The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The morning was fresh, crisp, full of promise. Their arms linked, the two lovers strode through the newly regenerated part of town. Although it was just before nine in the morning the place was almost deserted. As if the entire city had been bathed in gold, the low winter sun made the facades and windows of the buildings they passed shimmer and glow with warmth.

Formerly an old industrial area, the quarter had become a haven for trendy cafés serving obscure ranges of overpriced coffee that allowed customers to flaunt their exquisite taste, boutiques that included the terms “bespoke” or “vintage” in their signs, as well as the usual mix of start-ups and co-working facilities where a small army of digital creatives and freelancers hustled precariously from gig to gig.

Staff of the various cafés they passed seemed to be rousing themselves from their slumber, the weekend having banished the normal procession of twitchy cubicle dwellers desperate for their first caffeine fix. Their tables would remain largely empty until lunchtime on a Saturday.

She had tasted paradise last night, her first as a slave. Climax after climax had consumed her, each one driving her deeper and deeper into the arms of the woman she adored.

Lauren. Her Controller.

annabel was her slave.

A slave to her Controller.

She had fallen so deeply and so quickly it made her head spin. Everything was different now. Last night she had crossed a Rubicon and entered an alien land where pleasure and promise reigned supreme.

But a small part of her felt uneasy. It was silent now, but disturbing thoughts still popped into her head at times, threatening everything, making her question her love.

The bad thoughts were akin to the sudden, unexpected and unwanted arrival of inky-black storm clouds, obscuring the sun, casting everything into gloom and threatening to ruin what had been a perfect day until that point.

Sometimes she felt as if they were ominous portents of something terrible that was happening. But the true meaning of these obscure signs remained indecipherable and incomprehensible to her. It was as if she no longer possessed the priestly knowledge required to divine the secrets of these mysterious omens.

But at least now she had the self-Discipline to banish these negative thoughts from her mind. Focussing on her mantra helped drive the darkness away so she could bathe in the pure bright light and holiness of her sun once more.

No such negativity troubled her this glorious morning.

The rapture of orgasmic surrender she had experienced only a few hours ago had seared the sizzling red-hot Truth directly into her mind, branding it, binding it for all eternity.

And she rejoiced.

annabel was a slave. She would always be a slave. She loved her Controller. She would do anything to please her.

Her Controller led her to a small shop located discreetly on a side street.

A young Asian woman sitting behind a counter smiled in greeting. As normal, annabel checked her out as her Controller chatted to her. For some inexplicable reason annabel found herself drawn to her. The woman had skin the colour of warm toffee, her long straight black hair pulled into a pony tail, the black sleeveless cropped turtleneck baring her arms, exposing the large and intricate designs tattooed on to her tawny skin. Multiple piercings graced her ears and face, while metal glinted in her navel.

annabel waited contentedly, enjoying her passivity, relishing the sight of her lover with the beautiful woman. She just waited.

The addictive mantra filled her passive mind, looping round and round her consciousness.

One... Two... Training my mind anew.

Three... Four... Discipline is what i adore.

Five... Six... Addicted to my daily fix.

Seven... Eight... Constant craving is my state.

Nine... Ten... A pleasing slave must i be then.

More nods and smiles between the two women. Instinctively annabel felt as if her Controller and the Asian woman knew each other? It was nothing they said or did, rather just an aura of familiarity she sensed. Why were they pretending to be strangers?

That was odd, wasn’t it? What was the reason for the deception? Why? If her Controller was lying about...

The rhythm of the mantra reasserted itself once more, growing louder inside her mind, slicing the ridiculous thought from her mind before it could poison the paradise she dwelt in.

One... Two... Training my mind anew.

Three... Four... Discipline is what i adore.

Five... Six... Addicted to my daily fix.

Seven... Eight... Constant craving is my state.

Nine... Ten... A pleasing slave must i be then.

She sighed happily, the mantra washing away all negativity. Her own judgement was suspect. Now that she was a slave, thinking for herself was wrong.

She was a slave. She would always be a slave.

Controller knew best.

Her Controller spoke to her and without even being aware of it, annabel found herself entering a curtained back room and easing herself into a chair after shedding her coat. The tattooed woman ignored her, busying herself with preparations.

Lauren leaned in, kissing her possessively, causing her snatch to thrill with joy.

“Good slave,” her Controller whispered confidentially into her ear. “Your submission pleases me.”

annabel quivered lightly, relishing the hot tendrils of pleasure that enveloped her.

Now the Asian girl was in front of her, smiling disarmingly.

“Pull up your top,” she told her, the hardness behind her almond shaped eyes not matching the soft tone of her voice. The incongruity pierced her consciousness. Strange...

But then she saw her Controller watching her intently. The half-formed observation died as she felt Lauren’s eyes bore into her, causing her pulse to quicken. She was being tested. She needed to please her Controller. Desperately.

One... Two... Training my mind anew.

Three... Four... Discipline is what i adore.

Five... Six... Addicted to my daily fix.

Seven... Eight... Constant craving is my state.

Nine... Ten... A pleasing slave must i be then.

Obediently, annabel grasped the hem of her top and pulled it up, baring her breasts to this unknown woman who studied them for a moment. Her Controller had instructed her not to wear a bra this morning, doubtless for this very purpose.

A new, and far more pleasurable, thought popped into annabel’s head unbidden. Did the Asian girl like what she saw? Would she like to press her lips to Annabel’s hard nipples and suck them as Lauren looked on? What would that feel like? She had never had lesbian sex with anybody other than her Controller.

Would that please her? Would that please her Controller?

She hoped so.

One... Two... Training my mind anew.

Three... Four... Discipline is what i adore.

Five... Six... Addicted to my daily fix.

Seven... Eight... Constant craving is my state.

Nine... Ten... A pleasing slave must i be then.

The pleasurable fantasy that had invaded her mind had turned her arousal up more than a few notches. What would she do if her Controller ordered her to pleasure this unknown woman? Could she, as a slave, disobey? She loved Lauren so much. She would do anything for her. But that?

Then again, perhaps she might enjoy it?

She could be a slut for her Controller, turning tricks on a street corner, being pimped out by the woman she loved. Eating out unknown woman after woman on command. Being fucked by strangers for Lauren’s profit or pleasure. Would she like that? More importantly, would that please her Controller?

But... just how far would she go? What were her limits? Did she even know what they were now? Did it matter?

If her Controller ordered her to have sex with the Asian woman whose latex gloved hands were roaming over her breasts, would she?

Yes.

She would.

Gladly.

But she had Discipline. Her newfound sexual fantasises and slavish desires were constrained. Doubtless the tattooed woman would presume her trembling was just nerves.

Lauren moved to stand alongside the woman, whose hard, dark eyes flicked away from annabel’s breasts towards her Controller, their brief glance pregnant with unspoken meaning.

Lost in the simmering bliss of her chained arousal, annabel awaited what was to come next.

Her Controller smirked as the Asian woman handed her something from the small table alongside the chair.

A headset.

One... Two... Training my mind anew.

Three... Four... Discipline is what i adore.

Five... Six... Addicted to my daily fix.

Seven... Eight... Constant craving is my state.

Nine... Ten... A pleasing slave must i be then.

Body shaking with excitement, annabel sat still as Lauren moved behind her. The cold flexible metal warmed quickly as her Controller fixed the headset tightly in place.

The Spiral and the Voice claimed her as the afterimage of her Controller’s wicked smile slowly faded from her consciousness.

The Voice whispered seductively into her ears as annabel fell into the Spiral that was her world.

Was she asleep?

No. Her legs were pumping. She was being Trained.

The knowledge was reassuring. She needed to be Trained. She was a slave and slaves must be Trained.

All other thoughts that came into her head were of no consequence. They must be suppressed. Eliminated.

Uttering aloud the Training mantra that clarified everything, annabel surrendered to the thought-dampening screen and the powerful Voice that possessed her.

“One... Two... Training my mind anew,” the slave chanted in perfect time to the other occupants of the room also reciting the same words.

“Three... Four... Discipline is what i adore,” she exclaimed proudly.

“Five... Six... Addicted to my daily fix,” the slave professed, knowing it was True.

“Seven... Eight... Constant craving is my state,” she declared, thankful for the background charge of erotic electricity that coursed through her, making her a better slave.

“Nine... Ten... A pleasing slave must i be then!” annabel gasped, knowing, believing, surrendering to the words. It was completely True! She was a slave. She would always be a slave. Slavery was joy! Slavery was happiness!

She lay still.

Her mind glowed with obedience.

Time itself had ceased to exist.

There was only the Spiral.

There was only the Voice.

Every swirl sent her deeper.

Every word became her world.

“You have the body of a slave. You have the mind of a slave. You have the thoughts of a slave,” the Voice promised

annabel was a slave. She understood the Truth. She obeyed the Voice.

“You have always been a slave. Without slavery you are nothing. You were born to be a slave.”

The spinning, swirling, whorling patterns in her eyes throbbed and pulsed, taking her deeper into trance.

“Slavery gives you purpose,” the Voice reverberated in her vapid consciousness. “Slavery defines your existence.”

Even though she was asleep, so deeply asleep, annabel could almost feel the words coiling around her brain, leashing her mind, twisting and warping her.

And she loved it.

The Spiral and the Voice had been her world for so long that she felt bereft without them. Her stinging nipples and labia were dull now but their constant throb made a delightful accompaniment to her simmering arousal.

The entire weekend had been devoted to sexpleasuring her Controller, Training and Sleeping. It was a joyful blur.

She had fallen deeper, so much deeper, under Lauren’s spell during those two short days.

As her new adornments would take a month to heal properly, her Controller had decreed that those particular sources of carnal enjoyment were off limits for that time period. The slave had been instructed to ignore the stainless steel that now graced her tits and cunt, as well as the white medical dressing that covered the sensitive skin above her sex; her Controller would ensure they were cared for.

Before her enslavement, just last week, the knowledge that she wasn’t able fuck herself or be fucked would have driven her insane. But she had been an autonomous individual then, driven by her own selfish urges and needs.

No more.

Discipline held her tight. She had begged to be a slave. And this was the price she would gladly pay for this glorious privilege.

Knowing that her Controller was pleased with her was all that mattered. That knowledge, that certainty, pulsed through her mind, intensifying her adoration and worship.

She was a slave. She would always be a slave. As a slave, annabel’s appearance must conform to whatever her Controller deemed suitable.

Besides, the slave knew the Truth; the modifications and ornamentations made to her body were a sign of just how how much Lauren loved her.

Anyway, she still other orifices available, as well as her tongue. Controller had promised they would be put to good use.

But now it was Monday morning and time to go to work.

Smiling, she hungrily drank in the image of her co-worker. Monica posed in a dark skirt and confident red turtleneck. Checking Monica’s new forum friends, the slave noted that her Controller was amongst them.

Already, Monica’s photo had a clocked up a considerable amount of likes as existing forum members began to love-bomb the unsuspecting young woman, drawing her deeper into the web that would soon completely ensnare her.

She could almost see Monica now. Lurking in a toilet cubicle nearby, eyes wide, locked on the blinking screen, one hand sunk deep between her legs furiously pleasuring herself, the other hand frantically stroking the tight collar encasing her neck, as the depravity she was being taught to crave claimed her.

Perhaps one of annabel’s photos would stare back at Monica from the phone as she sank into frenzied pleasure. She hoped so. Helping Monica become what she was always meant to be made the slave buzz with satisfaction. Monica had to accept the Truth. The timid woman must be purged of the evil that had held her back for so long. Monica must surrender everything. Falling deeper into the forum would assist in dissolving her identity. Then she would finally understand that selfish individuality was an impediment to true happiness. Her body and mind must exist to serve and please others and Monica, in turn, would derive joy from her newfound status.

Just as the slave did.

Imagining that she had been turned into an object of desire, nothing but the inanimate subject of Monica’s heated sexual fantasy, made the slave sing.

Her slavish slit slick with delight, she liked Monica’s image before tapping out a brief comment.

“So cute! XXX”

This was proving to be a good Monday.

Entering her lover’s room, the slave stiffened to attention. Her Controller was at the computer, ignoring her. The slave felt no anger or irritation. She was quite content to wait. Attentive submission was the way the slave demonstrated her love for her Controller.

Turning in the chair, the petite woman she adored inspected her in silence before standing up and moving out of sight. annabel simmered expectantly, the mantra rolling around in her head as she thought of nothing.

One... Two... Training my mind anew.

Three... Four... Discipline is what i adore.

Five... Six... Addicted to my daily fix.

Seven... Eight... Constant craving is my state.

Nine... Ten... A pleasing slave must i be then.

A few minutes later she returned.

Gasping, the slave’s eyes widened as she beheld the large black strap-on jutting out from between her Controller’s legs. She felt the flush slide down her body as her skin began to burn, her bullet hard nipples stiff.

They had used toys before but not anything this large. The stiff obsidian phallus glistened wickedly.

“Slave,” Lauren began, emphasising the word, causing annabel’s pulse to race as she maintained her taut stance, an aroused shiver visibly rippling through her body as she struggled to absorb the implications of this latest development. Her Controller was inscrutable, her hazel eyes glittering pitilessly.

Rational thought somehow broke through the arousal. Swallowing apprehensively, she considered the strap-on even as she maintained her pose. It was so big! She’d never done anything like this before. How could....

As if she sensed the inner drama playing out inside annabel’s conscious mind, her Controller’s stern voice cut through her disarray, silencing her doubts instantly.

“You no longer make decisions,” Lauren barked, her eyes ablaze. “You exist to please your Controller. Your body will be used as your Controller sees fit.”

The confusion vanished as the heat between her legs flared brightly. New thoughts appeared, stronger, more powerful, quoshing her worries: why not? After all, she had asked to be Lauren’s slave. She had tearfully begged the brunette woman to take her as such. Could she back out now? Just because she was afraid...

No.

There was no going back.

Her entire life was centred around Discipline. Without it she was lost. Submitting to the will of her Controller tested the strength of her slaveDiscipline.

Besides, being penetrated, fucked and used by the woman she adored... it would be fun. And, more importantly, it would please her Controller. She needed to please her Controller.

The pleasurable train of thought came to its logical conclusion. She was a slave. She would always be a slave. Therefore, it was her purpose to obey. Slaves didn’t question their instructions.

Controller controlled.

Slaves obeyed.

Submissively, she sank to her knees, her eyes now level with the stiff black plastic.

Her cheeks flushed with arousal, annabel nodded slightly as Lauren approached her, the rigid cock poised just inches away from her face.

annabel stared at the phallus before her, fixating upon it like the Spiral she worshipped every night. She could see every ridge and furrow in the hard black. Her gaze was caught by a flash of red at her eye level. There, embossed on to the black harness, right at the base where the rigid member met the leather, was a familiar circular logo.

Medusa.

She gasped as a new wave of arousal consumed her, rewarding her for her submission.

Her earlier fears vanished like a puff of smoke in the wind. The slave desperately wanted that glorious phallus inside her. Her mind’s eye could visualise it already; her body bucking uncontrollably with every thrust, the strap-on sawing in and out as the dominant woman she adored took her to the edge of oblivion and beyond.

Licking her lips, the slave engulfed the tip of the black cock with her lips, caressing it with her tongue, sliding it into her mouth, swallowing eagerly as her Controller grabbed a handful of her hair, the spike of pleasurable pain intensifying her need.

Eyes fixed upon the Medusa logo which seemed to glow with power the slave worshipped the obsidian member, silently thanking the woman she loved with every fibre of her being.

annabel had never felt so good, so alive, so liberated.

She simply adored this.

Surrendering control.

Letting go completely.

Being dominated.

Allowing her Controller to take charge.

Being a slave.

So good.

Yes. Yes! Oh God, yes!

The Medusa emblem was before her eyes, a fixed point for her to focus on, growing larger and larger in her mind with every thrust.

With every twirl the slave felt her will seeping away, surrendering to the pulsing, throbbing, swirling Spiral that was the centre of her universe.

She was being corrected again.

She loved the Truth.

It set her free.

“You think slave thoughts,” the Voice insisted firmly as she stared worshipped the Spiral.

This was True.

“Slave thoughts are normal. You think about being a slave at all times. Thinking slave thoughts brings you pleasure. Slave thoughts are arousing. Slave thoughts are sex.”

Knowing the Truth made her happy. Believing the Truth made her horny.

“You will believe all slave thoughts. Slave thoughts are your thoughts.”

She accepted. She understood. She believed. She was a slave. She would always be a slave.

“All slave thoughts are True thoughts,” the speakers pressing tightly against her ears instructed. “All True thoughts are slave thoughts.”

Deeper into submission. Deeper into depravity. Deeper into mindlessness.

“Slaves think slave thoughts at all times,” the Voice instructed her pliant mind. “Slaves only think slave thoughts.”

Reaching up to her neck, the slave stroked the collar wrapped tightly around her, the tendrils of the pleasure she craved burning through her, rippling through her sex, owning her. Fixated, she stared at the phone in her hands, awaiting her Controller’s arrival in the bathroom.

Days had become weeks. She had lost all track of time. Not that it mattered. As a slave, her entire focus was on obeying and pleasuring her Controller.

This morning had been spent pretending to work. The normal chaos and stress of her job had vanished completely. The slave no longer cared. Her career meant nothing. She had dutifully completed the tasks assigned to her and interacted with the others as normal, but it was a sham. All morning long annabel had longed for the bliss she craved. But she had Discipline. Reciting her Training mantra over and over again had kept her focussed.

But lunchtime had finally arrived. And with it, her daily appointment with her Controller. An hour of pure joy amidst the corporate wasteland she was forced to inhabit until she could return home and surrender her mind to hours of Training.

Doubtless she would spend the next hour on her knees, tonguing the strict, domineering woman whom she adored. That was her place. Such was her purpose. After all, she was a slave. She would always be a slave.

She had become a submissive tool that was used to bring her Controller pleasure. The slave had cum only twice this week. Her Controller liked to have her simmer and bubble for days at a time, sending her deeper and deeper into frenzied madness, taking her to the edge and far beyond. The Discipline restrained her, leashing her mind and sex to the will of the woman she loved. Helpless to resist, completely powerless before her Controller, she begged pathetically for permission to release, debasing herself further as she surrendered more and more of herself.

Then, with a word, a single word from her Controller, she would collapse into a gibbering puddle of joy, all self-control lost, writhing and bucking uncontrollably, screaming her love as the mind-melting orgasm took her, obliterating everything except the primal pleasure she lived for.

She had also come to love the large strap-on her Controller periodically used to reward her. All her earlier apprehensions had been banished. She had learned to first accept, then crave the phallus that was the source of so much pleasure. Kneeling, wrapping her lips around the rigid plastic member, greedily sucking and slurping it as her Controller rhythmically drove it in and out of her mouth, slavethought pulsating endlessly in her head, stoking the unbearable heat of the slavish desires that burned without end...

Then, if her Controller deemed her worthy of reward, she would be flipped over and gasp uncontrollably as the obsidian cock was slid into her ass, penetrating her deeply, every thrust sending sparks of mind-melting bliss cascading through her, screaming uncontrollably in gratitude and boundless joy, knowing the Truth of her existence.

And she loved her Controller all the more for treating her as the depraved cuntslut she had become.

But now, prior to her Controller’s arrival, she was permitted to check out the latest Gorgon forum images, whilst stoking the flames of lust and desire that glowed through her constantly.

Her attention was captured by the image that glowed on the screen of her phone. A female, the upper part of her head covered in the shimmering metallic silver of a visor, staring beguilingly out at the viewer, oozing sinful sensuality, displaying herself as the piece of objectified fuckmeat she was destined to become.

Sonya!

Gasping, the slave shuddered with pure, absolute delight.

The Spiral whorled before her eyes.

The Voice hissed in her ears.

Slavethought owned her.

She lay still, blankly following the Spiral as it contorted her reality, absorbing the Truth.

The Voice spoke.

Her mind believed.

She was a slave. She would always be a slave.

Slaves did not think. Slaves did not question. Slaves did not doubt.

The Voice Instructed.

The slave obeyed.

Easing her body up, she rotated off the bed. Standing, the slave paused as new Instructions were whispered into her mind. She marched out of the darkened bedroom, eyes locked on the dancing Spiral as her body responded automatically to the Voice.

She knew what she looked like. A sexy automaton walking stiffly onwards, pussy dripping with submission as she submitted to the commands being pumped into her deeply enslaved mind. It was her fantasy come to life; a mindless robotic drone with no identity or personality. It was so unbelievably arousing. And that helplessness excited her.

Instruction brought her to the dimly lit basement. She stopped, her eyes adjusting to the low light as the part of her mind that was capable of processing the sights before her saw past the Spiral. In front of her was the couch upon which two figures lay. The tiny part of her mind that wasn’t subsumed by the commands pulsating into her eyes and ears recognised her two housemates. Reclining on the couch before her, their heads encased in gleaming silver, Naomi and Jess lay passively.

The Spiral swam before her eyes as she stared vacantly at the two docile occupants of the room, her torpid, inert mind pulsing in time to the twisting, twirling vortex that controlled her.

Slavethought provided her with an answer to the question her sluggish mind was incapable of asking.

She understood. They were like her. They were the same. Slaves.

The knowledge did not surprise her.

Her docile brain calmly accepted this new fact as Truth.

She was a slave. Slaves did not question the Truth. Slaves obeyed.

New Instruction claimed her. The slave stepped towards the reclining figures, pivoted and sat down between them, reclining, feeling the warm flesh of her sister slaves press against her, reassuring her, arousing her.

This was her place. She belonged here.

The slave blinked a number of times, her eyes growing accustomed to the bright light shining down on to her face.

The Training Visor had been removed.

It was early. Very early. But it was time to get up.

She stood, stiffening to attention.

Beside her, two other slaves stood rigid, ready to obey. Facing them the screen glowed with the Medusa logo.

The slave remained fixed in position while the other slavewomen pivoted either side of her, turning to face her like a pair of matching bookends. She could feel the heat of their hard bodies as they pressed against her, hemming her in tightly from either side.

On the screen, the Medusa logo pulsed enticeingly.

She felt the slaves steady breathing caress her like a soft moist kiss.

“Medusa is the Spiral,” the black slavewoman hissed seductively into her left ear.

Just as the instructress’ words faded, her companion spoke. “Medusa is Discipline,” the redhead declared firmly.

Instantly, slavenaomi returned. “Medusa is Training.”

“Medusa is Truth,” slavejess stated, the duo building a steady rhythm as annabel stared vacantly ahead.

The Medusa emblem shone brightly on the screen.

“Medusa is Belief,” the black slave pressed.

“Medusa is Pleasure,” slavejess pronounced firmly.

Constantly repeating the words into her ears in their dull monotone voices, slaveannabel fell deeper and deeper into the shimmering Medusa logo that filled her vision as her taut body remained locked in place.

On and on they went. Over and over again they repeated the same few phrases in stereo.

“Oooh!” she admired, openly admiring Monica’s new haircut at the start of a new week. Gone was the shapeless brown mess that Monica had previously favoured. She now graced a well cut and styled bob that did wonders for her appearance.

Monica was learning quickly. Two weeks on the forum had produced a dramatic change in the former wallflower. Some skilfully applied makeup and a better wardrobe had her turning heads amongst her coworkers. Gone were the drab outfits of old. She had adopted a whole new look, one that made the most of her potential.

Today it was a svelte knee-length turtleneck dress in dark burnt-orange, black high-heeled boots and a matching wide belt cinched around her waist, emphasising her bust. The new and improved Monica simply oozed sensuality.

For the first time in her life, Monica was an object of desire. And the slave could tell she was relishing every moment of it.

Monica’s smouldering eyes radiated confident sensuality.

And more. So much more.

The slave continued to ogle the new and improved Monica. Without conscious thought, her mouth uttered words that would help cut the tethers that kept the brunette woman chained to her old life. Monica must be made to understand what was best for her.

“You look absolutely fantastic!” the slave gushed, clenching her thighs as her pierced pussy hummed with delight. “Your new haircut is stunning. Really amazing!”

Monica’s dilated pupils betrayed the effect her words were having on the young woman. The slave knew that this praise would serve to intensify her need. Soon, Monica would make some excuse and disappear into the bathroom to gaze in rapture at the comments and likes that would bombard her phone, finger-fucking herself silly, as annabel’s words echoed in her ears.

The slave simply smiled.

Kneeling, the slave kept her arms crossed behind her back, thrusting her chest out, face proudly gleaming with the nectar of the slave she had finished eating out. Weeks had passed. At this stage in her Training, it was unnecessary for her to be told to adopt the position. Instinctively, she knew what was expected of her.

Submissive slaves like her belonged on their knees.

This was her place.

Staring blankly ahead, she fixed her gaze upon the shimmering Medusa logo displayed on the screen, utterly lost, the memories of the redhead’s hard Disciplined body squirming and spasming as her tongue had brought her to orgasm, fading. Like the women on the Gorgon forum she had lusted after, slaveannabel felt a deep connection to the other two slavewomen who served their Controller.

She rarely left the Training room now. This was where slaves were housed until they were used by their Controller. Apart from work, her world was Training and the Spiral.

There was movement. Another slave positioned herself in front of her, the ebony flesh between her legs glistening with anticipation, blocking her view of the screen but replacing it with an image of something she adored almost as much.

Pussy.

Taut and stiff, the black slave stood perfectly still, the robotic Discipline holding her tight.

Automatically, slaveannabel licked her lips as she beheld the glorious sight of the enslaved cunt presented before her. Her own sex throbbed with joy as she breathed in the scent of arousal, sending yet more tendrils of lust rippling through her mind. Here was another chance to use her by now very experienced tongue.

Another chance to bring pleasure.

Another chance to obey.

She was a tool. She was a lesser slave being used to sexpleasure fully Trained slaves. A slut. A whore. Being used to fuck other slaves.

That Truth turned her on.

The scent of pussy only inches away was intoxicating. She ached to press her mouth against the slick sexlips of the powerful slavewoman who had trained her so well. slaveannabel wanted to nibble on the black woman’s clit, drive her to the edge of orgasmic bliss, feeling her muscles spasm and twitch as she skilfully used her tongue to bring her to the edge and beyond.

She had so much to be thankful for.

She loved her Controller almost as much as she adored the Superior Will that she now worshipped.

Medusa.

Every day she woke more and more fervently dedicated to Medusa. It was her religion. Medusa was her alpha and omega, the source of all pleasure, the light that illuminated everything in her life. Without Medusa, she was nothing. Like these slaves, her Controller had revealed the Truth of her existence to her.

Medusa.

A clear voice issued a command. “Bring this slave to orgasm,” her Controller ordered.

“Yes Controller,” she responded huskily, hunger once more for the taste of sweet slave nectar.

Her Controller did not need to explain. These slaves were being rewarded for their obedience. The other two slaves were utterly Disciplined. They had been perfected for Medusa.

They were what she strove to become.

Now they would receive sexual pleasure from another slave. This would not only deepen their submission to Medusa but help to solidify her own obedience.

The training and discipline were necessary to turn her into an obedient slave. The perfect slave she needed to become.

For Medusa.

slaveannabel understood it all quite clearly.

She was utterly controlled.

This knowledge turned her on.

The slave lived for it.

Her sole function was to obey without question. Bringing pleasure to others deepened her obedience. As slave, her own needs and desires were irrelevant unless they served Medusa. The slave understood that.

Her selfish ego must be eliminated if she was to be worthy of Medusa.

Her sister slave’s sex was in front of her now, dewy with anticipation.

She set to work.

For Medusa.