He Broe Your Memory Last Night

"Can we talk?" The woman in the green dress didn't wait for an answer; she simply sat down in the seat next to Christine and put her hand on Christine's knee with the kind of familiarity that usually left people pulling back a stump. (Well, a metaphorical stump. Christine was only five foot two and had biceps like pipe cleaners, but she never let that stop her from losing her temper around the kind of people who saw short blonde girls with blue eyes and curly hair and thought they could get handsy. She called it her 'terrier stance'.)

"I'm sorry I'm late," the woman continued, as though her presence at the restaurant where Christine had decided to eat breakfast was some sort of pre-arranged appointment. "I thought that downtown would be pretty quiet on a Sunday morning, but traffic was a beast. I hope you haven't been too bored by the wait?"

Christine stared down at the woman's elegantly manicured hand, still resting on Christine's knee as though she was reassuring a nervous puppy. She looked up at the woman's face, almost the exact opposite of Christine's--chiseled features instead of rounded curves, deep brown eyes instead of sparkling blue, long raven-dark waves of glossy hair compared to Christine's short, frizzy curls. Even their heights were different--they were both sitting, but Christine still had to look up almost a full foot to meet the stranger's gaze. (And over a goddamn shelf of boobs--another way they were distinctly different.) The woman was striking, impeccable, unrepentantly beautiful... and Christine had never met her before in her entire life.

"I haven't been waiting for anything," she said, letting the naked bewilderment show in her voice. "I think you've got the wrong person." She glanced down at the hand on her knee, allowing her confusion to shade into contempt as she added, "Very much the wrong person."

But the woman in green only chuckled. "That's good to hear," she said, as though replying to an entirely different conversation that happened in her head. "I'll be honest, Trevor thought that you might have had a little trouble with some of the suggestions--he said you were a little bit tricky to put under when he first met you last night. But I could tell you just needed to be shown that first step. After that, you'd follow the path wherever it led."

"I... what?" Christine raised her eyebrows incredulously, her fingers itching to swat the woman's hand away like an annoying mosquito. "What, I... what? What are you even talking about? I don't know you, I don't know any Trevor, I didn't meet anyone last night, and I just came to my normal restaurant like I do every morning to get breakfast like I do every morning. I'm not waiting for anybody, or anything. Especially. Not. You."

Infuriatingly, the woman in green just gave her knee a condescending little pat before returning her hand to its perch. "That is just so perfect!" she said. "Oh, I could tell you were going to work out well, but I never thought that..." She gestured down at the table. "Tell me, Christine. What do you see in front of you right now?"

Christine tore her eyes away from the hand on her knee with great difficulty--the bitch was actually sliding it up a couple of inches like she thought Christine wouldn't even notice--to look at the table. "Nothing," she said. "I mean, a cup of coffee, a couple of syrup stains, and a used napkin, but nothing important. Why? What does it matter?"

The woman in green's fingernails brushed the inside of Christine's leg, just above her knee. "You don't see a plate, do you?" she asked, her voice teasing Christine with the insinuation of some secret that only she knew. "You ordered breakfast, didn't you?"

Christine furrowed her brow in annoyance, picking up the implications of the other woman's words and not liking them one little bit. "I, I already finished eating," she said, unable to avoid sounding defensive. "I was just doing a little people watching before I went home. It's a Sunday morning, I don't have anywhere I need to be, what's wrong with that?" She felt her hackles raising, her entire body tensing as if preparing for a fight. It wasn't just the woman's attitude--Christine felt like she absolutely had to refute the unspoken accusation for some reason.

The woman's giggle made it even worse. "Oh my gosh!" she said, putting her free hand to her lips as if to stifle a laugh so loud it would make the entire restaurant stare. "You don't remember being told to meet me here, you've spent the last hour just staring vacantly out the window, and Trevor still thought you might not be suitable? Oh, darling! That is just..." She squeezed Christine's leg, as though mere words couldn't convey the affectionate amusement she felt at Christine's actions.

Christine felt another spike of frustration at the woman's over-familiarity, but it was buried under a sudden, sinking feeling of anxiety that seemed to wash through Christine's brain like a wave of icy water. "An hour, no, I..." She heard the confusion in her voice as she stammered through a denial she couldn't quite make herself believe. "No, it couldn't have been that long, I just got here at, at ten o'clock..." She knew she could reach into her purse and pull out her phone to see what time it was, but somehow that would feel too much like admitting the strange woman sitting next to her had a legitimate argument. And Christine knew that couldn't be true.

"And it's almost noon now," the woman in green cut in smoothly, her hand petting Christine's leg with short, gentle strokes as she spoke. "We told you I would be here at eleven, we told you to get to the restaurant in time to finish your food before I arrived, and you did exactly as instructed. And when you needed to wait longer, you did it automatically and instinctively, without even being noticed. You obeyed perfectly, Christine. I'm very proud of you. You're a good girl."

Christine's head suddenly swam with pleasure. It came out of nowhere like a sudden summer rainstorm, a dizzying burst of pure joy that made Christine sway drunkenly in her seat for a moment as her eyes unfocused in helpless, euphoric delight. It wasn't even sexual pleasure... or at least it wasn't just sexual pleasure. Christine realized almost absent-mindedly that her panties were suddenly clinging to her skin as the sheer fabric became saturated with her arousal. But more than anything, it was a mingled sense of pride and utter elation that overwhelmed Christine's ability to think for a moment.

She came out of it to find the woman in green staring down at her with an indulgent smile on her face. "Wha, what..." It took Christine a minute to even find her voice again, let alone figure out what she wanted to say. She finally settled for, "What the FUCK?", delivered at a volume as loud as she dared without drawing the attention of everyone in the restaurant.

"You're very responsive, dear," the woman in green said, her fingernails now grazing the sensitive skin of Christine's inner thigh. "That's all. Perhaps a little stubborn at first, but I think that was just because you knew how easily your mind would accept our suggestions once you relaxed and let us in. You wanted to be a good girl, didn't you, Christine?"

Again that same wave of helpless bliss, that sense of soul-deep fulfillment at hearing those words. It felt like the woman in green was reaching right inside Christine's head and petting her mind with perfect praise, like the words translated in the back of Christine's brain to every kind of compliment she'd ever received in her life. Her personality, her intellect, her beauty, her spirit... 'good girl' seemed to hit every single one of those buttons at once and made her soak her fucking panties at the same time.

"I, I don't, how..." Christine was aware she was babbling, but the endorphin rush of the woman's words hit her like a powerful euphoric drug. "I don't even know you!" she wailed pleadingly, staring up at the woman in green in naked confusion. She felt like the disorientation in her brain was spreading somehow, like it wasn't just the woman's insistence that they'd met that bewildered Christine but everything now. Denial seemed like the only way to restore rationality to her world.

But instead, it just gave the other woman another chance to act superior. "Well, of course you don't, dear. That was what I came down here to check on, actually. One of the final things Trevor did to you last night, before we woke you up and sent you home, was erase all the memories of the evening's events from your mind."

Her fingers inched up Christine's thigh, ducking under the hem of the little black skirt that Christine had worn out to breakfast. They found her panties and rubbed Christine's cunt through the thin, damp fabric. "He did it right at the end, when you'd already cum for us so many times that your mind was drugged into perfect, empty compliance and your resistance was at its lowest ebb. He told your conscious mind to forget all your suggestions, to simply push them right out of that drowsy, obedient brain of yours and let your deep self keep track of them all. But you don't remember any of that, do you?"

Christine felt her head sway from side to side, but her voice seemed to have dried up in her throat all of a sudden. All she could do was stare into the deep brown eyes of the woman in green and spread her legs wider and wider as the voice bored into her brain. "Of course you don't. You don't remember because you can't remember. And you can't resist what you can't remember, isn't that right, Christine?"

Christine's head bobbed up and down like a puppet on a string. She was suddenly aware that she was cumming, her body frozen in helpless surrender as the woman's fingers teased Christine's clit into hot, tingling surges of orgasmic bliss, but she couldn't moan. She couldn't scream. She could only sigh softly, held in docile submission by the woman in green's penetrating gaze. "That's why Trevor broke your memory last night, good girl. So that you wouldn't resist your programming. You're going to go back to your place soon, and you're going to fuck yourself nice and stupid for us again, and then tonight you're going to report back to us for more brainwashing. And you're not even going to remember why. Isn't that right, good girl?"

Christine nodded again. She let out a tiny, choked, "uh huh," that was little more than a whimper of pure arousal as she came again on the other woman's fingers. Her eyes stared sightlessly ahead, so deeply lost in pleasure that everything seemed to fade into an endless tunnel with that powerful, penetrating stare at the end of it. She felt her thoughts slipping away down into its depths, carrying her will along with it. Carrying her memories along with it. Carrying her resistance all the way down and down... and down...

"There we go, good girl," the woman in green said. "Nice and blank and obedient for me." She leaned in closer, forcing Christine to stare almost straight up into her powerful gaze. Christine felt the warmth of the other woman's breasts pressing against her, seamlessly chaining her third climax into a fourth as she remembered the feeling of those soft, perfect tits rubbing against her nipples without knowing how or why or when. It just felt so good. Everything felt so good. Christine's eyelids fluttered shut, her breathing became a constant rapid gasp as her mind bounced off of one peak of pleasure straight to the next.

The woman in green was speaking, but Christine was already off in that place where her conscious mind couldn't retain any memories of what she heard. Her deep self... her slave self... would remember all of it. Her slave self would prompt her to do what needed to be done to become more obedient. Christine didn't need to think about any of it. Christine didn't really need to think at all, not when she was with her Master or her Mistress. She could simply shut off her brain and drift in the perfect pleasure of being a good girl.

And then Christine felt a kiss on her forehead, and the woman in green was standing again, a wide, satisfied smile on her face. "Thank you," she said, as though Christine had somehow done her a favor by listening to her ramble for a few minutes. "You're not going to have any problems doing what you need to do?"

"...no?" Christine hazarded, not quite sure what the stranger was talking about but hoping that 'no' was the right response to end the conversation quickly. She knew that the woman seemed to think they'd met before, and she had some crazy idea that she and her husband had, had... Christine's memory skated effortlessly over a sea of bullshit about last night that she knew to be patently, factually false. The last thing she wanted to do was prolong this awkward little meeting.

"Excellent!" The woman in green patted Christine on the head, somehow oblivious to the flush of pure, incoherent rage that washed over Christine's features. "Then I'll be off. See you tonight!" And she walked away, not even giving Christine a chance to correct her massive misconception.

Christine waited until she was gone before she got up as well and walked the three blocks back to her apartment. The whole weird encounter had left her strangely shaken--Christine's legs felt like she'd run a mile before she even got to the corner, and she flopped onto the couch almost as soon as she got home. It was probably just all the weirdness about the way the woman was so insistent that they'd met. No, not just met. She thought that Christine was, was... forgetting something? Had forgotten something? It was all a little muddled, but the woman in green definitely thought that it was Christine who had memory problems, not her.

Which was absurd, Christine thought as she shucked off her skirt and panties. Christine didn't have any problems remembering the things she needed to remember, and she didn't have any problems forgetting the things she needed to forget. That meant her memory was absolutely perfect. And if her memory was perfect, she could dismiss the entire encounter with the woman in green as just a case of mistaken identity. She could forget all about it and relax and enjoy her lazy Sunday afternoon.

Christine's hand slid down to her pussy, and she was surprised to find that her fingers were already practically churning through the slick, messy evidence of multiple orgasms. That was... that was normal, though. It was just because she was turned on. She wanted to fuck herself nice and stupid, like the w... like the... like she wanted to, and that made her cunt wet. It all made perfect sense, and Christine didn't even really need to think about it. She just needed to go grab her toy and spend the afternoon in bed, buzzing her clit and pounding her drooling, needy snatch until her brain shut off. She liked to do that. She wanted to do that.

Christine wandered back into her bedroom, her hand still working away helplessly between her thighs the entire time. She didn't hear herself talking--her mind was mostly on her pussy, and she simply let herself ramble in a sort of stream-of-consciousness babble while she thought about how good it was going to be to cum. The words didn't really matter. She didn't need to think about them. She only needed to say them and forget them like a... good girl. Christine smiled blankly without knowing why as she felt the wave of pleasure pass over her again.

"I can't resist what I can't remember," Christine whispered, as the vibrator sank deep into her cunt. "I can't resist what I can't remember," she whimpered, thumbing the switch to bring it to buzzing, thrumming life. "I c-can't resist what I can't remember, I can't resist w-what I can't... remember, I can't. Resist..." she moaned, over and over again, as the first of many orgasms melted her mind into obedient bliss.

THE END