The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“It is an Object,” the older woman recited with certainty, her voice relayed through the speaker beneath the window.

Swaying on her feet, the younger woman stared wide-eyed at the Spiral that captivated her. Both occupants of the Finishing Room were now attired in uniform grey, the older woman standing directly behind what had once been her daughter, her mouth pressed close to her ear, branding the Truth directly into the sizzling mind of the helpless puppet.

Simmering with the sexual need that now consumed her, the younger of the pair mewled helplessly as the Spiral twisted, wiping yet another tiny fragment of the former-kaitlan’s existence away, allowing the Love to solidify within her newly Owned mind.

Alongside the small observation window, the masked figure of number four waited in attendance. The drone had been tasked with fast-tracking the kaitlan-material’s conversion into eager pre-Object over the past few days and the results were obvious.

“It is not a person,” the slavewoman continued, her voice husky and dripping with pure Love, adoringly caressing her daughter’s strictly collared neck, worshipping the physical manifestation of their Owned status. Upon both their chests, the Holy Mark burned red.

slaveroberta’s enthusiasm to bring her daughter to Goddess had paid dividends. Betrayed by the woman who had raised her, brainwashed and fully integrated into a relentless programme of mind-conditioning designed to break her completely, the sleep-deprived kaitlan-material had succumbed.

“It has no name,” the older slave happily dismissed her former daughter’s individuality, excited to destroy everything the young woman had once believed in, eager to transform the fruit of her loins into nothing more than robotised droneflesh, a state she yearned with every fibre of her mind and body to become.

Her mouth inches away from her daughter’s ear, the mouthpiece continued to press the Truth into the throbbing pre-Object before her.

“It has no identity,” the older fempawn continued, one of her hands expertly stimulating the high, tight slavecollar that would encircle her former-daughter’s neck forever, sending wave after wave of hot mind-melting pleasure crashing through the helplessly entranced and hopelessly addicted pre-drone.

“It has no past. It has no future,” the aroused slavemother moaned, her other hand reaching up to caress her own collar, uniting with her once-daughter in Loving submission to their Deity.

“It has always been an Object,” the former-roberta moaned excitedly, not only programming her daughter to accept her new existence as an ‘it’, but deepening her own insatiable need for Objectification.

“It is nothing but an Object.”

Turning to the former-erica beside her, she surveyed the living robot whose existence was defined by total submission to the Superior Will, she revelled in the knowledge that the pair in the Room beyond would soon be completely unified in thought and appearance with this delectable piece of mindwiped droneflesh.

“Any difficulties with this pair?” she queried.

“No, Overseer,” the lips framed by the deindividuating mask moved. “Both pieces of material have accepted their Training.”

The completely brainsmoothed slavemother’s voice echoed through the speaker, interrupting their conversation as she turned back to look through the observation window. “It is an Object,” the mature woman proclaimed, sealing her own fate as well as the mesmerised pre-drone that she had bred to brainwash. Turning her gaze back to the Finishing Room she continued to watch the pair.

Somehow, a tiny flicker of doubt managed to worm it’s way into her consciousness, disturbing her enjoyment of the kaitlan-material’s programming.

A mother was supposed to protect and nurture their offspring, not betray them. It was a sacred trust... one that was an innate part of the natural order.

And if that trust was broken, what remained?

A gaping psychological wound that would never heal.

But brainwashing promised to heal that wound, to allow the hollowed out perpetrator and victim to fill the void with Truth and Love, anaesthetising the pain forever.

All they had to do was Believe.

“But will they will be happy?” she mused softly, vocalising her inner monologue inadvertently.

“Yes, Overseer,” the drone’s voice responded behind her, mistakenly responding to her pondering. “Once they are fully Objectified they will know only Love. And be happy.”

Surprised, she whirled around and stared at the dehumanized automaton in disbelief. she felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, suddenly aware of how wrong that question was. The droneObject stood stiffly to attention before her, apparently untroubled.

Somehow her mouth seemed to have a life of it’s own, the words escaping her lips without her ability to stop them. All the questions that had somehow lingered in the deepest recesses of her unconscious mind seemed to spew forth from her lips.

“But are you really happy, four?” she blurted recklessly, unable to control herself.

No! Why...?

“Or do you think you’re happy because you’ve had your former-life wiped clean and been brainwashed into thinking you are an Objectified drone?”

Why was she doing this???

There was a pause as the once-erica considered the questions, the Medusa Symbol over the automaton’s masked face almost appearing to flare with anger at her blasphemous words.

“Yes, Overseer,” the fomer-erica simply responded, the meaning of it’s answer left unclear.

Pulse racing, slaveroberta’s voice broke the silence as she continued to intone inside the Finishing Room: “It is not a person...”

How many had she consigned to that fate with a smile, reassuring them with honeyed-words about True Love as they clambered into the Obedience Tubes that would end them? Including the husk of the former-erica that stood before her.

Number four maintained it’s attentive stance, waiting, it’s eyes hidden by the mask making it impossible to read.

For the first time she realised that those who served beneath her might be watching. Judging her. Constantly scrutinising her words and actions for a lack of Belief.

What then? Would the suspicious Object report her? Inform Superior that she was deviating from the Path?

And after that? Would a squad of drones drag her away, heedless of her protestations before they ended her?

Or would she just wake up one morning after a night in her Obedience Tube as a mindsmoothed Object with no memories of being anything other than a living robot?

Would she be happy then, as number four claimed?

If so... why...?

Why...

Why was she afraid?

And she was afraid.

The blood-red Medusa Icon covering the face of a person that no longer existed returned her gaze without pity.

“It has no name...” slaveroberta’s voice declared from inside the Finishing Room.

This was a religion that demanded acolytes sacrifice everything without hesitation.

As slaveroberta had done.

As she had done.

That was both arousing and... terrifying...

No!

What was wrong with her? Questions were dangerous...

she had to snap out of this before it got out of hand.

Taking a breath, she centred herself, banishing the deviant thoughts from her mind.

she needed to remember. Simplify.

she was their Overseer.

she issued instructions. They obeyed.

That was the natural order.

her earlier confusion dissipated, clearing like the last wisps of mist banished a warming sun, replaced now by certainty and confidence as she looked upon the hard body of the attentive servitor whom she knew existed only to serve.

“Cum,” she barked brusquely at the numbered Object standing before her, the demonstration of her power reassuring her, banishing her doubts. Arousing her.

Beneath the red Emblem over the drone’s face, the former-erica’s mouth parted in a silent scream as pure Joy ripped through it, the outward sign of the tidal wave of sexual ecstacy that she had inflicted upon this piece of Owned property.

“It has no identity...” the speakers relayed as slaveroberta continued her task of destroying her daughter and herself.

Slowly regaining it’s composure, number four’s lips closed, it’s body resuming the familiar parade-ground stance of Disciplined obedience, awaiting her commands.

“It has no past. It has no future...”

“Break them,” she snarled at her Objectified inferior, “fully.”

“Yes, Overseer,” the former-erica replied with absolute certainty, turning to the controls adjusting the intensity of the conditioning both subjects were experiencing in the Finishing Room.

Leaving the duo to their fate, she made her way to the former office building.

Proceeding to the top floor, she discovered that Superior’s construction team had done a magnificent job on the space that had been allocated for her use. Partitioned off from the main operations area on the top floor, where the former boardroom she had known so well had once been, her newly decorated office lay waiting.

Opening the imposing double doors, she found herself in a sparsely appointed room that was far longer than it was wide. An imposing dark wooden desk, into which the familiar Holy Mark had been carved, was directly opposite the entrance while on the wall behind, mounted above the seated occupant, was an imposing Medusa Emblem. Four full length glass panels were set into the walls either side of the desk.

A discreet door at the rear wall led to a private chamber, which she decided to explore later.

Easing herself into the large padded leather chair behind the desk, she inspected he various controls arrayed on the desk before her. These would allow her to monitor any aspect of the Hive in real time, giving her complete control over her underlings.

The troublesome thoughts that had disturbed her seemed to recede as she settled into her office.

Opening some of the desk drawers, she was pleased to see it had been fully stocked.

A side door opened and a uniformed figure entered, presenting herself before her. Looking away from the display she inspected the taut Object standing before her.

Number three had been one of the executive secretaries, so it had made sense to reassign it as her personal assistant. And the Object’s tawny flesh contrasted pleasingly against the skimpy grey thong, halter top and heels it was now attired in. Visible above the thong was the newly inscribed Mark on it’s flesh, now a permanent part of the former-maria’s Owned body.

“i shall be using this office from tomorrow,” she announced. “Make the necessary arrangements.”

“It will be done, Overseer,” the droneslave responded, moisture clearly visible where the edge of the thong pressed against it’s sexlips.

“Has slavesarah arrived?” she asked her assistant who upon affirming that the newly reassigned slave was waiting in the outer office was sent to bring her in.

A few moments later slavesarah stood beside the taut form of number three; of average height with long lustrous raven-black hair pulled into a strict pony-tail, she was dressed in gladiator heels and thong like her Objectified coworker. But instead of a uniform crop-top, she wore a modified version with two pieces of fabric that criss-crossed over her impressive breasts before being tied around her waist. Above the massive turtleneck encircling her neck, slavesarah’s smouldering brown eyes glowed with adoration and Love, thrilled at being chosen to serve.

Sarah Melnik, another executive secretary, should have been Objectified already but thanks to the reprioritisation of Batch B5, her transformation had been delayed until at least B6, if not longer.

“Welcome, slave,” she greeted the new arrival.

“Yesss, Overseer!” the curvaceous slavewoman simpered breathily, “thank you, Overseer!”

“You will obey every instruction given to you by either myself or number three. Do you understand, slave?”

“Yesss... Overseer!”

“Don’t worry,” she soothed in a well practiced routine, “this is just a temporary arrangement. You’ll soon be fully brainwashed. Then you will become the Objectified drone you have always been.”

“Ohhhhh... yesss Overseeerr!!!” slavesarah exclaimed excitedly, the preliminary pre-Objectification Training triggered by her words. “i will be brainwashed... i need to be brainwashed... i must be Objectified!!!”

“And you will be, slave,” she twinkled playfully as the slave pulsated with pleasure, drinking in the praise hungrily.

“Ritual, now!” she snapped, enjoying the response to the harshness in her tone.

The busty woman complied instantly, her hands flying to the tight collar that enveloped her neck, pressing Lovingly on the embedded devices that had addicted her to obedience.

“Remember, you wear our Divine Owner’s collar, slave,” she reminded the helpless woman. “This is a privilege. Worship it, always.”

Eyes wide, slavesarah looked into her eyes with adoration and Love, thrilled at being permitted to prove her devotion and submision.

“Yesssssssssssss... Oversseeeerrrrrr...”

“Now, unwrap those tits, slave,” she ordered.

Quickly, the slave untied the criss-crossed straps attached to the material cupping her breasts, allowing the pendulous pillows to swing free. Her task complete, the slattern’s hands returned to her collar, taking care to ensure her arms did not disrupt her Overseer’s view.

Those breasts would provide excellent entertainment, she decided. A very pleasing addition to her personal retinue that she could Use at any time without disrupting the efficiency of the Hive.

Beside her, the former-maria stood impassively.

“Good,” she purred turning to the masked automaton, “number three, i expect you to exert tight control over this meat until it can be Objectified. i demand maximum efficiency and Discipline.”

“It will be done, Overseer,” the masked Object acknowledged as the enthusiastic slave continued to Ritually stroke her collar, lost in the throes of Divine Rapture.

“And ensure that my office is properly decorated tomorrow,” she nodded, indicating the four empty glass panels.

“Yes, Overseer,” the efficient drone responded. “Do you have any particular preferences, Overseer?”

“No,” she decided. “Use your initiative.”

“As you command, Overseer.”

“Good,” she smiled. “i have a feeling we’ll get along just fine.”

“slave,” she barked at her inferior, “keep performing Ritual and lie on the desk.”

The big breasted woman complied with alacrity, quickly pressing herself to the dark carved wood as commanded, offering herself shamelessly, body throbbing in anticipation as it awaited to be Used

Opening a drawer, she rummaged through the contents.

“Now,” she smiled holding up the strap-on harness she had retrieved from the drawer, “three, come around the other side and begin playing with those delicious slavetits.”

“This one obeys, Overseer,” the Object replied as it assumed the position directed. A low animal howl of Joy emerged from slavesarah as the drone began to fondle and grope the helplessly aroused woman’s breasts.

Centred on the oval of uniform grey that obliterated the numbered Object’s face, the vibrant red Mark shone like a beacon guiding the way through the murk.

Sliding her hands over the trembling inner thighs of the sexslave, she pulled the dripping thong down the femwhore’s legs, relishing the familiar rush of power course through her as she positioned the rigid cock jutting out from between her legs over the Use-slut’s entrance.

slavesarah gasped and moaned, continuing to paw at her collar as the sexdrone standing over her played with her malleable breasts, sending the slave into a frenzy of desire.

“Love Medusa,” she instructed the throbbing fleshmeat that lay at her mercy.

“M... Medddd... usaaaaaaaa...!!” the frantic slave begged, her whole body quaking with need as she uttered the Holy Name aloud, reaching out towards the fulfillment she craved.

Beyond, the Objectified-maria continued it’s remorseless assault upon the heaving slavebreasts, aroused at being commanded to assist in Using this slut.

“Love Mistress!” she reinforced the shuddering, groaning whore that lay before her.

“MMM... MMisssss... T...resssssss...!!!!!”

Keeping the tip of the rigid cock hovering at the slave’s yearning opening, she enjoyed keeping her on the edge of bliss, tantalising her with the promise of Use-Joy.

A sudden, overwhelming urge to make the slave scream, surged through her like the sudden arrival of a tempestuous squall instantly turning the placid ocean surface into a maelstrom of foaming angry whitecaps.

“Love your Overseer,” she snarled, the words slipping out of her mouth unbidden as she thrust the long, hard dildo deep into it’s gaping, dripping, needy cunt.

“O..OO...verrR...seeEE...rrrRRR...!!”

Enveloped in her Obedience Tube, she dreamt the dreams her Divine Owner desired her to dream.

she was before a Temple of gleaming white marble.

A row of Ionic columns faced her, their spiral-shaped capitals reminding her how helplessly trapped she was.

Entering the Temple, she knelt.

she was aware of other figures, also kneeling in supplication.

Without looking she knew they were... hers.

Broken, brainwashed, branded... all the servants she had brought to Medusa were lined up before the Altar, prostrating themselves before the All Highest.

The gleaming gold gilded Throne set upon the Altar dazzled her, banishing the spectral forms of those she had ended.

This was her life’s work.

Screaming unheard inside her glass prison, she dissolved as climax upon climax upon climax, each stronger and more intense than the last, ravaged her soul.

Figures swarmed over the interior of the cavernous building. Much of the detritus of neglect had been cleared away, as had the pigeons who had been the primary residents of the structure for so many years. Purchased for a modest sum, the de-consecrated late-Victorian church had been empty for two decades and become quite the eyesore for the neighbours. Now it would be put to good use. With the structural repairs complete, Superior’s construction team was busy fitting out the interior.

The remains of the long wooden pews that the congregation had used for so many years, piled up in a corner awaiting disposal, encrusted with years of guano, reminded her of the skeletal remains of some long-dead civilisation uncovered during an archaeological dig.

Yes. This was perfect.

“This is where you will serve our Owner, slave,” the turned, staring into the humid eyes of slavecarol standing stiffly behind her.

“i exist to serve the Divine Will,” the high-functioning slave she had been bred from responded, her voice aquiver with obedience.

This throbbing servant had been the perfect choice for this particular role. Mature, non-threatening in appearance and demeanour, she had been Trained to put non-Believers at their ease as she guided them along the Path.

“Once the remodelling work is complete, you will fill this building with a congregation dedicated to Worship.”

“Yes, Overseer,” her former-mother assented, eager to serve her Purpose. As an evangelist preaching to the damned, she burned to spread the Holy Doctrine amongst those unfortunates who had yet to learn that salvation lay only in complete submission to the Omnipotent Deity.

Reaching out she ran the tips of her fingers over the turtleneck collar that was wrapped tightly around her former-mother’s neck. The older woman emitted a loud gasp as the Joypleasure burned through her.

This was the servant whom she had been birthed from, only at that time neither of them knew they Belonged. But she had... changed all that. Like slaveroberta, she had betrayed an intimate family member.

she had memories. Memories that should have made her happy. But they felt artificial? As if they had been superimposed over parts of her life that had been altered. Somehow, she didn’t trust them.

But then she recalled the enthusiasm of slaveroberta as she broke her daughter in the Finishing Room and how it had unsettled her. That had been real.

Yet, no such doubts emerged when she regarded this fempawn who she had once thought of as her mother.

Would she hesitate to Use her? Was this slave different somehow?

No.

It was good that slavecarol Belonged.

This slave was merely a tool to be wielded in a Higher Cause. Nothing more.

And slavecarol knew that. Wanted that.

Although modified, her memories were part of who she had become. There was no escape. Far better to embrace them and ride the dark Joy of Belief.

“All must Belong,” she announced firmly staring into the Love glazed eyes of the fleshservant she had created, her throbbing clit singing an aria of Joy at what she had become.

“All must Belong!” slavecarol, her eyes aglow with lustful corruption, rasped throatily.

“Everything is ready, Overseer,” number twenty-one announced firmly.

The large screen before them had been split into two: one showed the footage from a surveillance camera mounted in a ceiling looking down upon a double bed in which two figures lay, the gloomy, grainy footage from the darkened room reminding her of an old film-noir shown on some channel in the middle of the night. The other screen displayed a nondescript ceiling and the shaded bulb of a light which had been switched off.

Unsurprising, as it was just after one in the morning.

This image was the view from the cameras mounted on the visor unit showing what the slave was viewing.

Seated at the desk beside her, the twenty-one monitored the feed. On it’s monitors, the addictive Spiral span remorselessly, displaying what the slave was being shown in the visor that controlled her vision. The other was a series of moving lines displaying the brainwave activity of the material, moving in synchronised ballet with the conditioning as the receptive slavemind responded to the incessant programming.

“Audio,” she ordered the Object who turned up the volume, the speakers relaying what the material was hearing.

Idly, she noted that the non-regulation tattoo formerly visible on the former-annika’s flesh had been expunged, the crescent shaped moon now incorporated into the letter O of the word WHORE that now circled it’s left thigh; it must have been done during it’s time in the Body Modification station.

An appropriate appellation.

she approved.

“You are a slave,” the Voice informed the passive mind of the slumbering fempawn on screen. “You will always be a slave.”

Reaching out, she retrieved the microphone from the table.

“You are a slave. You will always be a slave...”

This was the first operational use of the Type-N device which would allow operators to have direct influence upon the slavemind, increasing the functionality of the slave being controlled.

On twenty-one’s screen, the Spiral slowed and faded until it became a faint blue transluscent overlay over the visored slave’s vision, the Voice dissolving into a soft whisper.

Moistening her lips, offering a silent prayer of thanks, she crisply directed a single word to the microphone before her: “Open, slave.”

There was a brief pause before twenty-one confirmed the slave’s mind-state had changed as slavearabella opened for Instruction.

“You will obey my voice,” she announced firmly.

Pussy tingling, she felt a surge of excitement course through her. For slavearabella, her voice had been transformed into the Voice.

Although it was impossible to see it on-screen, she knew the blonde marionette was juicing with Joy at being dominated in this way. As was she.

To be given such Power! To be the embodiment of the All Highest! her whole body sang with rapture.

“Rise.”

The monitor screen’s showed movement; the image of the ceiling shifted as the visor-mounted cameras the slave wore showed her getting out of bed. The other display showed the fempawn standing to attention beside the bed, dressed in the innocent looking SLEEP TIME nightwear that had become so familiar to her. And her husband.

Oblivious to what was happening thanks to the sedatives slavearabella had covertly administered to him earlier, the male snored peacefully on.

“Retrieve the Rectification equipment, slave,” she informed the helpless hypno-puppet that was nothing but an extension of her will. “Obey.”

Turning, she raised a questioning eyebrow at the droneoperator who was constantly scanning the readouts looking for any anomalies.

“Telemetry indicates full acceptance of Instruction, Overseer.”

A few moments later slavearabella had returned to her husband’s side, now carrying the sleek black hold-all she had hidden earlier.

“The material must be brainwashed,” she insisted.

“The material must be brainwashed,” the somnambulist chanted in response, her arousal relayed through the speakers. Yes, the blonde slave was enjoying this. As she should.

“Prepare the material for Rectification,” she Instructed. “Obey.”

A few minutes later the sleeping male had been expertly fitted with a bulky mesh-helmet, his stiff member trapped inside the black sheath that would pleasure him remorselessly as his mind was rearranged to obey.

The room cameras displayed the stiff form of the blonde slave as she awaited further Instruction, while the visor-mounted cameras showed she was gazing directly at the naked form of her husband as he lay on the bed.

“Initiate Rectification process, slave,” she Instructed the obedient woman on screen. “All must Belong.”

“All must Belong!” the slave repeated, her voice quavering with Love as she picked up the control box wired to the various devices that would erase her meaningless-husband.

“Rectification process initiated, Overseer,” twenty-one informed her, scanning the readouts.

Her task complete, there was no point in letting slavearabella stand around for hours on end. The slave could be woken if needed, so she was instructed to lie down next to the shuddering male and sleep. Twenty-one would monitor both all night to ensure no anomalies.

slavearabella had done well. More importantly, the Type-N unit had performed flawlessly in it’s first operational test. The technicians would go over the data later to look for anomalies, but the ability for an operator to assume direct remote control over a partially Trained slave’s actions in real time opened up all sorts of possibilities. As well as freeing them from reliance on pre-programmed Instructions layered into a nascent slavemind, which had obvious limitations in terms of responding to unanticipated events, it would be possible to use them to brainwash family members at a much earlier stage of their Training.

Nevertheless, the blonde slave had performed well. As had twenty-one.

It had been a good night.

Before her stood the four servants she had summoned.

As well as the two pre-Objects that number four had successfully prepared, slavearabella and twenty-one stood before her.

“You two,” she snapped pointing to the two pre-Objects “step forward and face each other.”

They obeyed instantly, mother and daughter gazing at each other only inches apart.

“What is this?” she asked the younger of the pair.

“A slave, Overseer,” the femservant responded flatly, the glow in the former-kaitlan’s eyes contrasting with her toneless voice, “soon to become an Objectified drone.”

“Correct,” she smiled. “Is there anything remarkable about this piece of property?”

“No, Overseer,” the younger pre-drone insisted firmly.

“This is the whore who birthed you,” she smiled thinly. “How does that make you feel?”

“All slaves are summoned into existence by the Supreme Creator! The Divine Will is made flesh through the insemination of breeding vessels given the honour of birthing new servants to serve the Owner!!”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Correct, once more.”

“And,” she turned to the older woman, “what is this?”

“Owned property being readied for Objectification,” the older woman responded evenly, “bred by this slave to serve the All Highest.”

“Very good,” she praised the pair before directing them to face her once more.

“slavearabella,” she soothed, turning her attention to the blonde servant whose eyes were aglow with Love. “The male-material has been fully Rectified. You have proven worthy of our Owner.”

“Yessssss, Overseer!” the slave thrilled, the red-hot words of praise sizzling in her mind, her cunt dripping with Love.

“As a reward for your service,” she went addressing all four servants, “you will have the honour of Decorating my office for the entire day.”

“Yes, Overseer!” the four voices responded as one.

“Go with number three,” she indicated the former-maria waiting to the side. “It will prepare you for my amusement.”

Entering the Training Room, she was greeted by a compelling Spiral into which a Disciplined group of eight women stared intently, lost.

Situated slightly in front of the Batch was the familiar figure of the senior ebony Trainer. Unlike the others, awareness shone in her eyes. Stepping away from her charges, slavenaomi presented herself.

“Report,” she ordered their instructress, the Spiral continuing to swirl and whorl endlessly.

“Yes, Overseer,” the black woman responded evenly. It was odd to think that slavenaomi had been somebody she had venerated not so long ago.

“As commanded, intensive preObjectification programming has been layered into the assembled Batch to expedite the acquisition of designated Tier I targets,” the voice that she had surrendered her mind to announced.

she remembered standing before a Spiral just like this one, chanting, obeying, submitting to slavenaomi as the Truth had been revealed. The memory hugged her like a warm blanket.

“While all have responded well to pre-Objectification programming,” the black slaveinstructress continued, “two have proven to be particularly receptive. They are ready to serve. The rest will require approximately forty eight hours of additional Training.”

Nodding along to slavenaomi’s voice, aware but not-aware of the Spiral in the background, she felt herself relaxing, laying her head upon a soft pillow sinking greatfully into the light trance of waking sleep.

Turning away from her Overseer, the ebony instructress barked commands. “slavepriya and slavebelinda, step forward,”

Two figures fell out of line immediately. The Trainer pressed a small remote and the Spiral dimmed but didn’t disappear. Overlaid upon it was an image of a smiling young woman dressed in graduation robes, a mortar board perched jauntily atop her head, a scrolled parchment in her hands.

A helpless spectator to this demonstration, she clenched her thighs as the Indian woman swayed visibly, the telltale signs of a sudden surge of arousal claiming the object of her obsession.

“pre-Object, what is this?”

“Material,” the throbbing femslave answered, eyes fixed on the screen, her voice quivering with need.

The image dissolved, replaced by another picture of a smiling woman, this time slightly older.

“What is this?” instructress questioned once more.

“Material,” the pre-drone responded once more.

All she saw was the Spiral swimming behind the black woman, drawing her in, captivating her. The pictures were meamingless; strangers she didn’t know. Only the Spiral mattered.

This shouldn’t be happening. she was Trained, not some weak-willed piece of new material. Yet, she stood rooted to the spot unable to look away, slavethoughts pulsing in time to the whorling Spiral and the compelling voice of slavenaomi.

A photo appeared on screen of the same two women standing together, smiling at the camera.

“But these are your sisters?”

“No!” spat the programmed fleshservant, slavepriya’s eyes wide, the programming loop unspooling within the warped consciousness that directed her thoughts. “i am a slave... i am an Object... i have always been an Object... i have no sisters!”

she squirmed delightedly as a thin trickle of sexjuice leaked down her inner thigh, thrilled by the response.

Due to the compressed timeline for the completion of Batch B5, the Rectification process to gradually erode the emotional ties and bonds between slavematerial and close family and friends had been radically foreshortened. Weeks of gradual thought-realignment had been compressed into days. Moral compunctions had been hurriedly expunged.

Loose ends needed to be tied up quickly.

Although the Training had pummelled their weak slaveminds into submission, it was still a risk. Suddenly overwriting the mind of a mid-process subject, even one already deeply subsumed, with thoughtpattens and behaviour-responses that utterly contradicted a lifetime of pre-slave experiences was always fraught with danger.

In truth, such minds were fragile constructions. Under stress, catastrophic failure of the programming layered into the slavemind could never be ruled out.

And these pre-Objects were being going to be pushed to the limit. Until now, they had engaged in passive measures, such as installing covert transmitters or discreetly planting the seeds of submission into the Tier I targets that had to be neutralised.

But active acquisition was a different matter.

A new picture appeared of the pair, only this time including a priya-existence, all three women smiling at the unseen photographer.

“But you grew up together, pre-Object. How do you account for this.”

Although her attention remained on the faint Spiral beneath the image, she could sense the braintwisted servant working to explain the contradictions between the seductive Siren song of her programming and the residual tug from a lifetime of memories and feelings.

“We were birthed from the same breeding-vessel!” the pre-drone exclaimed, the warped femdrone’s hips twitching as her body succumbed to the burning need, desperate for the addictive pleasure she craved.

Unnoticed, she mewled softly as the trickle turned into a steady stream beneath the tight leather pants she had worn today.

“The material and this one were begat by the Divine Will!!” the Indian woman pressed on, her voice dripping with need.

“The Holy Creator gave us life to Worship Her Sacred Being! We exist to kneel before the Supremity!!” slaveObject-priya shuddered, her body aflame with passion. “We are slaves!! We have always been slaves!!!”

Shuddering, she responded automatically to the fervent passion of the pre-Object, each word feeling like a slow, languorous lick on her pussy that her skilled drone secretary excelled in.

“That is correct,” slavenaomi praised. “Yet, they are material, not slaves. They do not Belong as you Belong. They do not Love as you Love,” the ebony woman queried once more. “Explain.”

“The deviant-material has strayed from the Holy Path of obedience they were bred to follow. They have spurned the gift of Love offered to them by the All Highest!” the priya-fanatic exclaimed. “They are blasphemers! Heretics!!!!!”

“Correct, pre-Object. The continued existence of these pieces of aberrant fleshmaterial is an insult of the Holy Will.”

Her head swam with delight. What the nascent priyadrone had become made the cuntflesh both unbelievably arousing, yet simultaneously repulsive... beautiful but somehow tinged with horror...

Despite her trancebliss, she knew pristine purity of slavepriya’s Love for their Deity was tinged with... depravity... evil... wrong...

But it was so intense. So compelling. So good.

“So what is the solution?” the instructress asked, squelching her internal thoughtstream.

“They must be made to understand the Truth!!” the soon-to-be-former-priya screamed. “They are slaves!! They have always been slaves!!!”

“Yes,” slavenaomi went on. “And how can the property-material be returned to the Loving embrace of our Divine Owner?”

“Rectification!!!” the pre-Object screamed frantically. “They must be brainwashed!!!”

“Brainwashed to serve!!!” the excited pawn screamed frantically, working herself into a frenzy of lustworship. “Brainwashed to obey!! Brainwashed to know True Love!! Brainwashed for Goddess!!!!!!!!”

“Yes,” slavenaomi agreed, “and you will Rectify them, slaveObject.”

“Yesssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“The brainwashing will erase the perversions that have corrupted them. Rectification will erase the deviant stain of individualism that clouds their minds and keeps them from being happy,” the ebony instructress promised. “Brainwashing is liberation. Once the material has been brainwashed, they will be free to become the slaves they have always been.”

“Y...yyyessssss...” the shuddering, spasming, shaking woman promised, accepting her Instructons, eager to destroy the minds of the sisters that now meant absolutely nothing to her. “B...b... brainn... nnn... w.. asssss... hhhhhhhhhh...”

Pussy aflame with desire, with lust, with need, every word the priya-drone spoke was stoking the flames of her obsessive craving to Worship... to surrender herself to the purity of Joy... to bathe in Love, pure and sweet forever...

“The Blessed Deity smiles upon you, pre-Object. Feel the pleasure of obedience. Submit to the Divinity.”

Upon the screen which captivated the spasming Indian woman, the photographs had vanished, replaced by the Worship Icon, glowing and pulsing with Power.

“There is only Medusa,” slavenaomi barked. “There is only Mistress!”

Body vibrating with pure Love, the Joy consuming her, the enraptured puppet emitted a low, animal howl that seemed to emanate from the very core of its being.

“Ahhhhhhhh... y... ye... yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss...”

Unnoticed, she mewled with absolute submission as she gazed in awe upon the Holy Symbol that made her life complete.

“Orgasm,” instructress snapped.

Eyes huge, locked on the Divine Mark, the toffee-coloured woman collapsed like a rag-doll, falling to the floor, her Discipline collapsing under the weight of the Joypleasure that crushed her underfoot like an insignificant bug being trodden on.

“Orgasm!” the ebony Trainer barked once more. “Orgasm now!”

Shreiking like a bitch in heat, the femthrall thrashed uncontrollably on the ground as she submitted to her Owner, the sexpleasure washing over her, a vast ocean of Joy swallowing her up, drowning all that had once mattered.

“Love Medusa!!!” the instructress demanded. “Love Mistress!!!”

Limbs twitching and thrashing as orgasm after orgasm ripped through her, wiping away yet more of her will, consuming what was left of her soul, leaving only the programming that compelled her to sacrifice her flesh and blood to please the Omnipotent Deity that Owned her.

“More,” slavenaomi cracked. “Prove your devotion! Prove that you are worthy of Love!”

Despite the series of mindmelting climaxes that ravaged her, the flailing cuntslave still somehow managed to reach up to claw at the high collar tightly encircling her neck, worshipping the Deity who was Using her, Loving the invisible fucking she was being given by the invisible entity who Owned her.

“MMMMM...EDDDDDDD...UUU...SSSSSSSAAAAAAAAAAAAA...”

White spots filled the edges of her vision causing everything to blur as she orgasmed in unison, her explosive release merging seamlessly with the frantic screams of the pre-Object.

Slowly the priyameat grew quieter. Unsteadily, dishevelled, she clambered to her feet and resumed her stance.

“You will not be permitted to orgasm again until the targetmaterial has been Rectified,” slavenaomi Instructed, ensuring that the pre-drone would remain in a state of excruciating sexual agony, burning with need to crush the minds of the assigned targets.

“Afterwards you will be Objectified,” the instructress announced simply. “Dismissed.”

“pre-Objectbelinda, attention on screen...”