A Mind To Control

For S.

*

'How much longer on this batch?'

'Not much. I'd say a few hours. Room three is having a particularly rough cleaning cycle, so we've got her on the 'milkers while she's under intensive care.'

Strolling past threadbare, empty offices, the two men paused at the broken glass of what was once the middle cubicle in a row of small-time business rooms in the underfloor level of a downtown business apartment. Abandoned long ago and left to fall apart on its own, the building was dishevelled and crumbling, but its walls and furniture were, at least for the most part, still usable.

The sounds coming from inside the room were loud and hoarse, rhythmically pulsing in and out in time to the unheard tempo of the hypnotic brainwashing that was pumping into her head through the empty receptacles that were her eyes and ears. She was on an intensive cycle; her brain was resisting the enslavement, clinging to personality, to identity. Somewhere, buried in the depths of her sweaty, glistening skin and pulsing, tensed muscles, a woman once known as Janette was trying to rationalise the orgasmic bliss she was being pelted with from all sides.

The system she was on was a high-paced cyclic rotation of core value implementation that forced the subject to recite, rehearse and 'perform' her mantra - or set of instructions - in between rewarding commands to orgasm that were designed to reset and wipe her mind each time and interspersed with high-tension 'edging' routines that kept her mind from forming any thoughts other than those it was told to. The system was what was known as 'intensive care.' Under the protocol, she would not rest. Continuously kept on the knife's edge, constantly one half-breath away from a blissful orgasm that rendered her brain completely and utterly lost in nerve-electrifying, yet unrewarding pleasure, it forcibly inserted core commands - what was known as the 'mantra' - via subconscious hypnotic implantation, before rinsing and repeating, with the 'rinse' being a violent, numbing orgasm, and the repeat being more forceful mantra insertion. It was a demanding ritual that robbed any strong, healthy woman of her will within half an hour. Janette had been on it for three.

As the two men paused outside the shattered glass that was once a full-floor-to-ceiling window and turned to look in on the woman, paralysed in the hypno-submission position that had her on her knees, her legs wide, pussy open to the air between it and the carpet, her arms behind her back, her chest pushed out, they heard her enter another innumerable rinse cycle and watched as the woman sprayed the ripped up carpet she was kneeling on as her orgasm ripped through her afresh. She made to scream out a hoarse moan, but by now her throat was dry and only a croaking groan escaped her body. Despite the screens arrayed in her entire field of view on the desk before her blazing the hypnotic spirals and swirling colours of her entranced state into her eyes and the trailing headphone cable that snaked over to the desk where the computer running the display was, she still dropped her head back uncontrollably as her body shook with the violent cumming.

'She's gone beyond the safety limits. We don't want to have to repair her before we can bring her to sale, we need to make quota this month before the Chinese approve the import agreement. Should we take her off?' The nearer of the males asked the other. He paused momentarily, watching the attractive youth's head slowly tilt back to face the screens and her stare go complacent and empty again as she was sucked down into the implantation stages once more. Ever so slightly, her lips quivered and pricked as she mentally echoed the words that were being drilled into her very humanity.

'No. Not yet. We'll waste more time if she isn't properly 'washed after this cycle. Give her another half hour and then send Steve in to clean up. He can put her to rest, monitor her fluids, and we'll test her in the morning.'

'Right you are. And the others?' the former asked.

'They're progressing well?' the second man asked.

'Excellently. The new algorithm is putting them under in seconds. We barely need to run all three phases anymore.'

'Fine. Keep them on normal routines and when they finish, clean them up and bed them as per normal. We should easily make our quota by the week's end.'

'Very good.'

The commanding male strode up the hallway and through a doorway to some stairs, leaving the other man alone with the women. He continued to stroll slowly past the windows of the offices, observing different girls in identical poses, each one buried to the crown in a blissful world of hypnotised enslavement and utter orgasmic submission.

@

'I'll take fifty thousand. Fifty thousand. Do I see fifty? Fifty? Fifty for the fine woman with the lushous red locks? Fifty sir, to you down at the front? C'mon, who wouldn't want those perky red nipples in their face as they're served dinner by this little stud-ette? Do I see fifty? Fif-

Thank

you sir to the man in the middle! I can practically hear the bedsheets ripping now. Lot number eighty-nine to... Sir at Fifty six, thank you. Alright, lot number ninety, this tiny little gemstone might not meet you in height, but what she's missing in the legs, oh

boy

does she make up for in the backside! Fellas, if you could see what I can see from up here. Can I get thirty-thousand from an ass-man? Thirty? I see thirty, thank you, thirty-five, now forty, now forty, now forty-five, now fifty, now fifty - sixty is the offer from the front here, sir I knew when I saw you, if it wasn't red heads, it was asses. Sixty-thousand dollars in the front, do I have any takers on sixty thousand? Sixty, going once - sixty twice - sixty thousand, the brunette bouncer with plenty of backside-ounces...

Sold

for sixty thousand, congratulations sir!'

'Hello? What, now? Damn it. Alright, fine, I'm on my way.' Hanging up her phone, the female stood up and turned to go. As the auctioneer called for final bids on a perky blonde woman with fresh, rock-hard breasts, she turned from the back of the house and called, 'Nine!'

A few people in the house gasped. Another turned to face her, surprised. She shrugged at him. 'Lesbian. Got a fuckin' problem?' He quickly turned back around to face the front. It was the unspoken rule - you didn't judge someone else by their bid in this place - but was strange indeed for a woman to be bidding so highly on another woman.

'I have ninty-thousand to the gorgeous lady in the back, ninety. Ninety once... Ninety twice - final call, ninety-thousand dollars...

Sold!'

The winning bidder pushed through the exit door, not bothering to stay to witness her bid win. The emotionless blonde was moved along and replaced with an equally blank & buxom olive-skinned female who stood half a head taller than the auctioneer. He began his bidding to a cacophony of entry bids.

The woman met her partner outside and they stepped into his car without a word. As he pulled off and turned into the road, he filled her in on the job.

'Back to the Heights. That office job with the old version two program's finally worked on the management, entire place is supposed to be under. We're just picking up two targets, the School Bus will be around later to collect the ones worth cleansing.'

'Who are the targets?'

'Two females. One from the ground floor staff, one in management. COO or something - big-wig stuff that has her flying across country and taking it back-door so her fragile 'vaginal purity' isn't damaged or whatever. Apparently she was away when the program infected her machine, but she's been back now and reports from the other staff say she's ready to be collected.'

'Fine. Usual job?'

'Yup. I'll case the other staff, you go straight up and grab her. I'll bag the ground floor target once you're out with the COO.'

'Whatever. Let's get this done quick, I just won a blonde at the Arcade.'

'Cute. Let me know when the dildo breaks and I'll come share the toys.'

'Nuh-uh, this one's mine. You had that weekend with my last one, and she still hasn't shrunk back down to that teenage-tightness I paid all that money for.'

'Not my fault I have a kick-ass robo-dick!'

'Your fault you stuck it in her and forgot to turn off the expand mode, though.'

'Ha-ha-

ha.

I'm sorry, it was one time, man.'

'Yeah, one time, after which none of my toys fit anymore.'

'Oh shut up.'

@ @

The buzzer popped as the line opened.

'Regional Investments and Advice, who do you have an appointment with?' a female voice queried through the speaker.

'Kara Northwood, funds and transfers, 2 PM.' Sydney responded politely from the street entrance. The voice spoke again, ever so slightly too flat, almost emotionless.

'Come through please. Kara is expecting you.' The door clicked, unlocked from inside, and Sydney stepped in. As she passed the front desk and smiled at the woman behind it who had buzzed her in, a part of her mind reflected on her voice when it had come through the intercom. It sounded present, but bland, human, but controlled, like something was going on inside her mind. She could tell something was wrong with it the same way you can tell your car sounds different when you drive it. It was more of a sensation than a fact, not something she could put her finger on.

The lift pinged on the upper level and Sydney jumped a little as she withdrew from her thoughts, finding the doors blocked by someone who was standing right in the centre of the doorway. Politely squeezing past, Sydney turned to watch the person step into the elevator. They seemed completely normal, and yet who stood right in front of the lift doors like that and didn't move?

'Ah, Sydney. You're here. It's a pleasure,

really.

Take a seat.' Kara's legs unfolded under the desk as Sydney stepped into the office. Glassy and modern, Kara, owner of a high-ranking position in the company and one of the best financial advisors in the city, had her own office and it was furnished in the way a modern businesswoman on the edge of equality and power would have it. A thick, wide glass table at which she sat curved off the wall of the office and around her, giving her plenty of space to work with while seeming to maintain a low profile. A stylish metallic frame blocked the occupant's 'sensitive' areas from view without drawing any attention to them, and sitting in pride of place on the side of the desk, positioned so it was easily swivel-able on a sturdy mounting arm, was a wide, bezel-less monitor. Sydney could just make out the glint of colour in Kara's eyes as she smiled warmly at her.

Sydney smiled and drew back a lush red fabric seat, tucking her hair over her ear as she did so. Sitting in it she found herself plunging low into a deceivingly casual cushion that seemed to nestle her backside deep in its midst, high enough to allow her to maintain her dignity, but low enough to

just

put Sydney on the edge of tilting backwards and letting herself sink a little lower than would be politely dignified. It let her long legs stand just a little higher than was really necessary, and coaxed her back to straighten in a way that asked her politely to perk her chest out without really giving her an option otherwise.

'So, Sydney.' Kara's thick tones said effortlessly. Sydney nervously picked at her skirt's edge as Kara made the usual business-person's introductory speech. Something about the angle and the cushion made her acutely more aware of the angle of her thighs and the height of her hem.

'I've taken a look at your books, Sydney, and

my

are they special. Plenty of hard work, a delicious tax return, cautious yet blissful expenditure and a good little girl's interest. It's been a joy taking the reins on your case, Sydney, an absolute pleasure, and I'm sure you'll agree it's going to be a lot of

fun

getting to know us, our business, and what we can offer your little back pocket there in your future with us.' Something about the way Kara spoke gave Sydney a strange feeling, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

She could have sworn her skirt had hitched up more than it looked when she'd sat down and she couldn't get the sensation of her underwear riding up her cracks out of her nerve-addled mind. She

knew

she shouldn't have gone for a swim earlier that morning, but it had been a long week and she never felt quite as free and destressed as she did in the waters with nothing but her and the infinite blue world around her. The skin-tight bathers made her feel like she was floating naked in space, swimming through the universe, and when she had a snorkel or mask & air with her it was like she was invincible, her face covered by a mask of impenetrable sound and sight.

'Sydney?' Kara was looking right at her. Sydney blushed bright pink and pulled herself instantly back to the present, embarrassed she'd let herself go like that in this important meeting. It didn't help that her still damp underwear slicing into her crack was starting to give her a whole different sensation of wetness, and distantly, Sydney became aware of the fact that she hadn't diddled herself in at least a week. Realising she was thinking about masturbation in front of this powerful, successful woman in front of her made her only blush harder.

'Uh, yes - t-that all seems like an excellent plan, Mrs. Northwo-'

'Please, my lovely, call me

Kara.

I much prefer my pretties call me by my first name - gets past all the polite formalities of

business

and takes us to a far more,

personal

interaction. We're all about

personal interactions

here, Sydney.' The businesswoman's tones were starting to strum a strange harmony with each other, Sydney thought distantly.

'Why don't you look over here, to my screen, and take a look at the

numbers

and

letters

we've put together for you, hmm? You might see something that really

tickles

your fancy if you look deep enough.'

Sydney hadn't noticed the business-woman's legs parting under the desk, but they had. The crisp tight dress skirt Kara was wearing was taught around her thighs, her knees drifting as she spoke to her client.

'Yes, perfect. Look and see what we're offering you, Sydney. Really

take it in...

' Kara's words were starting to blur to Sydney. It had been a long week; she'd been fired, hired, then fired again when some asshole had threatened he'd rape her and she'd fought back. Her car had broken down and she'd been sexless for months. The only stress relief she'd had all week had been her swim that morning, and it had left her acutely aware of how empty and unused her body had been for so long. Turning, searching for distractions, Sydney looked at the screen. It had a spreadsheet in full focus, covered with boxes, coloured items and numbers. Kara's mouse cursor floated around and around and around as she pointed out section after section, indicating graphs with confusing bars and pie charts with sections that seemed to swim into each other, but it was all a blur to Sydney. Her brain was shutting down, her body turning itself to auto-pilot. Unwittingly, she sunk deeper into the soft chair she was sitting in, her muscles relaxing ever so slightly, her legs falling, gently, apart.

Kara's words, too, were trailing off - she hadn't really realised what she'd been saying until now. She'd been deeply invested in explaining her company's investigation into maximum efficiency spending with Sydney's funds, but now all she saw was something in the charts, something not quite right. She couldn't put her finger on it - perhaps one of the finance boys had left a typo in, or she herself had brushed a key and cancelled something out? She looked deeper, focussing as hard as she could to try to find the issue, but it kept evading her as she stared, drawing her to look here, then there, taking in this number, then that letter, buzzwords flitting uselessly through her brain like bees and flies around bushes, pointless and completely uncaring about her caught in the middle of it all.

@

The car pulled up out the front of the building. Sweeping out of it, the two partners stepped up to the keypad at the door to R.I.A. - Regional Investments and Advice.

'Regional Investments and Advice, who do you have an appointment with?' a female voice queried again through the speaker.

'Sixteen, chocolate, Infrastructure - pollen is key, forty-nine.' The male said back to the speaker. The line went dead, open but silent. A few moments later, the door clicked. Quickly, the two swept in.

'I'll handle these ones, you head up and collect the bitch.'

'Stop calling them bitches, Ron!' the female said as she strode towards the elevator.

'I'll stop calling them bitches when they stop acting like it,

Sally

.' He mumbled to himself as he approached the reception desk. The busty, attractive receptionist was slumped in her seat, completely limp, her eyes glazed over. Calling loud enough so that everyone could hear him, he spoke;

'Acorns, kitchen-knives, black naught, Christmas steam nozzle three.'

As the lift doors shoomed closed in front of her, the female agent saw the familiar sight of an entire floor of workers suddenly slacken where they were, the trigger phrase embedded like a switch in their brains instantly activating, rendering them all entirely amenable in an instant. She shook her head and hit the up button.

@

Sydney's mind was a whirlpool. She was lost inside it; completely free-floating in a swirling whirlpool of water, darkening and sucking her down as she was washed bodily around inside it. All she could see was the screen; Kara was gone, the desk, the chair, the office. Her body wasn't present in the world anymore; she was back in the ocean, back in her skin-tight swimming gear, feeling like she was naked to the waters that sucked at her skin and propelled her downwards.

She was wet. Drenched. The water was inside her; she'd been sucked into the whirlpool quickly, faster than she'd had time to react, and in doing so it had filled her up, seeped into her skin, into every orifice. She couldn't clear it out, couldn't see through it, couldn't hear anything in it, couldn't feel anything but it on her skin and inside her body, but somehow Sydney didn't

want

to feel anything else. The waters were warm, soothing, like the gentle embrace of a lover or the perfectly warmed texture of her bedsheets, or the crisp wetness of the ocean she so loved. The mind of Sydney tore off her mask, letting the waters in, willing it inside her, sucking it into her lungs, begging it to fill up her naked body completely. It sucked her down deeper, faster, spinning her around and around, and with one sudden, heart-wrenching motion, Sydney felt the waters drop away underneath her body and she went tumbling into infinite blackness in the belly of the wetness.

Slumped deep into her chair, the soft fabrics seemingly sucking her deeper, Sydney had abandoned formality. Her face was slack, her eyes glazed over as she stared emptily into the screen. Her skirt had ridden up with the help of the fingers that had initially intended to help it stay down, and a wetness was thickening at the front of her already damp panties. The edges of two reddened, puffy lips could be seen on either side of the bunched crotch of her underwear and one of Sydney's digits had slipped itself up under their mass to press and massage at the throbbing clit below. Soft whinnies escaped her slack lips as Sydney's mindlessly entranced body responded primally to the arousal, her muscles twitching, her chest rising and falling as she sucked deep, aroused breaths in and out of her lungs. Firm stubs pushed vainly into the inside of her shirt, her damp sports bra doing little to keep her arousal at bay, her shirt seemingly straining to hold her bosom in as she unconsciously pushed her chest outwards in her limp sexual fever. A few short yips came from within her as she found that perfect spot at her crotch and her arousal peaked, catching her breathing in hitches and moans.