The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

she remembered making her way through the apartment building. It was very late, hallways completely deserted as the other residents slumbered peacefully in their beds.

Halting outside the correct door, she removed her phone and pressed a number of buttons.

A few moments later the front door swung open and she slipped inside.

Standing before her in the hallway was a piece of slavematerial dressed in a grey Sleep-Time top, a Visor firmly affixed to her head, staring straight through her, apparently oblivious to her presence.

slaveannabel knew the material’s consciousness was being steadily dissolved by the Spiral that twirled endlessly as she passively responded to the Truths being revealed to her.

Despite the Discipline that controlled her, slaveannabel recalled the sweet thrill of arousal at the sight.

her Owner wanted this female.

Such was the Holy Will.

The lustful desire died as new Instruction bloomed, dissolving her need for this helpless piece of fleshmaterial.

Leaving the material standing in the hallway, slaveannabel had proceeded into the bedroom, turned on the lights and inspected the sleeping form of the male that lay upon the large double bed. He was snoring steadily thanks to the sedative administered by the puppet who now served their Deity.

Slipping the backpack off her shoulders, she carefully removed the contents.

The headset was much bulkier than the sleek silver of the visors she was familiar with. Nevertheless, Instruction guided her to slide it over the unconscious head of the male and secure it firmly in place.

Other devices were then attached to various points on his body. Emotionlessly, she reached out, grasping hold of his flaccid cock and began pumping it vigorously, stiffening it in preparation. Still deeply asleep, the male moaned at her ministrations but otherwise made no reaction other than coming erect. Satisfied that his member was sufficiently stimulated, she slid it into the black plastic tube that would milk him without pity.

Task complete, slaveannabel removed her phone, thoughtlessly opened the appropriate app and typed in the sequence of letters and numbers that the Instructed slavethought provided.

Turning, the slave left the male to his fate, his weakened mind already starting to succumb to the brainwashing as his cock bulged upwards, forever locked in the iron grip of the One True Goddess that he would worship for the rest of his life.

Mind now free of Instruction, pussy pulsing pleasantly, the slave felt her focus widen as she prepared to leave the apartment, her assignment complete.

Reaching the hallway where the other resident of the apartment remained standing, the slave paused, drinking in the sight of the visored-material passively submitting to programming, feeling the arousal rise within, turned on by the sight of this helpless puppet of the Divine Will.

In her mind, the slavethought was loud and clear; once the male had been broken, the female would be fully purged of the empty, false-love she had once felt for him.

Only True Love would remain.

Then this piece of material would be truly happy. Just as the slave was.

This piece of slaveflesh Sonya would be fully Trained.

This material Sonya would be fully enslaved.

This female... friend... Sonya! would obey.

This woman... Sonya

Sonya!!!!

Gasping aloud, she shuddered as annabelthought wrestled free from the chains that had weighted it down for so long, self-awareness dawning for the first time in what felt like an eternity, rushing in like a torrent of hot water melting away the frozen synapses of her glacially slow mind.

This was Sonya!

Somebody who had trusted her! A real friend who she had shared tears of laughter and sadness with.

But the she had betrayed her, shamelessly exploited their years of friendship, and willingly sacrificed Sonya to her Goddess as she had orgasmed her annabel-identity away.

Turning her friend into a slave... to obey... to masturbate and orgasm her will away over and over until there was nothing left... transforming her into just another mind-twisted puppet... it felt soooo good... she was so happy to be a slave... so it made perfect sense that Sonya would also be happy...

It felt right... to obey... to submit... to stop thinking...

Wasn’t it?

Was it?

Sonya would never have wanted to be a slave...

But Sonya would know true bliss once she was fully Trained... happy... just as she was. Wasn’t she?

Yes! slavethought screamed, fighting to reclaim her mind from succumbing to the negative thoughtform that threatened everything she held dear.

Entombed in her Obedience Tube, surrounded by other drones undergoing brainwashing of their own, she screamed her submission as climax after climax blasted through her, each orgasm obliterating more and more of the false memories that had polluted the purity of Belief.

Marching stiffly into the room, the female stopped and awaited command. Gone was the timid dowdiness of her former life. Running her eyes over the former-monica, she recognised the tell-tale signs of a well-Trained piece of material; the fanatical need in her eyes, the Disciplined tautness of her body, not to mention the piercings and the Holy Mark permanently inscribed on to the smooth flesh above her mons.

“The Will of Medusa is your will, slave” she declared, triggering the taut female.

“The Will of Medusa is my will,” the female recited, her eyes glowing with devotion as they spoke aloud the Name of the One she had been Trained to Worship.

slavemonica had been thoroughly houseTrained over the preceding weeks; as usual, her Controller had done an excellent job in breaking her. But the luxuries of individual taming were gone now; all resources had been concentrated on filling the Hive.

“Our Glorious Goddess has heard your prayers,” she continued. “she is pleased with your submission to Her Purpose.”

Rivulets of wetness trickled down the thighs of the slave standing before her, the vice-like Discipline holding her stiff as she physically demonstrated her absolute fealty to their Owner.

“Rejoice, slave,” she went on, her voice clear despite the dark flames of pleasure licking at her own sex, loving the tiny flickers of passion that flared in the wide eyes of the Disciplined femslave whose submission had been carefully nurtured over the past few weeks. “It has been decreed that your existence must be completely subsumed into Her Will.”

As well as Training her mind and body, irrelevant personal connections had been severed so the former-monica could take the final step on the journey that would end her.

“You will now be Objectified,” the slave simply informed the piece of throbbing fleshmaterial, indicating the empty Obedience Tube ready to receive her.

“i obey!” the monica-material exclaimed, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice despite the Discipline holding her tightly.

Sliding her body into the waiting glass and metal Tube, the dronematerial lay pulsating with barely suppressed excitement as the waited to be turned into nothing more than the living, breathing automaton she so desperately wanted to be.

Activating the controls, she rejoiced as the naked Object-to-be was slowly, but steadily, swallowed by the machines that would end the monica-existence forever.

Tired, sweaty, she extricated herself from the writing mass of bodies on the swaying and dancing in the living room, her high-heels pinching her. The end of term party was filled with drunken young men and women, all celebrating the end of their university careers, excited about the next step they were about to take.

Mark, from the rugby team, had caught her eye, the muscular physicality of his body rather than his personality attracting her tonight. The need to release all the tension built up over the past month of exams had propelled her towards him. Sex. she needed sex.

Rather, she needed to be fucked.

Everybody was drunk, hooking up with people they’d probably never see again. There was a real end of era feel to the party so the normal impediments of possible slut-shaming that would have made her more cautious no longer applied. Holding on to his hand, she led him upstairs, her growling pussy begging to be filled. Luckily, most of the others were still downstairs in the shared house so the third bedroom they tried was empty. Better than the toilet.

Practically dragging the rugby player in, she slammed the door behind, urgently needing to have his cock inside her. Luckily the long slit at the side of her dress, which she’d worn purposely, meant that she didn’t need to pull that off.

Feeling the softness of the mattress against her back, she reached under and pulled off her panties, baring her yearning womanhood, urgently begging to be filled.

He had been busy, jeans now around his ankles, his engorged member throbbing expectantly. Then he was on top of her, his beer-scented breath pungent. Gasping, she moaned desperately as his stiff member entered her, muscles clenching eagerly around it, accepting, wanting, needing...

The memory started growing fuzzier. Becoming hazier.

It started to change, shift, alter until... until...

Until it was corrected.

Shuddering, she gazed up in rapture at the masked face of her User. Slamming her body back into the mattress, another powerful thrust of the strap-on caused her to gush with yet more slaveneed. Overcome by Love, she begged for more. Transfixed by the power exuded by the blank-faced Superior above her, full lips compressed determinedly, the only part of the facial features still visible beneath the mask that swallowed it up, her User was intent on pounding her mercilessly.

Just like the enslaved sextoy she was. And had always been.

Glowing like the Sun, dazzling her thoughts, was the Emblem covering the face of her User.

Mark became the Mark.

The Holy Insignia.

The Divine Symbol.

With every thrust of the Instrument, more and more Love penetrated her.

Love, not for her User.

But Love for her Supreme Deity.

Safe in her Obedience Tube, she felt the thrusting Sacred Instrument pumping into her, hard, over and over again, endlessly, knowing that all the sex she had ever had in her life had been instances of sexworship, a chance to please and Worship and Adore the One she Loved.

The door opened and two figures entered. Dressed in normal clothes, one was the taut body of number four, its face expressionless beneath the pair of eyes ablaze with Disciplined Purpose. It was holding the upper arm of another female, gripping her securely but not tightly. The woman it escorted was in her forties, attractive despite her softer body, with shoulder-length hair the colour of ripe barley, wearing a muted earth-tone turtleneck and dark skirt, mouth parted slightly, her eyes radiating not Belief but confusion.

The meeting room had been specially cordoned off to ensure they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Slowly, the roberta-material’s eyes roved over the small room which had been emptied of all furniture apart from a line of black leather chairs upon which six other women sat. Taken from the newly vacated executive offices on the upper floors, temporary modifications had been undertaken by number two; all castors had been removed and heavy black leather straps added, before each chair had been bolted to the floor.

Securely seated, the helmeted females thrashed weakly as they succumbed to the pleasures of programming being burned into them. Partly visible through the latticework of gleaming metal that covered their heads, each piece of material’s face was now contorted not with doubt, but Joy.

The roberta-material’s eyes fell to the splayed legs of the seated women, held wide open by padded black metal bars which were affixed to their ankles and knees. Wires ran from the ends of the humming, pulsing vibrators deeply embedded within their slobbering pussies to a central box on the floor.

“Wha...” the hypnotized material stammered uncertainly, the sudden spike of fear breaking through the torpor that had claimed her until now.

“Remain calm,” she controlled the material, nodding to the Object who immediately grasped the captive with both hands, tightly. Closing in, she unzipped the material’s skirt, sliding it down to reveal a pair of pale panties, deliciously damp with sexjuice, which she pressed to her nose for a moment, relishing the pungent scent of obedience.

“Nnn...” the roberta-material tried once more.

“Hush,” she soothed the material maternally, her fingers pressing against the woman’s collared neck, rubbing and stroking it for a few moments. Staring deeply into the material’s eyes she registered the change as the petals of her mind spread open, blossoming with the arousal, matching the fragrant flower of her womanhood that glistened and gleamed between her legs.

“There,” she reassured, with the same anaesthetising tone, “that’s better.”

Turning to the stiff Object that bore the body and face of the former erica-existence, but nothing else, she issued a curt command; “Secure the material in the chair, four.”

Propelling the pacified material towards the waiting chair, the Object pressed her down, holding the woman firmly in place as heavy leather restraints were wrapped around her arms and waist.

Staring into the trapped material’s troubled eyes, she sensed the unseen struggle going on between heaven and hell, between the paradise of obedience and Love being offered to her and the pointless futility of a lifetime spent chasing fleeting moments of happiness that would always slip through her fingers.

That contest was about to come to an end.

Sex sizzling, she retrieved another gleaming helmet and set to work.

After opening the hinged device and placing it carefully over the material’s head, she sealed it shut, caging the roberta-material’s entire head in a lattice of hard steel. Satisfied, she depressed a small button at the rear. With a small hiss, the framework began to contract, shrinking slowly until the sensors registered it was positioned correctly before securing the apparatus in place.

The roberta-material’s head was now completely enshrouded by glinting, woven metal, beneath which her criss-crossed face emerged.

Plugging a cable into a port near the activation button, she ran the cable down to the box on the floor.

Sinking to her haunches, she opened the fleshpuppet’s legs wide before tightening the cuffs around her ankles and just below her knees, attaching them to the spreader bars that would lock the limbs in position during her processing.

Another incomprehensible attempt at speech emerged from the restrained material but she paid it no mind, sliding the long black vibrator, slick with lubricant, into the greedy opening that would tame her. Bucking uselessly in the chair, moaning in what was either despair or anticipation, the roberta-material registered her impalement.

Yet another cable had to be attached to the box before she approached the central control unit placed upon a small table in the corner. Unlike the ergonomic lightness of visors, these devices had been designed with results rather than aesthetics in mind. Data spooled across the screen from the active programming being administered to the other pieces of fleshmaterial, but she ignored it. This was older, more cumbersome technology with none of the intuitive sleekness of the software and hardware she had become accustomed to. Even the central operating system and cables screamed last decade.

Crude and outdated it might be, but it was still effective. The minds to be corrected did not require complex, nuanced, multi-layered programming. No, this was more akin to electroshock therapy; an explosive blast of powerful conditioning to obliterate the lingering resistance that still lurked in the recesses of their softened minds.

Scrolling through the different menus, she alighted on the appropriate one for the roberta-material and activated the programming that would ease her pain.

Looking back at the helmeted slavematerial, she was gratified to hear the woman emit a loud, clear gasp as the devices, both on and in her, started their pernicious work.

Soon she was reduced to just another throbbing fusion of metal and flesh; a shining cyborg-head transplanted on to a human body, hips gyrating rhythmically to the humming vibrator buried deep inside.

Standing attentively behind her, the blank faced Object stood stiffly to attention, waiting. The roberta-material had already been consigned to nothingness, banished from its Disciplined mind in its readiness to obey whatever task it was to be given next.

“Four, retrieve the next one,” she ordered the numbered drone. “The katie-material.”

“It obeys,” the Object responded, pivoting smartly as it left the room, bent on its task of and conveying the next disobedient pre-slave for alteration.

Eyes flicking back to the line of twitching, jolting, caged material, she raised a hand to her neck, tenderly pressing her fingers to the deliciously tight collar that symbolised just how Owned she was, riding the electric shivers of bliss that coursed through her.

A long, but very pleasurable day, lay ahead.

The midday sun beat down on her remorselessly, bouncing off the concrete pavements and walls dazzling her. The small queue snaked forward. Before her was a cathedral, heavy stone, Gothic, gargoyles standing guard above smog weathered statues, flying buttresses...

she was on holiday... Somewhere with a sing-song language that was pleasant on the ear despite its unintelligibility, people who seemed to live on a diet of cigarettes and strong coffee, spicy food that tingled on the tongue... and heat.

Oppressive, boiling, energy-sapping heat.

At last, she was inside. Exhaling in relief, she relished the cool, refreshing darkness, the twinkling sunlight sparkling through the stained glass as her vision adjusted to the medieval gloom...

No.

The dimly lit interior was fading, changing, morphing into... White columns sweeping high in the air... Ionic... Doric... Corinthian? All around was now crisp, fresh marble and travertine, blinding her, incandescent flames burning on a Holy Altar before a huge statue that twinkled compellingly in the flamelight...

MEDUSA!

Exhaling in awe, gasping, she sank to her knees, the cold, hard stone painfully sweet.

she had reached her destination.

her pilgrimage was at an end!

Crawling on her hands and knees, not daring to profane this Blessed Temple, she made her way to the Altar, her slavebody boiling with need, needing to offer herself, to sacrifice everything, to become one with her Deity...

Dissolving into a puddle of mindless lust, the orgasms ravaged her, as she climaxed again and again and again in her Obedience Tube.

Pausing, she surveyed the scene before her. Apart from the removal of the cubicle dividers and the implementation of an open-plan layout to improve efficiency and communication between sections, the office looked unremarkable; neat lines of desks staffed by efficient workers all briskly typing away, completing their assigned tasks.

The normal chatter and background hum of office life was absent. Photographs, knick-knacks and the other assorted mementoes normally used to define personal space were wholly absent.

But then again, she was no longer looking at a room full of normal people.

At precisely the same time, the attention chime sounded from each piece of slavematerial’s computer, the combined sound echoing through the large room.

All typing ceased.

Wide eyed, the women stared into their computer screens, lost, their glassy eyes empty of all thought.

Eyes roaming over the massed ranks of enraptured females, she was pleased to see them all responding so well to the Discipline they now craved. As well as the ongoing audio and visual conditioning, the drugged food that dulled their ability to think for themselves, the visors they now wore each night, they were all receiving daily Training sessions in the false-gym.

A new tone sounded from their speakers, the tintinnabular echo bouncing off their slack faces.

Hands rising in unison, the slavematerial now began to stroke and caress the high collars of the turtleneck tops they all wore, eyes staring helplessly at the screens, the pulsing, throbbing displays capturing their weak minds, as they all moaned together in submissive arousal.

The Ritual was a delight to behold.

Now privy to the Sacred Dogma, she knew that each of the turtleneck collars wrapped tightly around the females before her were embedded with millions of tiny, microscopic transmitters which came alive once they reached body temperature. Turning them first into horny sluts addicted to pleasure (to ensure their continued compliance) the transmitters then primed them to accept the more insidious, and complex, commands that would slowly warp their values, morals, desires, needs and wants until only slavery, pure and sweet, remained.

Random passers-by encountered on the street, seated next to them on public transport, working with them, laughing, smiling, loving... appearing normal. But they weren’t. They were no longer the people they appeared to be. Hidden in plain-sight, posing as mothers, daughters, sisters, friends, they were nothing but property; servants of the Highest Power.

Just like all the females on the Gorgon Forum she had masturbated to, just like the women she had personally coaxed into surrendering, just like the slobbering material in front of her, the very first moment she had unwittingly placed Her Owner’s slavecollar around her neck, she had Belonged.

The skin beneath her own tight collar burned with lascivious desire, sending waves of electric need into her sex, thrilling at the sight of so many pieces of slaveflesh conforming to their programming, Ritually Worshipping the Divinity she Loved, remembering the first sensual bite as the vampire’s kiss of technology had sunk the Divine Being’s fangs deep into her own neck and claimed her life.

Little did she know all those weeks ago, that Gorgon was nothing more than a front designed to distribute wearable Medusan mind-control technology amongst an unsuspecting population.

But now she knew.

And she wanted to help it grow. And spread.

As would every single one of the pieces of slavematerial performing Ritual before her.

The Spiral whorled and spun before each one of them as they continued to lovingly caress and stroke their slavecollars, intent on stimulating the mesh of tiny devices all biting into their hyper-sensitive flesh in a desperate attempt to satisfy their need for ever greater levels of sexual pleasure, Ritually expressing their Love.

Her gaze fell upon a pretty female, her mouth open, panting lightly, vacant eyes staring blissfully into the Spiral, hands pawing frantically at the collar of her ivory coloured top.

The priya-material.

she could take her right now. she could order that hot piece of whoremeat to sink to her knees and plunge that practiced tongue of hers into her needy snatch and bring her to orgasm. Then she could flip the lithe woman over her desk, have her spread her legs wide so she could dive deep into priya’s Owned cunt and finger-fuck her.

And the priya-material would thank her for it.

So lost were they in their Training, that none of the other slave-material would even notice. Or, even better, they could be made to watch their sisterslave being Used as they Worshipped their Owner’s collar, envying her.

Yes, she mused, she had the power to do that. The bodies and minds of slaves existed to be Used by more dominant servants such as she. Just as she existed to be Used by her superiors. Such was the natural order of things.

But Discipline held her back. Here, in the lower floors, where the normal business of the company was conducted, was no place for such activities. Perhaps she might order the robyn-material to assign the priya-material to attend her? Or better still, perhaps she might order both slaves to attend her?

she enjoyed slavefucking. They were so much more responsive, the residues of their former personalities resonating in their invariably enthusiastic reactions to being Used. It was gratifying to see just how warped their corrupted minds had become as she tormented them pitilessly.

They knew the True meaning of Love.

Yes, she decided, maybe later.

Smoothing her skirt, she shifted uncomfortably in the chair, desperate not to fidget. Her palms were damp, the anticipation also making her throat dry. Taking a deep breath she tried to centre herself and quell the butterflies in her stomach somewhat.

The door opened and somebody called her name.

Easing herself up, pasting a smile on her face to mask her nervousness, she entered a room dominated by a large table behind which three people sat. Trying to project an aura of confidence she didn’t feel, she returned their greetings, hoping that the moist nervousness would have evaporated as she took their offered hands.

No.

The memory fragment had been distorted. This had never happened.

her mind would be corrected.

Before her was the Superior she wanted, needed to please, to serve, to obeyyyy...

“Tell me about yourself?” the masked servant of the Highest Power questioned.

Relieved, she recited the prepared answer she’d memorised in advance, eager to make a good impression.

“i am a slave! i have always been a slave!” she squealed, the arousal surging through her like a tidal wave as she stared fixated upon the black-masked head of the Superior she ached to serve.

“i am nothing!” she gasped, the slaveneed boiling.

“i exist to serve the Supreme Deity!”

Inside her Obedience Tube, her body thrashed and writhed in orgasmic bliss.

Behind her, the last of the Obedience Tubes vanished into the darkness. Each of the four Tubes she had finished loading contained a throbbing, pulsing female yearning to be nothing more than an empty husk. she felt like the priestess of some ancient civilisation, needing to appease the wrath of a bloodthirsty Goddess, dragging sacrificial victim after sacrificial victim to their doom.

The slavethought pleased her.

The afterimage of the former-philippa, her aweburnt eyes ablaze with lewd slavethought gazing gratefully upwards at the Owned servant who had corrupted and destroyed her mind, slipping slowly into the waiting womb from which she would emerge reborn, lingered pleasingly.

she felt no emotion for the material she had manipulated, deceived and conditioned to want this.

Medusa demanded they serve her.

And another pain-filled existence came to an end.

It was that simple.

The transformation of her former workplace was proceeding according to schedule. But with so much material to control, she needed assistance managing them. These four would assist with that task until the new cohort of Objectmaterial, already being thoroughly hypnoconditioned to erase their former-existences, were ready to be fitted into Obedience Tubes of their own.

They must be readied on Time.

Such was the Decree of Mistress.

Exiting the space she called home, she made her way down to the lower levels of the converted factory, entering a room in the secure portion of the facility.

Surveying the scene before her, she was satisfied. A line of women, material all carefully culled from her workplace and separated from the rest of the slaveherd, pounded on treadmills, all chanting as one.

“One... Two... Slavethought is True,” they exclaimed, eyes fixed upon the spinning Spiral that obliterated all thought.

“Three... Four... Brainwashing it more,” the mesmerized material gasped, the knowledge that they were being brainwashed serving to reinforce their utter helplessness.

“Five... Six... Slavecunt slick,” they agreed, the dampness between their legs leaving them in no doubt about how much they enjoyed being controlled and dominated.

“Seven... Eight... Objectified fate”, the material gasped, the erotic compulsion to become nothing more than property already burned into their compliant minds.

“Nine... Ten... Medusa! Amen!” the wide eyed pre-drones all exclaimed, voices dripping with awe as they uttered the Holy Name they Worshipped.

A curly haired blonde, the former-annika, grunted with animal desperation as she stared transfixed into the endlessly twirling Spiral that was erasing more and more of her pathetic will away.

Standing to one side, observing the material, was a lone figure she recognised as the ebony instructress that had done so much to initiate her into the Ineffable Mysteries of their shared Owner. This Batch were in safe hands. The dedicated Training staff had been performing Trojan work over these past few weeks, not only processing the priority material sent from the office, but also ensuring the constant flow of newly mesmerised females that beat a path to their door received the help they needed to become what they had always been.

Before them, the insensible material continued repeating the mantra that would obliterate all that they had once been.

One... Two... Slavethought is True.

Three... Four... Brainwashing it more.

Five... Six... Slavecunt slick.

Seven... Eight... Objectified fate.

Nine... Ten... Medusaa! AMen!!

The instructress would transform these raw stones, dredged from the cloying mud, into gleaming diamonds, systematically cutting away all the rough edges, polishing every facet until all imperfections had been smoothed away. Only when they were a set of matching gems would they be worthy additions to their Owner’s glittering jewelbox.

One... Two... Slavethought is True.

Three... Four... Brainwashing it more.

Five... Six... Slavecunt slick.

Seven... Eight... Objectified fate.

Nine... Ten... Med..Usaa! Ame..N!!

Training for Objectification was a blunt instrument. Because much of their former memories and personalities would be erased, subtlety was unnecessary. None of the material before her had close family, immediate partners or large groups of friends that needed to be deceived. They would be programmed to clean up the loose ends of their meaningless lives before completely disappearing into the Hive.

One... Two... Slavethought is True.

Three... Four... Brainwashing it more.

Five... Six... Slavecunt slick.

Seven... Eight... Objectified fate.

Nine... Ten... MeD...Usaa! A...Mennn!!

Might it be possible to schedule some sextime with the black instructress later? After fully breaking the monica-existence, lauren, her former Controller had been redeployed to assist in bending the regional office to the Inviolable Will. But perhaps the redhead she had Trained with would be available to join them?

For old times sake.

she would enjoy that.

As would they.

One... Two... Slavethought is True.

Three... Four... Brainwashing it more.

Five... Six... Slavecunt slick.

Seven... Eight... Objectified fate.

Nine... Ten... MEDUSAAAA!!! AA...MENNN!!!!

Later still, once their Objectification was complete, she would fuck each and every one of the pieces of dripping droneflesh displayed before her. The blonde in particular, she decided, would be one she looked forward to Using.

Repeatedly.

Remorselessly.

Of course, by then whatever the frizzy haired woman had once been would have ended.

‘she’ would have become ‘it’.

And it would just be another numbered, Disciplined droneObject; a deeply brainwashed mind set upon a hard, obedient body with a set of orifices to be fucked, it’s sexholes crying out to be Used.

And by then, it would Love as she Loved.

“You are nothing,” the Voice echoed through her mind, body spasming in the tight confines of her Obedience Tube, surrendering to the Woman she Loved.

M... Misttt... ressss!!

“Nothing,” the Voice repeated as another morsel of her soul vanished, gobbled up by the Mouth before her.

MMM... Mistttt... resssssssssss!!!!!!!

“It is what you are,” the Woman who Owned her pronounced. “Nothing.”

M...mIsT... Ressssssssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!

“Becoming Nothing is it’s life,” the compelling Voice boomed, the confined fleshcontainer pulsating, vibrating, throbbing with servile bliss, pure and serene. “Being Nothing is it’s existence.”

MISsss...TreSSSSSSSS...!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“It wants to be Nothing.”

MIII...SST... reSSSSSSS...!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“It is MY Nothing.”

Bedecked in uniform grey, freshly decanted from the Obedience Tube that had ended it’s previous existence, the Object stood before her. It was no longer a person; just another anonymous, depersonalised, robotised drone.

Identity effaced by the mask bearing the Blessed Sigil, the former-monica was compete. A single red stripe running around her hooded head, intersecting with the circled Mark, signified the supervisory status it had been thoroughly houseTrained for.

Standing taut alongside it, the small line of drones that she had helped to create waited.

Turning to one side, she picked up the silver neckband, the cold metal satisfyingly weighty in her hands. Engraved beneath the Sign of Mistress Zeta, whose Hive they belonged to, was the designation KQ-01.

“Kneel, Object” she ordered the drone, who complied immediately.

Standing over the dehumanized property, she presented the numbered collar to the Objectified slavedrone.

“It is an Object,” she informed the newly created servant whose eyes, despite being concealed by the mask, she knew were locked upon the gleaming gorget. “It will always be an Object.”

From the triangular opening that bared it’s mouth, the lips moved.

“It is an Object,” the automaton-slave repeated the Truth.

“It will always be an Object,” the mouth that had once belonged to the monica-existence recited.

Then, unprompted, the drone pressed its lips to the cold hardness and kissed Mistress’ Name, reverentially, Loving Her for what it had become.

Moving behind the kneeling Object, she slipped the metal band around number one’s throat and locked it in place.

Safely buried in her Obedience Tube, grateful to be permitted to relive her obedience, pleased that she was worthy of her Deity, she remembered.

she was back... back in a house she knew so well... the smells and sights surrounding her in a warm comfortable blanket.

Standing rigidly to attention, she admired her body in the mirror opposite. Clinging to her tightly, the uniform grey accentuated her toned, taut body, the glowing red Emblem over her chest shimmering enticingly, the skimpy thong doing little to hide her puffy sex-lips, the tattooed Mark inscribed upon the smooth flesh above her pussy reminding her just how Owned she truly was.

Losing herself in her reflection, she was aroused by the display, pleased at how Trained and Disciplined her body had become, nothing more than an instrument of the Divine Power.

There were voices beside her. The living room furniture had been moved to one side, revealing a kneeling woman that sobbed quietly, looking helplessly towards her, the silvery tracks of the tears running down her red cheeks mirroring the sexjuice slowly trickling down slaveannabel’s thighs.

Knowing that she was being viewed, caused her to stiffen her stance. She was nothing more than a mannequin, a living demonstration designed to impress the Unassailable Power of their Highest One into the enfeebled brain of the kneeling fleshmaterial.

Did she feel anything for this female? Sadness... Sorrow... Regret...

No.

she had no feelings.

Well, not quite. The carol-material was an impediment. That was a feeling.

The continued presence of the carol-existence prevented slaveannabel from joining herself fully with the Supreme Entity. The need to maintain an annabel-facade, no matter how thin it might be, meant that a tiny part of her slavemind was not wholly dedicated to Worship.

Which was an affront to the Goddess she dedicated every breath, every thought, every orgasm, to.

As long as the carol-existence remained, slaveannabel would be incomplete.

As long as the carol-existence remained, slaveannabel would never be truly happy.

she must help the carol-existence destroy itself.

Under the Sacred Will, there were no friends, no mothers, no daughters.

Only mindbound slaves.

Only dehumanized droneObjects.

The carol-existence must be expunged from the material so it could be reborn as slavecarol. slavecarol would be a zealous acolyte, a fanatical worshipper, a devoted servant, a brainwashed slave, Loving the Omnipotent Goddess that possessed her.

Only then could slaveannabel be completed. Then, she and slavecarol would be joined together, united in their complete submission to their Supremity.

This piece of resistant, Undisciplined slavemeat was all that stood between her and another mind-melting orgasm in Worship of her Divine Owner.

Another trickle of obedience slowly made it’s way down her taut thighs, reminding her of just how much she enjoyed seeing fresh minds being broken.

“What is this?” Controller, uniformed, standing over the tearful woman, questioned, directing her eyes to the stiff slave.

Blinking a number of times, the female-material slowly focussed her blurry vision upon her taut body.

“A...anna...bel...” the material sobbed, her glistening eyes meeting hers, beseechingly.

“Wrong!” Controller cracked, her voice echoing like thunder in the darkness, causing the kneeling carol-body to tremble. “This is a slave. It is nothing but a slave. It has always been a slave.”

“N...n..nooo,” the carol-material shook her head in a desperate attempt to resist.

“Yes,” Controller pressed firmly. “This is a slave.”

“Nnnn...noo...” the material struggled desperately. “Daughterrrrr...”

“Incorrect!” Controller boomed. “You have no daughter. You are a slave. You have always been a slave.”

“Nn...nnn...”

“You have no daughter,” Controller repeated again. “You are a slave. You have always been a slave.”

“Ahh..nooo...” the material shook her head desperately. “Not trueee...”

“You are a slave,” Controller barked once more. “You have always been a slave.”

“Gaaaaa..hhhh...y...” the material burbled confusedly, her weakened mind trying desperately to hold on to her earlier thoughts.

“You are a slave. You have always been a slave,” Controller insisted as the carol-material nodded ever so slightly.

“sssss...” the kneeling female hissed, the tears slowing as she moved her gaze from Controller to the rigid body displayed before her.

“You are a slave. You have always been a slave.”

“s...ssss...laveeeee...” the older woman finally gasped, her resistance crumbling.

“You are a slave. You have always been a slave.”

“i am a slaveeee....” the material shuddered, her eyes now sparkling with something more than tears. “i have always been a slaveeeeeeee...”

“Correct, slave,” Controller praised her, the material squirming at the words.

“You have no daughter.,” Controller insisted. “You were just an incubator, slave. That is all.”

“Nnn..ooo... daughterrr...” the carol-material whimpered, repeating the Truth, her eyes aflame with understanding. “ss..laveeeee... innn...incubat...orrrrr...”