A Better Kind Of Brainwashing Pt 02

Molded, but not obscured by the sweatpants which strained around its bulk, the ass in front of Frida was beyond glorious. It shook with every step and with every lustful intake of breath, Frida fell a little deeper in love with it.

"Do you know how to drive?"

Frida was pulled out of her reverence by the voice. It was so much clearer to her ears now. Sharp and heavy, it pierced the fog of her mind like a comet, it's searing light illuminating the shallowness and flatness her psyche.

She tried to look away. To pull free of the quicksand sucking her down into endless submission. But she couldn't even stop her body from standing to attention at the sound of her new mistress' voice.

"Yes, Barbie." She answered. Her voice, once strong and steady (it had needed to be for her to do her job), now trembled with renewed insignificance. As soon as she'd answered the question, her eyes drawn, like the sun across the sky, back to that beautiful, bountiful ass. She wanted to fall to her knees and press her face into it, to lavish kisses upon each pert sit spot. To wiggle her tongue in between those glorious glutes and stuff her nose up Barbie's perfectly puckered butthole.

But Barbie hadn't commanded her to do that yet. She'd just told her to follow.

"Shouldn't you like, treat me with more respect or something?" Barbie asked.

Frida wanted to scream "You have control of my mind you stupid bitch!" Instead, she stared vacantly at Barbie, unable to even shrug without permission.

"You should like...call me by my last name, like all professional-like. Otherwise, I'll have to find another maid."

Frida wanted to call Barbie a number of things, none of them very formal. Instead, all she could do was whimper out an admission of her own ignorance. "I don't remember your last name..." It had been on the form that Barbie had filled out, hadn't it? Perhaps accompanied by an address and some insurance information (Frida's sessions did not come cheap). But for some reason, the letters which made up that name now eluded her, a stain of blurry ink failing to sink into a forever white page.

"Oh, right like, duh!" Frida cringed internally. It was awful enough to find herself under the control of another human being. But one as vapid and racist as Barbie somehow made it all the worse. She was certain that she was at least 30 IQ points ahead of the girl (ignoring the fact that IQ points were a racist construct invented by old white men).

"How about you just like, call me ma'am then instead!" Barbie said, with a dismissive wave.

Frida wanted to say that the only woman she had ever called ma'am had been her mother. She wanted to tell her to walk out into traffic. Instead, her eyes were drawn to that amazing ass, and those incredible tits. She'd always insisted to Frankie, her wife, that she liked her women natural. That she hated how the "ghettolicious" image cultivated by women like Nicki Minaj had sent black women running for the cosmetic surgeon's office.

But whatever Barbie had done to her, it must have rewired her libido as well as her mind. Because those bulging silicone implants, along with Barbie's bubblegum spandex outfit, exposed tan lines and bleached hair, only served to enhance her appeal. Any woman could stay the way she was born, after all. But Barbie had sculpted her body, or allowed it to be sculpted for her, by men and by their desires, and the result was somehow impossibly alluring.

"Yes, ma'am." Frida said, feeling more drool forming on the curve of her lips at the degrading fantasies which now oozed through her frontal-cortex.

"Good girl!" Barbie said, with a condescending pet to Frida's voluminous afro. Frida's body, against her wishes, seem to lean into the touch. Her tongue lolled from her mouth in the ecstasy of the touch and her thighs jammed together to stop her from creaming herself.

Barbie hadn't given her permission to cum again yet.

"I just wanted to know because I've heard like, a lot of Asian women are like, really bad drivers and I wanted to make sure it was the same thing with you." Barbie said, as she skipped over to a gorgeous red sportscar, no doubt a present from Barbie's wealthy parents. "Not that I have like, anything against Asian women, obviously. Even though one of them did like, totes ruin my angora sweater by putting it in the wash at the wrong temperature. I mean like, I don't like, hate anyone. I just like, totes wish we could all get along." Barbie said, flashing a blinding smile as Frida trailed behind her, praying that she was about to drive off without her and simultaneously hoping she'd be allowed to worship that tantalizingly exposed body for the duration of whatever trip they were about to take.

Barbie didn't climb into the driver's seat though, instead she slid into the passenger seat and propped her gleaming sandals up on the dashboard in a well-practiced motion. "Anyway, I like, totes have to be home in time for tonight because like, it's me and my boyfriend's like, big anniversary dinner. So, like, you'll have to like, drive real fast because I want you perfect before he sees you."

Frida didn't know what "perfect" entailed, but she was certain it would not be pleasant. She remembered Barbie's earlier offer (threat? promise?) of allowing her to service not only her boyfriend but the boyfriends of her friends. But surely, she didn't intend for Frida to prostitute herself already, did she?

No, not prostitute. Frida very much doubted she would be getting paid for services rendered in that department. All the same, if it really was Barbie's and her boyfriend's anniversary, she wouldn't want Frida filling in for her?

Frida wasn't sure. It was impossible to know, when Barbie had already demonstrated how duplicitous and maniacal she could be.

Frida didn't have time to think it over either, because as those worries swirled in her mind, her legs walked around the front of the car, her hands opened the door and she slid into the driver's seat, closing the door beside her and turning the key.

She glanced at Barbie for further instruction, realizing now she had no instructions regarding where to take them. Barbie stopped admiring herself in the side mirror long enough to give Frida another ever-patronizing smile. "Just drive. I'll tell you when we reach our first stop."

***

Frida spent the trip in daze of despair. Somehow the lull of Barbie's mind control must have been strengthened by the automatic responses that were essential for driving. So, after a few minutes of acquainting herself with the steering and gear shift, her resentment and anxiety slowly began to fade away, leaving behind only the heady rush of horniness and the squirm-inducing heat of humiliation.

She was aware of the road. And vaguely aware that she had a doctorate and that she shouldn't be driving anyone anywhere, let alone this xenophobic whore.

But her thoughts had become so sluggish and her willpower so frail, that she was unable to even visualize acting on those impulses until Barbie had instructed her to park the car and get out.

"Alonzo is a good friend of mine. He's going to do something about that lovely hair of yours." Barbie said, as she guided Frida toward the correct shop. As they reached the door, she leaned close, her breath hot along the inside of Frida's ear. "Can't have you looking better than me in front of my boyfriend, can I?"

"Barbara! Welcome back...ooh, and who do you have with you?" Alonzo was young, bearded Latino, who was obviously gay based on the color and styling of his hair. He wasn't shy about getting a good look at Frida though, lifting her arms and raising her chin as if she wasn't even a person.

"Hey, Al! This is Fri-Fri...she's gonna be my new maid."

Alonzo laughed. "What did this one do, eh?"

It occurred to Frida for the first time then, that she might not be the first woman that Barbie had done this to.

"Oh, she like, tried to hypnotize me or something. Apparently, she was like, a big deal back east as a psychologist."

Not psychologist. Psychiatrist, you idiot. Frida mentally corrected. Her mouth stayed shut though.

"HA! A little of your own medicine finally!" Alonzo said.

"Like, fuck off!" Barbie said jokingly, shoving Alonzo half-heartedly for emphasis.

His grin just got wider. "So, you want me to shave this one bald like the last one?"

Frida's breathing actually picked up. She must have been getting back some control over her body, that her fear was eliciting a physical reaction. Maybe she was coming out of whatever subliminal state Barbie had put her in? If she could just stall the stupid slut long enough, maybe this would wear off and she'd be able to get out of here.

But how? They'd driven here in Barbie's car. If she stole it, Barbie would have the LA police on her back for auto theft before she made it a block. And she didn't have her phone with her, so she couldn't call an Uber. Barbie hadn't let her pick up her things when she left the office.

It didn't matter. She'd walk across LA if she had to, but at least she'd be rid of this horrible woman and her bizarre allure.

"No, no...she's like, totes not that bad!" Barbie said, with a patronizing smile in Frida's direction. "I just need her to like, look a little bit more submissive...a little less like, wild and untamed."

Alonzo smirked. "Okay. But if you want to play with her you are going to have to wait until I am done. Don't want her squirming around in the barber's chair too much."

***

It felt like she'd been sitting there for hours when Alonzo finally finished. But then there'd been nothing to stimulate her for the entire time, besides the cold-water seeping into her scalp and whatever product Alonzo was applying to make her hair more agreeable.

That and the intolerably banal gossip of Barbie and the hairdresser as they talked about their friends and their sex lives and about whatever drama had recently floated through the barbershop.

When Alonzo was done, he rotated her seat so that she could finally see her reflection in the mirror.

Her eyes bulged. Her lips hung open. She'd known he was braiding her hair, but she couldn't have imagined this. He'd turned her beautiful afro into cornrows and then tied the strands into pig tails. Her head looked like two ratty bird's nests. She hadn't worn her hair in cornrows since she was child and the memories she associated with that time in her life were so awful so almost wished he'd just shaved it all off.

"Well, isn't that better?" Barbie asked, leaning over one side of the chair and pressing the heaviness of her breasts against Frida's shoulder. "You gotta keep like, your hair out of your face if you're like, gonna cook for me and my BF. Plus, I'd never be able to get your, like, maid's cap on with all that poofy hair everywhere."

Frida tried to shrink into her chair. She hated the image in the mirror. She hated how defeated she looked, how put in her place. She hated the grinning reflection beside her as well, no matter how much she wanted to plant her face in the tan-line encased cleavage beneath it.

"Like, thanks for doing her so quick!" Barbie said, pulling out some bills from her zebra print purse and handing them to Alonzo.

"Of course!" He said, pocketing the money with a contented look. "You let me know if you like her different and I'll come over and do her hair at your place, okay?"

Barbie smiled. "You're like, such a good friend. Fri-Fri, thank Alonzo for doing your hair."

Frida turned to stare into the dark eyes of her co-tormentor. "Thank you for doing my hair."

"Oh my god! Like...call him sir, like, he's your superior, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, sir." She trembled impotently, wishing she could run out the nearest door and yet still unable to make herself move an inch without Barbie's consent.

He laughed. But when he spoke, he addressed Barbie, like Frida wasn't even in the room. "It was a pleasure. I always love to help out my favorite customer."

***

The next place was a salon. Barbie apparently knew the head of that place as well, a Vietnamese woman who set her employees to work on Frida's fingers and nails without a second look at her.

The bright pink nail polish that Barbie had picked out for her was almost identical to the kind that Barbie herself wore. It was like she was branding her with her colors, turning her into a worse version of herself. And the whole time, Barbie was chatting with the owner of the establishment, exchanging more mindless gossip with the Vietnamese woman, who's conception of the English language was somehow worse than Barbie's.

Throughout the mind-numbing affair, Frida imagined driving the damn sports car off the road. It would serve this bleach-brained bitch right. Instead, as soon as they'd left the salon, she was back in the driver's seat, obediently bringing Barbie to their next destination. A costume shop.

An elderly European woman was there and after kissing and hugging Barbie far too many times in Frida's opinion she finally cast a glance in Frida's direction.

"And who is this?" She asked, like Frida had invaded her privacy by stepping into the shop.

"Oh, this is Fri-Fri. She's gonna like, be my new maid."

The woman sniffed. "I do not know if I have anything in her size..."

"Oh, that's like, totes okay. Fri-Fri, go like, stand up on that stool and strip down so that Mrs. Cordovsky can like, get your measurements!"

Frida, who hadn't thought this day could get any worse at this point, blanched at Babrie, even as she walked to the stool and began to unbutton her pants. She struggled to stay her hands, to keep her trousers a moment longer. But before she knew it, they were pooling at her feet. Then her jacket, then her shirt. Then her bra and panties joined the pile below and she stood, completely naked, in the middle of the shop, staring straight ahead.

A moment later the old woman was upon her, wrapping measuring tape around her hips and measuring her legs.

"Ugh! Why do you want this one?" The old woman asked, as she turned back to speak with Barbie. "You could be having any girl you want, and you always pick the foreigners."

Despite her nudity, Frida wanted to kick the woman. Her family had been since the Revolutionary War. SHE was not the foreigner in this situation.

"She like, was like, talking to me about like, all this stuff about like, feminism or whatever? Anyway, she just like, seemed really miserable and I thought like, why not like, help her or whatever?"

Barbie thought that THIS was helping. Stripping her of her identity? Making her expose herself to people who hated her.

"Aw, that is one thing I will never understand with this country..." The old woman said, as she got back on her stepstool and measured Frida's bust. "Women...they are always so eager to get a fancy job and to work themselves silly...instead of just finding a husband and settling down."

She glanced at Barbie briefly. "Of course, I mean no offence."

"Oh, that's like, totes okay. I like, don't wanna marry a girl, anyway. I just like having them around when I need them."

Frida hadn't thought she could hate either of them more a few seconds ago. But apparently today would have no end of surprises.

"Are you going to get this one tattooed?" The old woman asked as she turned away. "It will take me a little while to make her new uniform."

Frida glanced at Barbie and begged with her eyes. Suddenly, being stripped and humiliated wasn't so bad. Everything so far had been fixable. But she couldn't imagine the degradation of being permanently marked, probably with Barbie's name. She already felt like she was up on the stands, about to be bartered for and bid on. Having the name of her new, *shudder*, mistress imprinted on her. She couldn't imagine anything worse, although she had a terrible intuition that Barbie probably could.

"No, she like, thought she was helping me, by like, trying to change my personality, so she's like...totes not as bad as the other ones. But like...maybe if she like, tries to get out of working for me, I might."

"I say, you don't give them a chance to get the better of you." The old woman said. "It's us versus them, no matter what everybody says."

***

The maid costume was just as demoralizing as Frida had pictured. And it was a costume, not a uniform. Uniforms had a function. Frida couldn't imagine anyone, let alone herself, performing effective cleaning service wearing this.

The colors had been inverted; the alabaster silk made to stand out against her dark complexion. A little black ruffle trimmed the hem of the skirt, which struggled to pass her thigh. Her chest was somehow more immodest, with a large portion of the bodice replaced with white satin mesh, so that her breasts were almost entirely exposed, with the exception of her nipples, which were concealed by a thin black band. Two white cotton stockings slipped over her feet and right up to where her thighs began. They were clipped to the pearly garter belt beneath the skirt, which clung to where all the laws of dignity dictated panties should have been.

The whole awful affair was topped off with a bright red bandana with white polka dots, an indisputable allusion to the "Mammy" stereotype.

Barbie grinned up at her as she tied the bandana snugly under her chin. "You like, look so like, fucking hot. I wanna like, totes jump you!"

Frida blushed beneath the horrible outfit. Despite everything, she wanted that. She wanted Barbie's bulging, obscenely fake body. She wanted to feel Barbie's hands running up and down her body, violating her in this absurd attire that she had forced Frida to wear.

She wanted their bodies pressed together and their breaths shallow and mixing in the heat of mindless passion.

"Thank you so much!" Barbie said, turning and hugging the little old woman. Frida watched her leg turn up as she did it, like she was in an old Marlyin Monroe film. She wondered if her dimwitted captor was as attracted to the xenophobic bag as she seemed to be with everyone. Perhaps the spoiled bitch was incapable of conceiving of any relationship through anything but the lens of sexuality.

She managed to look away, to avoid ogling Barbie's upturned leg and excitingly exposed thigh. She was regaining control of her body. And she wasn't waiting around for Barbie to change her mind about doing something permanent to her. She used the brief distraction to bolt for the exit, running into the parking lot, turning a corner and hiding behind a nearby dumpster. It occurred to her as she waited there with bated breath, listening to Barbie calling her name from around the corner, that she was undeniably dressed like a prostitute. She didn't care though. She wouldn't be made into a slave by this obnoxious bottle-blonde and her no doubt equally bigoted boyfriend. She wouldn't be anyone's wet nurse. She'd gotten her mental autonomy back and she wasn't going to lose it again on account of her out-of-control libido.

She bolted down the alleyway, crossed the next street over and began the arduous journey of trying to make it home with the fewest possible people seeing her. She pretended not to see the shocked looks or hear the demeaning comments. She tried to stay in shadow, to remain off the main roads. In all honesty, she wasn't entirely sure she was headed in the right direction. The city was a sprawl and she'd never looked at a map of it that wasn't digital with a nice helpful "You are here" marker on it. But she figured the further she went, the less likelihood there was of Barbie catching up with her.

Of course, Barbie knew where she worked. She'd have to pay someone to go a retrieve her things from the office. She couldn't risk becoming hypnotized again. She didn't have the key for her apartment either. Maybe the door to the balcony would be unlocked...maybe she could ask one of her neighbors to call the super. She didn't know them very well, and the notion of anyone who touched her life seeing her like this was beyond unappealing. But she couldn't think of any other way. She couldn't go back to the office, not when that was where Barbie would be looking for her. Besides, she was pretty sure the door had locked behind her on the way out.