I use tongue, and she accepts. She pushes back with tongue, and I know I’ve won.

I break the kiss and she’s panting with excitement. “You have to tell me to do it, Claire,” I say. “Sluts need orders.”

“I …” She looks back out into the coffee shop.

I grab her chin and direct her eyes back to me. “Please Claire,” I beg. “My slutty tongue needs to eat your sweet pussy.”

“Um …” Her hands fumble with the strings of her apron.

“Order me,” I whine. “I need your pussy.”

“Uh .. um … okay.” She stops fiddling with the strings and looks at me intently. “Eat me out, slut.”

I surge of joy and hunger rushes through my body as I fall to my knees. Claire keeps trying to untie her apron, but I put my head beneath it and see her panties. They’re soaked now. I pull them down. I push gently on Claire’s pelvis until she steps back and leans on the counter behind her. With her crotch propped up, I start to lick. Goddess, she’s soaked.

Her pussy is unshaved, and she has a surprising amount of bush. I giggle when I see she’s dyed it blue to match the curtains. Adorable. I lick as Reyna taught me: careful and long licks on the outer lips. Not too much force. Claire starts to moan and grip the counter behind her. I feel her legs tight and pelvis clench. Then, add some pressure, and continue to do long strokes over the whole length of the pussy. Then -

There’s a knock on the backroom.

“Y-y-yes?” asks Claire.

“Excuse me,” says Reyna. I hear the door open. I don’t stop eating Claire. I haven’t been told to stop. Reyna will tell me when to stop. I don’t have to worry about anything else besides the pussy in front of me.

“Y-you c-can’t come in here,” whispers Claire.

“I just did,” says Reyna. “Good job, slut. She seems to be enjoying herself.”

“Are you calling me —”

“No, darling. Sarah is the slut. You however, need to go to work.”

“What?”

“Serve the customers. That’s your job, yes?”

“But I —”

“You want to do a good job. You want to be good at your job. Someone who is good at their job won’t let a little bit of fun distract from their work. You will do your job, like a good employee, and Sarah will eat your cunt, like a good slut, yes?”

“Yes,” intones Claire.

My blood runs cold. I hope the counter would cover me. I hope no customers came into the store. I hope no one sees. I hope no one watches. I’ve been watched before, but they paid. They were Reyna’s guests. They were part of the fantasy. But strangers, people off the street seeing me eat out the barista, like such a pathetic slut …

I clench my thighs. Yes.

Claire steps away from me and kicks off her shorts and panties. As the apron uncovers my face, I see Claire following Reyna out to the coffee shop. I crawl on my hands and knees after her. The counter does have some cover. The man on his phone and the man reading the newspaper are still there, but I can’t see from my knees if the rest of coffee shop is empty.

Claire goes to the register and takes a step back so there’s room for me. I crawl in front of her, kiss my way up her legs back to her pussy. She covers my head with her apron and goes back to covering the register. She grips the counter in front of her with both hands and does her best not to moan despite my tongue.

“Do you have paper and marker to make a sign?” asks Reyna.

“Yes … um … uh … ooooo … um … over there,” sighs Claire.

“Thank you,” says Reyna. I hear Reyna’s heels click away.

“Um … anything else … uh … for you … sir?” asks Claire.

“Just a refill,” says a voice I don’t know.

Claire shuffles a step away from me, but I follow her. I’m still on slow and long strokes with medium pressure. Once I can get her to stay still, or she’s wet enough, I can start to minister directly to the clit.

“How’s the news … paper?” asks Claire.

“Good. I like that you all stock newspapers. Not enough places do that these days. I don’t know what it is, but I like to feel something in my hands, you know?”

“Ah …” moans Claire. “Right.”

“Good morning,” says Reyna.

“Morning, ma’am,” says the man I assume was reading the newspaper.

“Would you like to tip?” asks Reyna.

“Tip what?”

“You see the sign?”

“Uh … oh … my …” he whispers. “Ma’am … I don’t know what kind of—Miss what kind of place is this?”

“What do you mean?” asks Claire. “Oh!”

“You see?” asks the man. “Who is this lady?”

“This is my coffee shop, sir. Or it will be soon,” says Reyna. “I’m just wondering if you want to tip the slut, that’s all.”

“I don’t think it’s kind … that kind of language …” stammers the man.

“Claire, lift your apron for the kind patron.” Claire obeys. I don’t look up. I keep licking. I lick faster, trying to get my tongue under Claire’s hood and flick up at the end of each stroke. Claire runs her hands through my hair.

“See?” says Reyna. “That’s a slut.”

My thighs clench. My whole body aches. Yes. I’m a slut. I’m a slut. I’m not just Reyna’s slut in private. I’m not just a slut behind closed doors. I’m always a slut. I’m forever a slut. I’m a slut to the whole world. My mouth is for anyone’s pussy, and anyone can watch. Yes. Watch me. Tip me. Love me. I’m such a slut. I can’t be taken back now. It can’t be unseen or undone. Yes. I’m a slut. I’m a slut. I’m a slut.

“Oh … my …”

I look up. The man is older, in his late fifties. I’m sure I look a mess. My hair has been undone and tangled from Claire and the apron. My lips are slick with juices. My lipstick must be a mess. I bet I look hot. I bet I look like a total slut.

“Would you like to tip her?” asks Reyna.

“No … I don’t think that’d be … proper …”

“But you do agree she’s a slut?” asks Reyna.

I go back to licking. Claire strokes my head kindly. I want to make her cum. I hope she cums in front of the whole coffee shop, and they all get to see what a good slut I am.

“I don’t like that word.”

“Here’s your coffee, sir,” says Claire, handing him his cup back. “Feel free to tip the slut and have a nice day.”

“Good girl, Claire,” says Reyna.

“What the hell did you say?” I recognize this voice, it’s the man from earlier.

“DId you need anything sir? Would you like to tip the slut?” says Claire, cheerfully.

“What the hell?”

I keep licking Claire. I’m getting her closer. I keep my tongue at the top of her pussy, lightly flicking her clit back and forth. I’ve added my fingers. For now, they lightly stroke and probe the outer lips, replacing what my tongue was doing before. Claire lets out a few moans, grips the counter, and has to catch herself as her knees give out once or twice. She’s close. I don’t look up the customer. My goddess ordered me to fuck Claire. That’s what I’m going to do.

“If you weren’t on your phone, you’d notice,” says Reyna.

“Excuse you?” snaps the man. He wants to fight. He shouldn’t fight Reyna. No one should fight Reyna.

“How about this?” says Reyna. “If you put your phone in the tip jar, right now, the slut will suck your cock when she’s done.”

I freeze. I haven’t sucked cock since … since before Carl … since college? I don’t play with cock anymore. I’m a good slut, I’m Reyna’s slut, but I don’t suck cock anymore. I don’t play with cock anymore. Reyna can’t. Reyna wouldn’t.

I pull away from Claire’s clit. She’s so close. She tries to pull my head back to her pussy, but I resist. I look up at Reyna, or try to, over and around the counter. “Goddess?” I whisper.

“What, slut?”

“His … cock?”

“Oh, little Sarah. You know you’d love it. In a heartbeat you’d be the best cocksucker in the city with my help. You’d love cock more than you’d love pussy. If I wanted, you could need cum more than you need water.”

“But …”

“Are you my slut?” snaps Reyna.

“Y-yes …” I mumble.

“What do sluts do?”

“Obey.”

“That’s right.” Reyna looks back at the phone man. He’s in his forties maybe. He’s not attractive. None of them are attractive. “Besides,” she says with a smile. “He hasn’t tipped the slut, yet.”

I blush and go back to Claire’s clit. I can focus on this. All a slut has to do is what her Goddess orders her to do. She only has to have one thought in her head at a time: the command. The next thing is the only thing. The next thing is to fuck Claire. The only thing is to fuck Claire.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” asks the phone man.

“Do you want your cock sucked?” asks Reyna.

“She’s real good,” says Claire. “She’s eager.”

“What in the actual fuck?” says the man.

“Put your phone in the tip jar and get a slave’s mouth wrapped around your cock,” says Reyna.

“You two are fucked —”

“Look at your phone,” orders Reyna. “You love that stupid phone. It’s all the brings you pleasure. I doubt you could get an erection without staring at that screen. You won’t. I know you won’t. You won’t ever again. You can’t eat unless you’re staring at the phone. You can’t think unless you’re staring at the phone. For every moment you don’t look at it, you feel yourself getting dumber. Thoughts fly away. You forget things. But your phone will help you remember. Your phone is a tool to help your mind. It brings you pleasure. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” intones the man. He’s under Reyna’s power now.

Claire starts to buck and grind against my face. Her hands move from running through my hair, to shoving my face into her pussy. She’s close. She wants it. She wants to cum.

“And if your phone dies, if it runs out of battery or reception, you’ll do whatever you have to get more juice. You’ll pay any price. You’ll suck cock. You’ll take cock up the ass. You’ll sell your body. You don’t need your body. You have your mind, and your phone helps with your mind. It’s a tool for your mind. When it dies, your mind dies. You become needy and desperate. You become stupid and reckless. You won’t need condoms. You won’t need protection. You’ll need juice. You’ll do anything for juice, yes?”

“I’ll do anything for juice.”

Claire moans but no one pays attention to her. The phone man is in Reyna, and, more importantly, she is in him. I am in Claire, and Claire is becoming awake. She’s becoming more. She’s been touched by Reyna. Nothing will be the same for her. When she cums, she seals her fate. She will be other. She will be altered. She will be hungry. She will never be the same. Just like me. They’re all just like me.

“You’re stupid without your phone.”

“I’m stupid without my phone.”

Claire pulls on my hair, but I don’t let my tongue stop flicking her clit. I suck on it, nibble it, roll it over my teeth with my tongue. She bucks her hips and humps my face. She’s moaning like a whore. She is a whore. I’m a whore. We’re all whores. We’re all Reyna’s whores, aren’t we? We’ve been sucked in by a promise of freedom and then stay for the bittersweet darkness.

“You’ll look at it all the time.”

“I’ll look at it all the time.”

I slide my fingers into Claire’s pussy and start to pump. Her moans turn to growls and roars. She’s becoming less and less Claire and more and more an animal, more and more free, more and more a slut. Her hips pound into my face, pushing my fingers deeper and deeper inside of her. She’s close. She’s close. She’s the next thing. Fuck her. Fuck her, Sarah. Obey, Sarah.

“Good boy, now please, take a picture of my slut.”

Claire clenches. Her legs clench. Her thighs clench. Her pelvis clench. Her hands clench on my hair. She rises to her tiptoes, but my tongue and fingers follow. Fuck her, Sarah. Obey. All you have to do is obey. It doesn’t matter if they’re watching. You like that they’re watching. Everyone thought you’d be better. They thought you’d be stronger. But you’re just a slut. You like them seeing you fail. You like them watching and getting hot. Getting wet. Getting hard. You like that they like sluts. You like that you get to be their slut. You like to obey. You like to be watched. You like that their eyes makes it permanent.

There’s a white flash.

“Thank you. Here. I’ll send it to myself.”

You like their eyes. You like to be public. You like to be public. If it’s public, it’s forever. You don’t have to go back. You can’t go back. Everyone knows. They know what a slut you are. They know. You know. You knew, but now everyone knows. It’s forever now. It will never leave you. You’re a slut. You’re such a slut. You’ve always been a slut. You’re such a good slut. It’s good to be a slut. It’s good to be you. You like you. You like you now. You like slut you.

“Now go. No sluts for you.”

Claire shudders and cum. I shudder and cum. She holds my head against her pussy, but as she comes of her tiptoes, my head is against her soft tummy. She runs her hands through my hair and laughs.

“Thanks, slut,” she says.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I lightly kiss her pussy. She gasps. I giggle and slide my fingers out. She gasps more. “I needed that.”

I stand up and turn to look at Reyna. She’s packing up her things. I move to follow.

“No,” says Reyna calmly. “Don’t move. Stay there.” She hands me my coffee. “Here. This is yours.” I take it. “I want you to stay here serving Claire and anyone else who offers, even cocks.”

I nod. My knees go weak. Yes. Please. Yes. I want it. I want it badly.

“Earn tips, both of you,” says Reyna. “When you’ve earned enough to pay for a ride back to the manor, little Sarah. You can return. Though I suggest you also earn enough for your next tattoo. I know just where I want to put it.”

Reyna walks out of the coffee shop.

I turn to Claire and smile, smoothing out my hair. Without Reyna guiding her, she looks less sure of herself. She’s confused and worried about what just happened.

I chuckle to try and break the tension. “Crazy, huh?” I say.

I go to pick up her shorts and panties, but she kicks them away from me. “Don’t touch those,” she says. Her voice is sharp.

“What’s wro—”

“Don’t talk,” she orders. “Get on your knees. Stay on your knees. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at the customers. Be a good slut, and earn enough money to get out. Okay?”

“Yes, Miss,” I say. I obey and get on my knees.

“Miss,” says Claire. I hear her smile. “I like that.”

Over the next six hours I help Miss Claire cum fourteen more times. I suck two cocks. Claire wouldn’t let me clean the cum off my tits. I let three women write their phone numbers on me. They didn’t want to fuck me in the store, but I promised to serve them later if my Goddess permits it. I earned more than enough money to get back to the manor. I lost count of how many pictures were taken of me. When Claire’s boss came to the coffee shop, I served her too. She liked to call me names. By the time I left, they called me Claire’s Cunt and stopped calling me slut. They didn’t understand that I was Reyna’s Cunt. But it didn’t matter. They could never understand.

I was Reyna’s cunt. I was so much more than that. I was her ass and her mouth and her tits and pussy. I was her slut and her slave and her whore. I was her body. I was an extension of her will. I was close now. I was close to true mindlessness. Every picture they took of me brought me closer. Every woman I ate out brought me closer. Every insult I accepted brought me closer. I’ll tattoo all their insults on my skin. Then they won’t hurt me. Nothing will hurt me but the fear of Reyna’s displeasure.

10 Years Later …

There’s a knock on my apartment door. I stop writing, I have time until this manuscript is due, and go to answer it. When I open the door, Charity, a curvy redhead from my publisher’s office is standing in front of me. She’s wearing a pale green sundress with sunflowers on it. Her makeup is running. She’s been crying.

“Charity?” I ask.

“I took your advice,” she sniffles.

“How did it go?” I ask.

“Awful.”

I open the door wide and step out of her way. “What happened?” I ask as she heads into my apartment.

“I told her what I wanted, and she freaked the fuck out.”

“Madeline? You told her about your fantasies?”

“Yes! Who the fuck do you think?” shrieks Charity.

I gesture to one of my arm chairs in the living room. “Here, take a seat. Calm down.”

“I’m sorry,” says Charity. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m going to make you some tea.”

“It’s not. I shouldn’t be yelling at you. You’re just trying to help me. You’ve been great. You’ve been so great.”

“I understand what it’s like to be in your position,” I say as I put the kettle on.

“With you and Maria, right?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I get out the teapot and put in two bags. “Earl Grey fine?” I ask.

“Uh, sure,” says Charity. “Whatever is fine.” She clasps and unclasps her hands. She’s nervous. That’s fine. They’re always nervous at first.

“There’s some tissue there if you want to clean up your makeup.”

“Thanks, Sarah. I really appreciate it. Again, I’m sorry for yelling and —”

“Don’t worry about it.” I smile at her. “It’s fine. You’re not the first to show up crying and screaming at my door. It’s kind of my thing now.” I set the teacups out by the pot.

“You’re too kind.”

“Just trying to show the kindness that’s been shown to me.” I go back to the living room and sit down across from her. Charity’s beautiful, but she doesn’t know it. She doesn’t know what people would do with her body, what she could do with her body. She doesn’t understand all the power that’s inside her. She’s convinced the world wants to tear her apart and deny her happiness. But the world is bringing things together. The world wants connection.

“Tell me all about it,” I say.

Charity takes a deep sigh and starts. “I told her about the fantasies I’ve been having. The ones I told you about.”

“BDSM stuff, right?” I wish I had a cup of tea to sip right now. It’d be perfect to be casually non-interested, not sure of the facts, not practiced and rehearsed.

“Uh … yeah,” she says. She smiles and looks down at her hands clasped in her lap. “That stuff.”

“It’s okay, Charity. I’ve been doing that kind of stuff for years now. It’s perfectly healthy and normal.”

“Well, tell that to Madeline,” she whines.

“How did she respond?” I ask.

“Not well. She said I was crazy. She called me a freak and told me that it was too kinky and weird and creepy. She went on some rant about how BDSM is patriarchal and stems from the desire of men to oppress and how people made oppression seem sexy so people would willingly oppress themselves and women are subjugating themselves to men willingly or worse begging women to be their new patriarchal oppressors and —” Her words started to topple on top of each other as she went faster and faster, trying to give me the whole story of their conversation, but her emotions caught up with her and she’s gasping and crying through most of an incoherent ramble.

“Charity,” I coo. “Breathe.”

The tea kettle sings. I get up to fix us some tea.

“Sorry,” she sighs again. “It’s just that … it’s just that …”

“It felt like rejecting your fantasies were rejecting you?” I ask.

“Exactly!” she sighs with exasperation. “Exactly that.”

“And she doesn’t believe your fantasies are an inherent part of your identity. She thinks it can pass or be a phase?”

“Yes. Exactly yes.”

“I’m sorry, hun,” I say as I pour the hot water into the teapot. “That’s a shame.”

“You think it won’t work with her?”

“Maybe,” I say. “It’s difficult.”

“Why does it have to be so difficult!” she whines.

“It’s like you’ve found a woman, and you want to be with her. But you need more than just a woman. In our case, we need it to be a gay or bisexual woman, right?” I put the teapot and teacups onto the tray along with sugar and milk.

“Sure.”

“And now, in my case, and your case apparently, we need it be a woman with similar sexual fantasies.”

“I guess, but can’t she just —”

“She can’t be a domme for you anymore than my sister can be a lesbian for you. It’s preference, love. Simple as that. You can’t change her preference.” I sit back down across from Charity and put the tray with tea on it between us on the coffee table.

“So we have to break up?” she asks. She’s heartbroken. She knows it’s true, but once I say it, it’ll be real.

“Maybe.”

“But I just want …” She trails off. I pour the tea. I hover over the sugar, but she shakes her head. I lift the milk, but she shakes her head. I hand her the tea cup.

“To be controlled?” I ask.

“Yes,” she sighs. I’m sure she’s wet. They’re always wet by this point. Sluts like her are always wet the closer you get to their deepest and darkest fantasies.

“By Madeline?” I ask. I pour my tea into my cup. I add four lumps of sugar and a splash of milk. I raise the cup and look at her. I take my calculated sip. It’s hot, but I don’t show any reaction as it burns my lips.

Charity doesn’t say anything. The silence builds between us. She reminds me of a ghost, of June, on her knees in her apartment desperate to be controlled by me, by anyone. They all want to be controlled. They all come to me for it. But I’m smarter now. I won’t make the same mistake I made last time. I know who I am and what my role is in all this.

“It doesn’t have to be Madeline, does it?” I ask.

Charity shakes her head.

“You’re that desperate to be controlled?” I ask.

Charity nods.

“Are you sure?”

Charity nods.

“You want it to be me, don’t you?” I ask and take a sip.

She nods.

“You need me, don’t you?” I ask.

She nods.

“You need my strength?”

She nods.

“Look at me, Charity.” She does. “What Madeline said isn’t true.”

“But I asked her to do … things to me. What kind of a person does that?”

“It doesn’t matter. Listen to me. Madeline’s not here. She doesn’t matter.” I can see the confusion over her face. She can’t sort that out. Two ideas are still raging in her mind. She’s trapped and afraid, but she’s eager and hopeful. I won’t make the mistake I made with June. She’ll be like the others. This is what Goddess wants for me. She wants me to collect my little chicks like when I first collected June. She wants me to use my strength and my love to give them security and take away their fear.

“You want me in charge?” I say forcefully.

She nods.

“Then listen to me.”

She nods.

“You are not a freak.”

Again, the confusion is plain on her face. I see her eyebrows furrow and nose scrunch as she tries to sort it out. How can she not be a freak when what she wants is so dark and devious? She doesn’t know yet that darkness and debauchery can become normal.

“Trust me. Am I in charge?”

“Yes.”

“Do I think you’re a freak?”

“No.”

“Then are you a freak?”

“No,” she says.

“That’s right,” I coo. I put down my teacup and stand. I sit on the arm of her chair and stroke her hair, like a cat. She seems to like it and relaxes. “You’re not a freak, Charity.” I can’t take away the term from her. It means too much, so I offer her a new one. “You’re a good girl.”

She emits something that sounds like a purr or moan from her throat.

“That’s right,” I say. “Good girls can be obedient. Good girls can serve. And you want to serve, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you came here. That’s why you’re letting me take control. You want to serve, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” I say.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I say.

“It feels like something’s wrong with me.”

“No no no no, you’re a good girl,” I whisper.

“But what I want it is —”

“Shhhh.” I turn her face to look at me. “Repeat after me: I’m a good girl.”

“I’m a good girl.”

“Sarah likes my dark fantasies.”

“Sarah likes my dark fantasies.”

“Sarah thinks I’m a good girl.”

“Sarah thinks I’m a good girl.”

“I am a good girl.”

“I am a good girl.”

“Gooood,” I say. “Now I want to show you something.”

“Okay,” says Charity.

I peel off my blouse. I’m not wearing a bra. There, beneath my professional clothing, Charity can see the tattoos. ‘Slut,’ ‘whore,’ ‘cumslut,’ ‘cunt eater,’ ‘pussy eater,’ ‘Reyna’s,’ ‘cunt,’ and more. So many more. She gasps.

“It’s okay,” I say. “You can touch them.”

She reaches out and runs her hands over my tattoos. There are more on my legs. More over my pussy. More on my ass. More than she could think reasonable or natural.

“You … did this?” she asks.

“My Goddess did,” I say.

“Goddess?”

I won’t make the same mistake again. I won’t let June get banished or try to tear her away from the one force that can help her. I won’t separate June from the one true source of good or hope or power. I will take this June to Reyna. Reyna will use her the way she needs to be used, the way she wants to be used. She will be like all the others. I’m going to fix it this time. I’m going to fix it with this June.

“That’s right,” I say. Charity’s fingers reach my nipples and hesitate. Everyone hesitates when they get to the piercings, afraid they’ll hurt me. But nothing can hurt me anymore. I’m free. I’m finally empty and free.

“I can’t wait to introduce you to her.”