The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Disclaimer: This work is intended only for a consenting adult audience. If you are underage, do not wish to view explicit adult content or if this material is prohibited or banned in your current locale, do not read this material.

Author’s Note: This is my first work of any appreciable length. If you wouldn’t mind taking a few minutes I would appreciate any feedback and criticism (constructive or otherwise) that you may have.

This is a little dark, so if that is not your cup of tea you may wish to skip this.

Thanks and enjoy the show!

Tracing Patterns: Heather Loves Horses

Brian Drucker absently patted the head of the naked women who lay trussed and bound in the shipping crate before him.

Her arms were tightly strapped to her arched spine. Her head was pulled back sharply, her hair tied to her bound feet in a streaming ponytail that was stretched taut, pressing her heels firmly into her butt.

She pleaded at him with wide eyes; Tried to speak around the bright red ball gag strapped into her jaw, drool dripping down her chin.

He spoke a word, and she tensed up. Her eyes rolled up in her head, showing white. Grunting, she started thrusting her pelvis deeper into the packing fluff that surrounded her, body straining.

Ignoring her, Brian picked up and aligned the cover onto the crate. He carefully adjusted it until he was satisfied. Then He nailed it tight with his claw-footed hammer. He swept clean the concrete floor around the crate, and then put away his tools.

He stepped back and took one last look at his work. Finished, He walked away with hands in pocket, whistling tunelessly. A moment later the lights turned off, leaving the crate sitting alone in the silent warehouse.

“Hey Brian! What are you having tonight?”

Brian looked up from the papers he had spread out on the table before him and smiled slightly. Heather Westley was his favorite waitress at Sam’s Steakhouse, both for her sunny personality and the good looks of her young, working-her-way-through-college body. “I’ll have the fillet and asparagus.”

Heather’s eye brows rose. “Fillet? What’s the occasion?” Her answering smile was much warmer.

“Oh, just got paid for finishing a job,” he said.

Heather nodded. “Ok, fillet it is. You want that cooked rare, like usual? Iced tea, or something else?”

“Yes, rare. And iced tea is fine. Unsweetened.”

She hustled off to put in his order. He waited until she returned with his drink before turning again to his paperwork and day planner. He shuffled through several papers, occasionally checking off items with a pen. That finished, he tucked the papers back into his planner and then picked up the sealed white envelope he had sitting beside him.

He opened the envelope and pulled out its contents: A small stack of index cards bound by a rubber band. Taking off the rubber band, he started slowly flipping through the index cards. Each card held a short description on it, which he would study for a moment before moving onto the next one.

“6′ 1″—Red head.”

“5′ 3″—Button nose.”

“Top heavy—Gray eyes.”

“Peppermint pink hair.” (“Not asking for much, are they?” He asked himself sarcastically.)

And then he flipped one over that read:

“5′ 10″—Brunette.”

He stopped and studied the card for a moment, fingering its corner absently.

His gaze flicked over to where Heather was talking to a family at another table. She was smiling down at the parents’ young daughter, who was dressed in a bright pink shirt with little yellow fish on it.

He studied Heathers long chestnut hair, which she had tucked back behind her ears. He observed the curves of her body as best as he could through the conservative uniform of the restaurant’s servers.

He looked back at the index card, and a ghost of a smile played across his lips.

He put the card on top of the pile and re-wrapped it with the rubber band. He pulled out his cellphone and composed a short message, being sure to include the unique number printed in the upper corner of the top index card. He hit send, then put away his cell phone and pulled out a business card.

He looked up to see how closely the other patrons of the restaurant were watching, and then traced a complex pattern onto the card. Hazy, shimmering blue lines appeared in the wake of his finger. When finished, he pulled his finger from the card and spoke a word. Shimmering blue turned to malevolent flickering black, then faded away leaving no mark upon the card.

Brian sat back and nursed his iced tea, waiting for a chance to speak with Heather again. Eventually she came back, bringing his steak.

“Here you go Brian. Anything else I can get you?”

“Yes actually,” Brian said. “We were talking the other day about horseback riding. I had meant to offer you, I live in a farmhouse with some land out past the city limits. You should call me sometime, be a good break from your studies.” He handed her the business card.

Heather looked at him with a smile and a frown, but reached out to take the card out of polite habit. “Horseback riding? Brian, I don’t know what you’re talking about, we never—”

Her body jerked when her hand touched the business card. She blinked blankly at him for a moment, then slowly put the card into her apron pocket. She blinked a few more times before focusing on him again, her face regaining its normal mobility.

“... ah, yeah. Yeah! That sounds great Brian. Listen, I’ll give you a call sometime. You need anything else?”

“No, this will do nicely.” Brian held her eyes for a moment longer, then picked up his knife and fork and cut into his steak.

Heather nodded at him again, then turned to her other tables. Brian looked up and watched her go.

“Yes ... this will do very nicely ....”

“Boy, when he said he lived past the city limits, he wasn’t kidding!”

Heather’s hair fluttered in the wind as she drove her open aired Wrangler down the dirt road. She’d been taking lefts and rights on rural roads for much of the day, and it had been 40 minutes since she’d last seen any kind of human structure.

Still, the sun was shining in the deep blue sky and the air was clear, so Heather was smiling and enjoying herself as she turned a bend and finally saw the yellow farmhouse and big red barn that Brian had described to her.

She slowed her jeep and carefully turned up the twin lines of hard packed dirt of the scrubby path that was the driveway. The drive was long, and the house and barn sat far at the back. She drove up and pulled off to park in the grass, behind Brian’s large gray pickup truck.

The brightly colored house looked cheery and recently repainted, with a large walk-up deck on the side. The red barn had white accents, and its large main doors stood open.

Heather didn’t see any sign of Brian, so she honked the horn twice, then looked at herself in the mirror to try to straighten out her hair. As she smiled at her reflection, she again had a nagging feeling that something was wrong, but couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was her subconscious was trying to tell her.

It had started last night when she’d told her friend Becky that she was going out of town for the weekend, and the feeling had been growing stronger all day. It had bothered her when she’d thrown in her clothing bag and started up the jeep this morning, and intensified when she’d pulled off of the paved roads and headed deep into no-where farm country. But she was pretty sure she hadn’t forgotten any assignments that were due for school on Monday, and she knew she wasn’t scheduled at the restaurant, so she brushed aside the feeling and told herself that she was just going to enjoy herself this weekend and relax.

She pulled her bag up from the passenger seat and stepped out of the car, noticing that Brian had appeared on the deck while she’d been wool gathering. She slammed the car door and walked up to him, smiling.

He stood on the deck with his hands in his pockets, waiting calmly. He seemed overdressed for the early summer weather, with a long sleeve button down shirt and slacks. As she approached, he nodded at her, picked up a folding chair he had leaning against the railing and started walking towards the barn.

Heather dropped her bag on the steps and followed him. “Hey Brian, it wouldn’t hurt to say hello to your guests you know.”

Brian said nothing, opened the chair and placed it down just outside of the gaping doorway of the barn.

Heather walked past him to look around inside. The early afternoon sun shone through the tall opening, baking a good portion of the hard earth floor inside. She saw a wide variety of tools hanging from pegs and several wooden frames leaning up against the walls of the barn, some wheeled machinery hiding in the shadows towards the back, and a toilet and sink that sat exposed in one corner, bereft of any privacy enclosure.

But no Horses.

Puzzled, Heather turned back to Brian, her thumbs stuck in her belt loops. Brian sat on the folding chair, facing her. His legs stretched out in front of him, his hands folded on his lap.

“So Brian, ah, where are the horses?”

He looked at her impassively for a few moments, then said, “Hold still.”

Heathers brow furrowed and she half smiled at him. “Come on Brian, where—”

She grunted softly in surprise. She had tried to turn around again to see if there was anything out back, and found that she couldn’t. Her legs stayed rooted to the ground. Her torso refused to flex or twist.

Other than her face and eyes, She found she couldn’t move at all. She couldn’t even turn her head, no matter how hard she tried. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at Brian. The nagging feeling of wrongness burst upon her again, a chill running through her.

She swallowed several times before saying in a quiet voice, “There aren’t any horses ... are there.”

Brian sat unmoving. “Strip.”

“Like hell I’m going to—What the fuck!” Heather gasped as unbidden, her hands started to unbutton her shirt, then let it fall to the dust covered floor. Her bra joined it. No amount of swearing on her part, no force of will prevented her continued disrobing, until finally she stepped out of her panties and dropped them on top of the pile of clothes.

She stood up straight and her hands fell to her sides. Her eyes glistened and she choked back a sob as she stood before him, completely naked and once more unable to move.

“Look,” She demanded. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but you’re not going to get away with it!” Her voice quavered, but she tried to look defiant. “I told my three best friends where I was going, told my parents. I even gave them the address!”

Brian’s expression didn’t change. “Really? Did you really tell anyone where you were going?” He asked, unconcerned.

“Yes I—” Heather stopped mid sentence, gasping. She was suddenly hearing voices in her head!

you’re a liar. you’re a liar. You’re A Liar. You’re A Liar.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and would have shaken her head if she could move it. The voices continued chanting at her, growing more insistent.

YOU’RE. A. LIAR! YOU’RE. A. LIAR! YOU’RE. A. LIAR! YOU’RE ....

“NO!” Heather screamed. She sobbed a moment before continuing. “No. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I only talked briefly with a friend to say I was headed out of town, but when she asked where I was going, I didn’t tell her. Couldn’t tell her.”

Brian nodded. “Good. I hate being interrupted. Now—”

Heather sniffled and cut him off. “It doesn’t matter. The whole restaurant saw us talking that night. All the servers know you gave me your number, asked me to call you! They’ll know. They’ll ....”

Heather trailed off, seeing a smile spread across Brian’s face.

“You’re not the only one I gave a card to that night,” He said.

Heather’s lips quivered, and she blinked back more wetness from her eyes. The card! She remembered, she remembered him reaching out, giving her the card. She remembered taking it. And then she knew, the card had made her come out here, alone. Kept her from telling her friend where she was going.

And if the card had made her do that, if he had given cards to the other servers, to the manager ... no one would be coming to rescue her.

“How are you doing this?” She asked, her voice breaking.

He looked at her a moment before answering. “Magic.”

“I don’t believe in magic,” she said automatically.

Brian raised his eyebrows. “You don’t?”

“well, I ... no.” She swallowed.

Brian sighed, shaking his head. He looked directly at Heather and spoke a word.

Heather saw his lips move, knew that he had spoken, but hadn’t heard what he’d said. But the impact of that unheard word crashed into her.

She slammed to her knees, one hand plunging into her suddenly sopping wet pussy, her thumb thrumming against her clit. Her other hand mauled at her breasts, pulling and twisting her nipples. She fell to the ground, thrashing in pleasure.

Oh God can’t stop cumming can’t stop so good oh God oh God

Heather heard Brian get up from the chair and start to walk towards her, but she couldn’t stop bucking and flailing. Her vision filled up with white from sensation overload.

Brian crouched down beside her and reached out to cup her face. Suddenly she was still again, gasping with heaving breaths, her hand still buried between her pussy.

He pulled her head to him, turning her forehead up, before cradling the back of her head with one hand.

“The problem with the cards,” he told Heather, as he began to trace patterns onto her forehead, “is that commands can fade over time.”

Heather stared blindly at the ceiling, her mouth agape, her breathing still ragged.

His touch on her skin remained feather light, but she felt the loops and whorls he drew press deeper and deeper into her skin.

Sinking through her skull.

Searing into her brain.

“Memory modification is simple. Making everyone at the restaurant forget what they saw over a few hours, very easy. Compulsion is more difficult.”

He continued to trace pattern after pattern onto her skin. Her body shook. Her lungs heaved. The pressure intensified, and she felt like he was carving directly into the bone, leaving chasms of pain behind each finger trace. She feared that her upper face was a mess of bloody tracks of rent skin, feared that she would be scarred for life.

“I can only pack so many commands into the card, and the stronger the compulsion, the faster it burns itself out. These will be much more comprehensive. Much more permanent.”

Finally finished, he pulled his hand back and let her go. Heather remained propped up on her elbow, her head straining, as the last of the patterns plunged slowly, painfully into her brain. Burning into her mind.

“Those will take all night to settle in, so unfortunately we can not continue until tomorrow.” He stood up, dusting off his slacks before looking down and addressing her again. “Sleep.”

Heather collapsed to the ground, unconscious. A puppet with its strings cut. Brian bent down and scooped her up, throwing her naked form over his shoulder and walked towards the house.

Heather woke with a gasp, her hands flying up to her forehead.

Unbelievably, it felt to her like the skin was smooth, unblemished. The memory of the pain, of being helpless, rolled over her, and she curled up, sobbing. Her hands keep running over and over her forehead, trembling.

After several long moments, her sobbing eased. She drew a hand across her mouth and sat up to see where she was.

She was lying on a cheap and battered mattress, on a simple metal frame. She ran her hand on the bare mattress, seeing that there weren’t even sheets.

The room she was in was small, and very sparse. The only furnishing other than the bed was a bedside stand, which supported a single lamp. The threadbare carpet was indoor/outdoor and faded tan in color.

The only exits from the room she could see were a staircase that lead up, and a doorway that lead into a bathroom. The door to the bathroom had been removed, its hinges bare.

Heather pushed herself to her feet and walked with unsteady steps to the bathroom. Inside was a shower, toilet and sink. The bathroom was lit by a large florescent light in the ceiling. The entire surface of the walls and the floor was tiled.

The shower was not designed for privacy. There was no shower curtain, or even a shower curtain bar. The tiled floor sloped slightly to a drain in the corner. Shampoo and soap hung in a plastic holder suspended from the shower head.

Over the sink was a lit vanity mirror, which Heather went to and stared at her face, again running her hands over her forehead. However, after closely inspecting her reflection, the only thing she could see that was at all wrong were bloodshot, tired eyes.

Not seeing any other choice, she used the toilet, then turned on the shower. Her feet and body were still covered here and there with dirt from the floor of the barn.

With shaking hands, she scrubbed at her skin and lathered her hair. She hadn’t seen any towels or clothes, but focused instead on trying to wash away the stain of what had happened to her yesterday.

After she finished rinsing away the last of the suds, she turned off the water and rang out her hair as best she could. Then She heard the bed springs creak.

Turning, she saw through the open doorway that Brian was back, sitting on the bed where she had been just moments before. He sat calmly, watching her without expression.

She felt her body jerk to attention, and walked back out into the room to stand before him. She could feel water roll down her body and drip onto the carpet.

“Follow me,” Brian said. He got up and headed for the stairs. Heather found herself following automatically, despite her best attempts to do otherwise.

Up the steps they walked, then exited out into a hallway in the house proper. He turned left and kept going, out into a large kitchen area, then out onto the porch and back towards the barn.

For as much as she felt dread at being trapped out in the middle of now where, she still felt a stab of embarrassment at walking out into the bright daylight completely naked. But she kept close behind him, following across the end of the drive and back into the barn.

The chair was back, but two folding tables had also been set up. One stood nearby the chair, and it held an empty glass and a gleaming metal pitcher. Another was placed near where she had been standing yesterday and held another empty glass and a large crystal glass pitcher filled with ice water. Both pitchers were sweating in the already warm morning sun.

Brian sat down in the chair and directed Heather to stand in place again. She moved to stand next to the second table and turned to face him, her eyes full and her heart pounding.

He again folded his hands in his lap and stretched out his legs. He looked in her eyes and spoke. “From now on, you are to follow any command that is given to you.”

Heather exclaimed as she felt a physical lurch in her head. Something shifted and changed, as if the world had jumped. She gulped and swallowed against her dry mouth, her eyes showing white.

Brian waited a moment before speaking again. “Tell me your name.”

Heather hardened her glare at him. She had seen this kind of thing on TV. The bad guys started asking simple questions to soften up and trick the person they were torturing. Her lips pressed tightly together, refusing to answer.

Brian simply waited.

Then the pressure started. Heather’s breathing quickened when she realized something was happening to her again. Pressure started building up in her head. She swallowed again and grit her teeth. She wouldn’t answer!

But the pressure quickly increased. It felt like a reversed vice grip was pressing outward from inside her skull. Other sensations joined in. Thousands of pin pricks buzzed inside her head. Then poked. Then jabbed. The pressure kept increasing. Her eyes bulged at the feeling, before she screwed them shut. The tension showed in her whole face, her jaw sagging open as the pain started to spread down the back of her head, into her spine.

The moments crawled by. Each breath became harder, and the pressure kept increasing until ...

“HEATHER!”

Heather swallowed air in huge gulps and gasps as relief flooded through her, the pressure receding. Slowly she caught her breath again. Cheeks burning, she looked back up at Brian. She licked her lips, tasting salt.

Brian sat. He waited until Heather had recovered, then started again. “Tell me your name.”

Heather’s lips quivered. The pressure was there again, bearing down against her temples, straining her skull.

“H-heather.” She knew that less than half the time had passed this time, before she had to relent. She would resist. She would! But the pressure was so intense ...

Heather let slip the sob she had been fighting to keep in, as she saw his lips move again.

“Tell me your name.”

“Heather!” She couldn’t spit it out fast enough as soon as the pressure had licked at her brain this time.

“You’re conditioning me ... aren’t you?” Heather forced out between heavy breaths.

“Of course,” Brian said. “That is generally the easiest way to break someone, isn’t it?”

Heather closed her eyes, her lips twisting sourly. Her stomach dropped with those words.

“Look at me.”

Heather focused on Brian again.

He gestured to the pitcher of water at her elbow. “You look thirsty.”

Heather steeled herself, but nothing happened. She blinked for a moment, then smiled slightly.

His expression unchanging, Brian repeated himself. “You look thirsty.”

Heather would have lifted her chin if she could get her body to move, as again, nothing happened to her. Maybe I can beat this! Maybe I—

“Drink a glass of water.”

The pressure came flooding back. With another sob, she lunged for the water pitcher and filled up the glass. She needed both hands to hold the glass steady as she tipped it up and drank it down noisily, but still managed to spill some of it over her body. She finished with a gasp and set the glass back down with a heavy clunk, before stepping back to her place. Fresh streams of despair and shame trickled down her face.

“You look thirsty.”

Heather grunted. She had tried to move, to pour the glass of water and prevent the terrible pressure, but couldn’t move without permission.

“Drink a glass of water.”

She’d been looking at the pitcher and not him, so had missed the command. Her moment of hesitation cost her another bout of skull crushing pain. Relief chased it away as she leaped again to slurp down the glassful of liquid.

And so it continued. Once the pitcher was empty, he had her bring it to his table. She wanted to smash it over his head, but couldn’t bring herself to, the fear of eternal pain overwhelming her as she rushed again to comply.

He had her put the now empty table up against the wall of the barn. She sloshed with a belly full of water as she pulled and pushed the table across the dirt floor. She returned and stood again in front of him.

She waited for the next command, the next indignity, but none came. She looked at Brian, but he just sat, waiting.

Time stretched. The break gave her a chance to settle her nerves, catch her breath. But quickly the silent treatment started to bore her. She kept having to bring her mind back and not let it wander, knowing that Brian still waited. The sun baked her, drying her face and heating her skin.

Shadows slowly moved across the floor as the sun walked across its path. Heather was loath to break the silence for she was not eager to return to the torture from earlier, but grew exasperated with the quiet. She tried to cross her arms out of habit, couldn’t.

Brian moved finally, turning to the table beside him. He picked up the pitcher and poured himself a glass of iced tea. Replacing the pitcher, her settled back into his chair and lifted his glass, sipping from it briefly, then holding it in his hand on his leg.

Heather looked at the glass, wondering what it was he was thinking when her stomach gurgled. Oh Crap, the water!

Her attention brought to it, she started to feel pressure of a different kind as her body informed her of the status of her bladder. She glared at Brian again. What a sick man! What was she supposed to do now?

He waited, sipping his tea.

Heather bit her lip. Time continued to pass, and the need to relieve herself continued to grow as her body processed the water. Biology took over. The shadows moved a bit more before she realized that if she didn’t do something she would pee herself in front of him. Or would she even be able to do that without permission?

Her cheeks burning again, she opened her mouth. “Brian, I—”

“From now on, you may only address me as Master. You may only speak when you are addressing me. You are no longer allowed to talk to yourself.”

Heather choked as she found herself unable to continue her sentence, the words catching in her throat. Again the physical shift, the clanking of cogs in her head. She stared at him. Was he serious?

Apparently so. Her mouth opened and closed several times without any sound emerging. She reddened further, but the now insistent need didn’t give her much time to swallow her shame. She forced herself to continue.

“M-master, I—”

“From now on, you will only be able to refer to yourself as ‘this slave’, always in the third person.”

Another grinding lurch. Her eyes squeezed tightly for a moment before looking at him again. No, please ...

“Master, this slave ... this slave needs to pee, badly.”

“And?” He asks, waiting.

Nature urged her on. She swallowed noisily several times, and after several attempts finally was able to say, “Master, may this slave use the bathroom?”

“Of course.” He gestured to the toilet sitting in the front corner of the barn.

She didn’t care. Didn’t care that he would be able to see everything. She raced to the toilet and sat down, palpable relief again flooding through her as she let go. Muscles clenched to force the urine out faster.

Finished, she saw that there was toilet paper even out here and cleaned herself up. She looked up and saw that he had kept his gaze fixed on where she had been standing, and he directed her back. She again stood in her place, at attention, facing him.

He set his glass aside and stood up. He started walking towards her, dragging his chair along behind. She cringed, but he walked past her. She heard the chair stop some ways behind her, then heard him start to pull something else out onto the floor. She kept forgetting that she couldn’t move, kept trying to turn around to see.

“Come here.”

She turned, and her stomach dropped even farther. Brian had dragged one of the large wooden frames that had been leaning against one of the walls out onto the floor, and she now saw bondage restraints hanging from its corners.

But the pressure in her head pushed her to walk right up to it, where Brian stood waiting. He told her where he wanted her to stand, then started to strap her in. She hung from her wrists, her legs apart, spread eagle.

When he secured the last cuff around her ankle, she was distracted by another lurch in her head. As he stepped back and again sat down in the chair, she lunged at him as best she could, straining against her bonds.

“Damn you Brian! What the hell are you doi—hey, I can talk again.”

Brian pulled a small bag he had sitting on the ground closer to him and then looked up at her again. “Yes. When you are restrained you will be under a different set of conditions.”

Heather swallowed again. “Uh, so other than being able to talk and move, what other conditions?”

Brian didn’t answer, resuming his previous silence.

Sweat rolled down her skin. Heather stared back at him. She started to badger him about what the conditions where again, but then she felt it.

Back this far in the barn, she was out of the sunlight, but still felt heat spreading through her. Then she began to feel trickles of arousal burn between her legs.

Surprised, she turned her face and hid as best she could against her arm. But the arousal and need kept building.

Time again rolled on, and soon she was panting and breathing hard, twisting as far as she could in her bonds.

“I bet your getting off on this Brian. Huh? I bet you are. Asshole. You soulless fuck. Come on! If you’re going to rape me, get it over with already.”

Heather’s ranting ran down as she realized that Brian still wasn’t moving, still just sitting, waiting.

Sweat continued to roll off her body. She bucked and shook, but that did not sooth the itch that grew stronger in her clit, across her breasts, tightening her nipples. She again hid her face.

“Please?”

The voice came quietly, muffled slightly against her arm. But still Brian waited, unmoving.

She turned to face him. “Please? Brian I ... I need it. Bad. Please, please let me come, let me ....”

The pleading continued. Need stoked her fires higher, wound her tighter. Her begging grew louder, less coherent.

Brain sat. Many minutes passed.

“Oh God, FUCK me! Jesus I need it I need it, please somebody fuck me suck me oh God oh God please please please please.”

Brian opened the bag next to him and pulled out a bullet shaped vibrator. He stood up and started walking towards Heather. Her eyes locked onto the vibrator as he approached.

“Please please please plea—”

With a twist of his wrist, Brian turned the vibrator on high and sank it deep into her dripping pussy.

Heather’s head snapped back. A rattling groan fell from her lips as her back slowly arched, the sensation rushing through her. Her toes curled, fingers flexed. She grunted, then screamed as the orgasm crashed into her.

Brian studied her face, and as her head lolled with the pleasure, he spoke a word. She passed out, slumping in the frame.

He withdrew the vibrator and turned it off with a snap.

She woke up back in the room, curled up on her side, laying on the beat up mattress. She pulled her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins. She put her face on her knees and sobbed.

She wanted to stay there, to crawl under the bed, to hide away, but the rest of the water from yesterday was pressing on her, and gradually she uncurled herself and sat up. She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands and went to use the toilet.

Finished, she felt compelled to shower again. She wanted to crawl back to the bed, didn’t care about her dirt covered feet or sweat stained body. But she found herself turning on the shower against her will and soaping up. She let it happen, head bowed.

Again, as she was ringing out her hair, she heard the bed springs creak, and turned to see Brian sitting on the bed. She bit back her tears and let her body lead her back out into the room to stand before him.

He looked at her, and at the small water spots growing on the carpet.

“You’ll need to be dry for the next step. Go stand out in the sun on the porch. When you are dry all over, come back here.”

She felt herself walk up the stairs and out through the kitchen. The sun was again streaming down from a cloudless sky. She stood out on the porch, spreading her feet and arms to expose more skin. Her back was to the road, but she wished heartily that someone would come by and see her, say something, never mind her naked state. She looked out at Brian’s backyard, which stretched for some ways. A rolling meadow that ended in an orchard of some kind, rising up from the meadow on slight hills. She could run and hide, should run, but didn’t lift her feet to try.

Her back done, her hair mostly dry, she turned around to dry her chest and legs. Facing the rest of the porch and the driveway now, she gasped. Sitting on the railing were the keys to her car! She looked up and saw that Brian had not moved her jeep, it was still sitting there, perhaps 15 feet away.

She tried. Straining, she poured the burst of hope and will into reaching for the keys, willed herself to run to the car. Brian hadn’t followed her, and was no where to be seen.

Her body shook, but didn’t move.

Dry, she felt herself turn and walk back towards the house, back to the room and a waiting Brian, and left the world behind.

When she walked down into the room, Brian had dragged the folding chair downstairs and sat waiting for her. He held what looked like a box of toothpicks in one hand, and more bondage restraints in the other.

“Lay down on the bed. Spread your arms and legs.”

She did so. As she lay there, He tied a restraint to each leg of the metal bedframe before tightly cuffing her in. When finished, just as she was able to move he told her, “Hold still.”

She found that the command overrode her ability to move and speak, but that the arousal still began to build regardless.

He bent over her, holding a toothpick. Starting on her stomach, he began to trace more wretched patterns with the toothpick. She watched him as he concentrated on her skin, felt the lines cross and curve around, before sinking down to be absorbed into her body. They irritated the muscle and tissue where they settled, but did not burn the way the ones he had carved into her head did.

Slowly he worked up her body. He swathed her stomach and midriff, He outlined and detailed her ribs, drew wide loops around her breasts before settling in to trace more complicated patterns on the upper slope of her chest.

He was just finishing working on her nipples, painful for her as the tiny patterns there jabbed and pinwheeled with the point of the toothpick, when she felt something in her stomach. The first lines and patterns he had drawn prickled.

Apparently he noticed, as he looked down at her stomach again, looking distracted. He looked back at her nipples and lifted the toothpick again, but then lowered it instead. He rubbed his jaw for a moment and then pulled back.

“Alright, I’ll finish that part in a minute. Relax.”

She felt herself released from his hold. She took a deep breathe to bitch at him, but screamed instead.

White hot pain flowed through her. The patterns exploded inside her, and she burned from her pubic bone to her collar bone. She yanked against her restraints, her back arching off of the bed and kept screaming.

Muscles tore apart, then re-nit themselves. Then tore apart once more. Her ribs cracked. Reformed and cracked again. She felt her breasts pull up to sit higher on her chest, then start expanding out, being remade fiber by fiber. Her nipples, small round pebbles before, flowed out and stood up.

New nerves spread out, sinking into the changing flesh, connecting to her brain and adding to the overload of sensation. The excruciating agony of her body tearing itself apart cell by cell blended with the every heightening arousal of being closed into the bondage she was thrashing in. She writhed. She screamed.

And then it stopped. She fell back to the bed, drained. Her breath came in whistling gasps. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brian stand up, but didn’t have the energy to lift her head, couldn’t even muster a whispered “No”. He leaned over her again. She whimpered.

“Hold Still.”

She woke up. She was lying on her back this time, staring up at the ceiling. She breathed in. Breathed out.

She had passed out yesterday while he had been working on her scalp. She was grateful she had not been conscious when he had worked on her vagina. As complete as his work-over had been during the time she was still pitifully aware, she was sure that it had not been spared.

Her body was giving her new signals, new sensations. The new nerve bundles kept talking to her in distracting ways. She did her best to ignore them. She continued to stare fixedly up at the ceiling.

She did not feel like moving, but the compulsion to shower and begin the day built again. Before it got to the point of taking over, she sat up and smoothly stood. She refused to look down. She walked to the doorway to the bathroom, closed her eyes firmly and moved in front of the mirror. She took a deep breath, blew it out, and opened her eyes. She gasped.

Her face had been completely remade. Wide eyes looked back at her, topped with arching eye brows. Her skin looked flawless, stretched over high cheekbones and an elegant jawline. It was several shades darker, looking nicely tanned. Her hands ran over european supermodel looks. Her skin was smooth and she felt no makeup, but color reflected back from the mirror. Hints of eye shadow and blush, luscious wet red dripping from full, cupid bow lips.

Even after having lain on the bed all night, her hair fluffed out behind her with bounce, body and luxurious shine. Her eyes continued to look down her body. A sculpted neck flowed into rounded shoulders.

Her breasts were considerably larger than her previously modest size. They rode high on her chest and projected out, standing unnaturally proud. Her nipples stood out from large areola, shaped like turgid erasers but four times as large.

Her ribs tapered sharply to a narrow waist. Her stomach looked well muscled, but wasp like.

Her hips flared out, and long athletic legs stretched below. She turned and looked in the mirror behind her, and saw butt cheeks that were large globes of taut flesh.

She turned back and looked down. Her plump pussy lips showed, her labia so swollen they filled up the space between her thighs and rubbed tightly together. Her whole mound was totally hairless.

She looked back at her reflection for a moment before giving in to the need to shower. Turning on the taps, she gasped again as the water washed over her. She whimpered and shook several times as she soaped up, compelled to be very thorough. Her new body was definitely more sensitive. Much more sensitive.

She was expecting Brian this time, after she had finished washing and turned back to face into the room. He was not sitting on the bed, but stood in the doorway, inspecting her.

“Follow me.” He turned and left, with her following behind again.

When they passed through the kitchen, he picked up a bag from the counter and then walked outside. She would have stumbled if she was able, as to her surprise he did not turn towards the barn, but instead walked out into the backyard and out through the meadow.

She struggled to keep up, the thistle and brush scratching her legs. He walked on, out of the meadow and into the orchard.

They walked up and then topped a small rise, and Heather saw that the orchard seemed to go on for a while, and saw other fields and woods beyond. But no other houses or buildings in sight.

“Stand up tall. Legs apart. Put your hands behind your neck. No, lace your fingers together. Elbows back.”

Brian walked around Heather as she tried to stand as he instructed, correcting her until he was satisfied.

He walked back in front of her and looked her in the eye.

“This is position six. Understand?”

An answer was obviously expected. She tried to nod, but couldn’t. She tried to speak several times unsuccessfully, before she remembered the rules. “Yes Master.”

“Position six.” He stated. She realized he was not repeating himself, but giving a command as she felt her joints tighten to hold her current stance.

He reached up and again drew something onto her forehead briefly, and she felt another lurch, felt something wake up inside her head.

Then he reached down to the bag he had carried up the hill and took out a jar of honey and a brush.

He opened the jar, and dipped the brush into the honey. Then he began painting her breasts with it. She sucked in a breath as he smeared the honey liberally over her sensitive nipples and breasts. She gasped out loud when He moved down and repeated the process on her protruding pussy lips and clitoral hood. He returned the brush to the jar occasionally, to make sure he had thoroughly covered her privates in honey. He walked around her and feed some between her butt cheeks, and she felt it slowly slide down her rear.

He walked back around in front of her and dabbed once more on her erect nipples before screwing the top back on the jar and put it back in the bag. He gathered up the bag and, without saying anything further to Heather, walked off.

Heather heard his steps as he left back the way they had came, and the sounds slowly diminished. She panicked. Is he just going to leave me here?!

She couldn’t turn around, and didn’t think to yell for him until she could no longer hear him. The command to not talk to herself prevented her from just yelling out.

The sun warmed her skin, and she felt the honey drip and ooze on her skin. A soft breeze sighed through the surrounding trees and caressed her skin, reinforcing the fact that she was outside, standing on a hill without a stitch of clothing and unable to move.

Before long, her skin prickled, and she saw that passing insects had stopped by to partake of the honey. They marched along her butt, along her thighs and chest.

She tried to flinch, to shake herself to remove them, but remained still. Her muscles would strain, but her limbs would not move. She cried. She huffed.

Time passed. The sun again trekked slowly through the sky.

The honey had baked in the sun and dried. In addition to the tickle of wind and the prickle of insects, the honey caked onto her most sensitive parts now itched. Again she tried, knowing it was useless, but having to heave and twitch, to try.

The sun passed its highpoint in the sky and began inching lower. The long silent hours built up. Heather tried to distract herself in her head, but not being able to move, even for a moment, not being able to talk to herself, however crazy that might make her, weighed on her. Her muscles ached, keeping the same pose.

Finally, long hours after having been left out to cook in the sun, she relaxed her muscles and let her mind wander. Her expression smoothed, her tear stained face long having dried.

But her attempts to let herself go were interrupted. The voices were back!

Resist resist, you must resist! You can’t give in, you can not slack!

She snapped back to herself with a start. What the hell? The voices WANT me to resist?

Forced back to the present, the itching and sunbaked skin again demanded attention, and she twitched once more. Even though she still could not move, her attempts to do so quieted the voices. When she would forget and start to give in, they would taunt her. When she would strain and try, they left her alone.

The rest of the afternoon alternated that way, Her spirit and body exhausted, sagging against the need to struggle, and the voices inside her head that she couldn’t ignore, driving her on. By the time that Brian came back to collect her that evening, her body was shaking.

“Relax.”

Her arms fell to her sides, and she tried to take a step but collapsed. He again gathered her up and threw her over his shoulder. He carried her quivering body back to the house.

The next morning, they continued the next session back in her room downstairs.

After having showered clean again and stood drying in the sun, Heather stood before Brian, again in position six. Brian was seated in front of her on the chair, vibrator in hand.

He played the buzzing vibe over her mound, coating it in her juices and running it up and down her swollen lips. Occasionally he would anoint her nipples with the now glistening vibrator, before going back to teasing her pussy. Up, over, around. He parted her newly fat labia slowly and teased her inside for a moment before returning to running it up and down her vulva and brushing her clit.

Heather shook, and her eyelids fluttered. Her newly designed and wired body flooded her with more pleasure than she had ever experienced before. Her arousal built. As minutes passed, despite herself she found herself lost in the feeling of her thrumming pussy.

Brian laid the vibrator on her clit and kept it there. Unable to thrash while stiffly holding her standing position, her body vibrated, and she moaned and gasped as she peaked in orgasm.

Brian went back to teasing her, his expression neutral as he ran the toy up her inside thighs and across her groin.

Again Heather peaked, struggling to stay upright, awash in pleasure.

It continued without break. Sweat was again rolling down Heather’s body, her breathing coming in short spurts as she strained and shook. Lubrication ran down her thighs.

After the sixth orgasm, Heather would have collapsed if allowed to, her muscles again tiring. Another wave of exquisite heat rolled over her as Brian again pressed against her clit.

She felt herself slipping, drowning in the pleasure. Just as she felt herself starting to let go, the voices returned.

Don’t give up, don’t let go. Make your hate for him grow!

She mewled, pulled back again to the present. She argued with the voices. But it feels so good!

Feel the Burn, Feel the Lust. Hate him Hate him Hate you Must!

Her eyes fluttered as another orgasm dragged her under, but she fought back, staring at him through the haze, focusing on his face even as she jerked and bucked from the pleasure.

Enjoy the pleasure, but still hate his guts? Yeah, I can do that.

Brian noticed her stare and took the vibe away for a moment.

Heather shook weakly, breathing hard. Her eyes bored into his.

He returned her stare evenly. “Ready to continue?”

Heather looked at him, a smile on her lips and a sneer in her eyes.

“Yes Master.”

And so it continued.

Kneeling down at the foot of his chair in the kitchen, sitting back on her feet, her hands cupping her breasts, Heather looked up at Brian. He spread marmalade across a piece of toast and instructed her.

“You are to eat only after I do. When I am finished, clear the table, then meat me in the den. Understand?”

“Yes Master.”

Outside again in front of the barn. Heather walked in a circle around Brian. Her head high, her arms folded behind her back, she walked slowly with a high step. Occasionally she tossed her head as instructed.

Brian turned in place, and using a riding crop, tapped her on her butt or her breasts to get her to speed up and slow down.

“Head up, shoulders back. No, slower. Make sure to keep your heels up. Thats right, toss your head. Keep your back straight.”

“Yes Master.”

Heather’s head came up sharply as she cried out, shaking with pain/pleasure. She was bent at the waist, gripping the chair with both hands, her butt raised high, crisscrossed with welts and angry red lines.

Brian reached between her legs and tapped her pussy lips with a riding crop while waiting for her to recover. When her breathing steadied he asked her, “Another?”

Heather lowered her head, her hair pooling again onto the seat of the chair.

“Yes Master.”

“Position one. Position Six. Position Three.”

Heather flowed between positions, quickly standing or kneeling, her head always up, her eyes on Brian. No hesitation showed between the giving of the command and her moving. There hadn’t been any at all in the last two days.

Brian watched her kneel down on of the floor of the barn. He walked completely around her, looking at her closely, examining.

With the adjustment to her body and her many days training outside, her skin was now deeply tanned. Brian saw that she was holding herself correctly, her toes flexed underneath her, sitting back on her heels, her breasts proffered on her hands. Her limbs were graceful, a seductive smile on her lips. But her muscles were always straining, resisting. He eyes always expressing her hatred of her captor.

Brain nodded to himself. 16 days was a personal record for him. It helped that the client had very simple requests, which allowed him to be more heavy handed in his approach than he normally might.

An untamed horse the client wanted. A spirited filly. Unbroken, but shackled into an appealing and responsive body.

Brian nodded again. “Good. Good. I think you’re ready.”

Heather’s expression clouded for a moment. “Master? This slave would ask, what is she ready for?”

Brian didn’t answer. He turned and walked out to his truck sitting in the driveway. He opened it up, got in and started it. Carefully, he turned the truck around and backed up to the opening of the barn.

Brian left the engine running and walked back into the barn. As he passed Heather, she again tried to catch his attention.

“To what is Master referring to? What is Slave ready for?”

“Its time to ship you off to the client.”

Brian walked far to the back of the barn and pulled the tarp off of the wheeled machinery hiding in the back, revealing a forklift. The tines of the forklift already held a wooden shipping crate. He started it, and moved the crate to the middle of the barn. Lowering it to the floor, he back up the forklift and shut it off. He walked up to the crate and reached inside, pulling out a bag.

“Come here.”

Heather got up and walked up to Brian. She stared at the crate nervously.

Brian took out a wide leather belt from the bag, and attached it around her waist. It had a variety of loops and cuffs hanging from it, which he used to strap her arms to the small of her back. He reached down into the bag again and pulled out a bundle of nylon rope.

“Lay down. No, on your stomach. Good.”

Heather lay on the floor. Brian knelt down beside her, lashed her knees, then started tieing her ankles together.

The restraints freed Heather’s tongue. “Are you serious? You’re really going to stuff me in that crate and ship me off?!” Heather’s emotions roiled. As much as she despised Brian, she at least knew him, had started to become used to hating him. The thought of being sent off to some unknown client chilled her blood. As much of a monster as she thought Brian was, he had never laid his hands on her. She doubted seriously that would continue with someone else.

Perversely, Heather also felt oddly rejected, confused. Didn’t he want her?

“How ... how long will I be in the crate?” Heather could already feel the arousal from being in bondage start to rise, her lips moistening, her nipples itching.

Brian finished tieing off her feet. He picked something else out of the bag and came around to her face. “Well, it took them seven days to deliver the last girl, and your client is at least as far away.”

Heather twisted up and stared at him, aghast. Seven days? Will I have any mind left at the end of that?!

“No! You don’t have to do this! Please! Master! Master don—mmph!”

Her eyes round, Heather’s pleas were cut off as Brian worked the ball gag into her mouth and wedged it deep in her jaw. He shook his head as he carefully strapped it to the back of her head. Always at the end, they called him master by their own will.

He gathered her hair and pulled her feet up against her butt. Slowly increasing the pressure, he pulled her head up and back and hogtied her hair to her feet. She was arched up, her scalp pulling painfully when she tried to move but still she mewled and mumbled as best she could around the gag, trying to talk to Brian.

He left her for a moment, walking again to the back corner. He returned pushing a car engine winch. He attached the chain to rings on either side of the belt Heather was strapped into, and slowly raised her up off the ground, the ratchet working noisily.

She bucked and thrashed as best she could, swaying slightly as she hung suspended from the winch.

Once she was high enough, he carefully pushed her over the crate, already half full of packing material. He lowered her slowly down, then unhooked her from the winch and pushed in back to its place in the corner.

He returned to her in the crate, and dug through the packing material until he came up with the straps that were anchored to the side of the crate, which he then clipped to the rings on her belt. Two to a side, to prevent her from sliding around during transit.

He walked back to the head of the crate and looked at her again. He absently patted her head. “Don’t worry. You won’t starve during the trip. The magic won’t let you.”

She pleaded up at him with her eyes, tears running down her face, squeaking and mewling as best she could around the gag.

Brian sighed. Looking directly into her eyes, he spoke a word.

Heather’s eyes rolled up in her head. Grunting, she started thrusting her hips into the packing material. She strained and shuddered as she was swallowed up in pleasure. Just as it crested, dragging her under, she heard a wooden scrapping sound and was plunged into darkness.

Brian hung up his claw footed hammer and walked back to the forklift. With much turning of the wheel and working of levers, he smoothly picked up the crate and gently placed it into the back of his truck bed. He then backed the forklift into the corner and covered it with the tarp once more.

He secured the crate to the tie-downs in the bed of his truck, the closed the tailgate. He climbed into the cab and dropped the shifter into drive. Slowly he eased the truck down the driveway, passing the empty jeep wrangler still sitting on the grass. He stopped at the end of the drive to look both ways.

He turned out onto the road and headed into town, whistling tunelessly.