tagMind ControlTelos Ch. 03

Telos Ch. 03


Amy knew exactly where she was when she awoke. The white room was the only world she'd ever known. There were things beyond it that she'd known once but she couldn't seem to call any of them to mind. She wondered how long it had been. There was no way to keep track of time in the white room and her master usually took her to be altered while she slept. Sometimes it was minutes between closing her eyes and opening them. Sometimes it was days.

A soft voice was whispering in her ear, just barely loud enough to hear. "Happy girl. Good girl. Eager girl. Obedient girl." The mantra repeated. "Happy girl. Good girl. Eager girl. Obedient girl."

She pushed Grace off the white bed onto the thick white carpet on the floor. "I am not you! I'm not . . . I'm not his slave!"

Grace pulled herself back up onto the bed groggily and made a pouting expression.

"You were trying to brainwash me," accused Amy. It sounded stupid. Of course Grace was trying to brainwash her. That was the point.

"I wasn't!" protested Grace. "I was just talking in my sleep."

Amy couldn't stop herself. "Shut up! Shut up! I'm not you. I'm not going to turn into you. Get out! Leave me alone!"

There was a click behind the blank white door that made both of them look toward it. A clean shaven man in an expensive suit, their captor, stepped through, framed momentarily by the light behind him. He placed a silver tray with a glass dish on the dressed. "No yelling," he said. "Either of you."

"Sorry," said Grace.

"Sorry," said Amy. She blinked. "Why did I . . ."

"Come here, slave girl." The man picked up a slice of reddish-yellow fruit from the glass dish. He pressed it against Grace's lips when she reached him and she gulped it down. The second offered bite was accepted in the same way. He rubbed her head. "You are a very good girl." A wide smile spread across his face. It was an expression Amy had never seen on him before, not one of diplomatic smiles he often wore or even a predatory grin. Just a happy smile. "I should have told you Amy would yell at you when you woke up. She can't help it right now." As he fed her the last few bites an almost imperceptible tension went out of Grace's body. A tiny tremor ceased. Her breathing evened out.

"Why do you do that?" asked Amy. "You take care of her."

"She's my responsibility," said the man.

"You could beat her senseless and she'd love you just as much."

He regarded her evenly. "Do you make a habit of violence for the sake of violence?"

Amy straightened her back like a lazy student under a schoolmaster's gaze. "You could do nothing."

"That would be . . . cruel."

Amy frowned at him. The man barely seemed human standing there in shadowless white room in his business suit. She could just about see Grace's mind wrapped around his fingers like so many gossamer threads. "You love her." The words escaped before she could think better of them.

The man's eyes flickered away from hers and settled on Grace. He touched her face delicately. "I want people to be happy."

"Whether they want it or not?"

"Yes." He placed the glass dish on the dresser and held up the mirror smooth tray. "I find that people appreciate the guidance. No one ever says happiness makes them unhappy. Come here, take a look at yourself."

Amy made her way over to him and examined her reflection. As weary as she felt she looked pretty. Her skin was clear. Her hair had been washed, combed, and trimmed. Her new lips were supple and unless she made an effort they stayed slightly parted. She touched them unconsciously. Immediately a thousand different images of how best to use them flashed into her mind. She took a step back in surprise and the movement caused a jiggle in the wonderful breasts she'd been given a lifetime ago.

It was awful. She kept expecting him to make her a trashy slut but every change was tasteful, almost elegant, as if it had been plucked from her own idealized self image. With clothes on she'd look more pretty than sexy. The change was insidious. If he had been giving her grotesquely whorish features it would have been easy to hate him. As it was she saw her mouth curve up into an appreciative smile. In the back of her mind a voice was telling her that there was something terribly wrong with her to be thinking that way. It insisted that he was manipulating her mind the same way he'd done to Grace. She forced it to shut up. She liked being pretty. It was better than it sickening fear that came when she was alone in the room.

"There's more we could do, you know," said the man, putting down the tray. He brushed a hand across her cheek. "Skin. Hair. Nails. Everything can be adjusted or improved." His hand drifted lower. "Everything."

Amy was frozen in place.

Her captor's fingers paused at her belly then rose back up. They reached her lips and two of them pushed easily though. "We can do all kinds of things you'll enjoy. You could make a beautiful lady."

As his fingers fucked her mouth Amy felt as unladylike as she could imagine. He brought his other hand to her breasts and she sighed with pleasure. She wanted to let go but the ever present complaint from her old self returned louder than before. "N . . ."

"What was that?" His fingers slipped from her mouth.

"No . . ." She stumbled away from him and fell onto the soft white carpet. "What did . . . what . . . You did something to me. Why . . ."

"I took away your inhibitions," he explained. "Your first response always comes through." He put a hand on the small of her back and drew her closer. "Making yourself unhappy will be hard with all those pleasant thoughts in your head. Those effortful responses will be smothered by all the soft happy thoughts you have."

"No . . . this isn't . . . not me . . ."

"They're your thoughts," insisted the man. "They're your emotions. All I did was take away some interference from your conscious mind, a bit of self deception. With a enough concentration you can hold onto those angry thoughts you say you want to have." He turned her head up so that their eyes met. "Think. Tell me why this is wrong."

She shuddered. "It's brainwashing. It's . . . you're controlling me. You . . . I . . . you want me to . . . to be a slave. I was . . . kidnapped." The words came easier the longer she struggled to use them. "You're a monster. You just want a . . . just want a toy. I should be free."

"That's right, Amy, that's what you believe."

She became very aware of his arms around her.

"Say it again. Tell me this is wrong."

"It's wrong," she said, the fire of her independence restored. "You can't do this."

"You've very strong."

She suppressed the involuntary warmth of the mindless pleasure that came from staring up at her captor's face. "This won't work. I refuse to break."

"Kiss me."

She pushed herself up to reach his mouth. When their lips met she felt her twist under the sudden whiplash of emotion. All the defiance that she had made herself dredge up was destroyed by a single act of unthinking obedience. Her beliefs and her convictions were all extinguished by a wave of joyful submission. He held her there for a while, her mind suspended helplessly in an aetherial realm of pleasure.

When he released her she dropped to the floor.

Her body was heavy. The room was suddenly dark and cold. There was a terrible void in her stomach. She could hear her own voice mumbling just above a whisper.

"Speak up," the man said quietly.

She started to look up at him but when their eyes met she collapsed a little more and her gaze dropped submissively to the floor. "Master."

His touch spread a warm comfort thought her body. "I want you to remember this. In a few moments you'll convince yourself this was a terrible moment but remember it anyway. The pleasure of letting yourself go. There is nothing to fear about being a slave. It is happiness."

Amy pushed herself against him. "Please, I want to stay this way."

"No you don't, not yet."

"You could do things to my head."

He shook his head. "Forcing it would make you someone you're not. When the change comes it needs to be from you otherwise . . . I tried to do too much too quickly with Grace. I'm not sure I can . . . never mind the details."

Amy lay peacefully in her master's lap for several minutes while he let her head clear. Eventually she took a deep breath and marshaled what strength she had to move away. She made it back to the bed under her own power. Amy took a deep breath and looked up at her master. "I am not going to break."

The man nodded in agreement. "Only fragile things break. You will bend."

Even in the warmth of the room Amy shivered.

The man stepped through the door and there was a click as he locked it from the other side.

Amy quickly found herself losing track of time again. Alone in the room she stared at the door waiting for it to open. Grace would be coming. He'd promised she would come. Boredom eventually drove her to sleep. It was hours or days later when she woke up. Grace was lying next to her, also sleep. She nudged her friend. "Grace. Grace."

The girl blinked at her lazily. "Morning." She pushed a little closer. "Are you good yet?"

"No," said Amy, the word almost made her sad. When Grace reached out to touch her Amy caught her by the wrist then pinned her to the bed so she straddled the younger slave. The action was nearly a reflex. "We only need to talk."

"Okay," said Grace. "Master thinks you're very strong."

"That's good."

"He's worried that you'll hurt yourself." Grace's left leg rose up and her toes delicately teased Amy's back. "That would be bad. If you can be good like me you'll be safe and happy and eager and obedient all the time. It's wonderful."

Amy felt her grip loosen and immediately Grace was on her. Warm hands on her skin. Tongue exploring her sex. Amy let it go on for a long time. The constant struggle was exhausting and Grace was a harmless presence. It would be easy to remove her if it went too far. An hour later she lay in the bed, burnt out from a half dozen orgasms. Her flushed skin and the thin film of sweat made the room feel cold. She pulled Grace closer, for warmth if nothing else.

It went on like that for an endless time. She lived in the room alone with nothing but her thoughts and her wandering fingers until Grace or her master returned. The world revolved around their presence or absence. When they were in the room they consumed the whole of her attention. When they were gone she tried to imagine what would come next.

Grace's attentions weren't aggressive but they were persistent and when the girl saw an opening she took it. Every time Amy found her more difficult to dislodge. She could feel herself slipping away. The sessions with Grace became an exquisite torment. The longer she was alone the more desperate she was to see Grace again but the moment Grace appeared she was terrified the girl's skillful lips would finally manage to break her will.

As much as she tried to resist it the constant alternation between sex and isolation began to soften her mind. Every once in a while her master, she caught herself thinking of him that way all too often, would come in. He gave her choices from time to time. No matter what she did every decision she made warped her mind and body slightly more. He seemed to enjoy making her show off the improvements he made and she couldn't help but enjoy her new body.

Her skin was first. Smooth and flawless, impossibly sensitive, and Grace quickly learned exactly where to touch her and Amy took it happily. Her hair came later. A longer style in her natural color sounded harmless compared to an improvement to her sex. When he showed it to her in a mirror it made her smile eagerly. One day she agreed to let him mold her body and she woke the next day as trim and fit she had ever imagined. When she humiliations of her outer body were too much for her he offered to change something else. She wondered what had been done until he offered her food and she found the taste infinitely improved. He pushed a finger between her lips and her tongue responded obediently to the wonderful intrusion.

Happily. Eagerly. Obediently.

She was turning into Grace.

It was difficult to be sure what her master did to her mind each time unless he was kind enough to tell her. She was oversexed, she knew that for sure, and it was hard to concentrate on certain things. She struggled to remember but it was always easier and more pleasant to lie back and bring herself to climax. She realized she had begun to crave the respite from her thoughts that Grace and her master offered. Alone in the white room with only bland food to eat and tepid water to drink she started to fear she was going crazy. Grace brought her comfort. Master brought her certainty.

She was turning into Grace and it had almost stopped bothering her.


Grace looked at the white door. It seemed so ordinary from the outside, just like any of the others of dozens of doors in her master's house. He hadn't given her the key, of course, so she waited for him to arrive. While she waited she tried to think.

Her new friend, Amy, always seemed so angry. It had been months since they'd first met according to the calendar in her reading room. There was snow on the ground outside as immaculately blank and white as the white room Amy was in. Master had told her not to worry about it so she didn't and the passage of time slipped out of her mind the moment her attention went elsewhere. But whenever she was standing in front of the door she tried to understand why Amy didn't want to be a slave even after so much time. Sometimes she asked her about it but the explanations made Grace's head spin.

She was happy with her life and Amy wasn't, that was all that mattered to her. It was pleasant and simple to be happy and eager and obedient. She told that to Amy every day. All that master wanted was for Amy to be happy but the older girl always seemed angry or hostile or upset. It was different every time Grace entered the white room. Fortunately it always ended the same way with a contented grin on Amy's face as she fell asleep. The older girl was getting quieter in her objections. Where there had been anger Grace had begun to hear uncertainty. Teaching her to be happy was making progress, however slow.

When she had her hands and her tongue and her lips on Amy the young woman did seem very certain about what she wanted. More. More. More. Exactly the kind of greedy need that master scolded Grace for when she begged him for things. Grace was eager to help her slave sister. Happy to help.

And soon Amy would be happy and eager, too.

Happy. Eager. Obedient.

The words sloshed about in her head like miniature hormonal tides. She had to take a deep breath to keep from falling over.

A moment later Grace saw her master appear from around the corner. He said nothing as he let her into the room with a little glass dish of fruit, she knew what to do. The lock clicked open. His fingers lingered on her back as he left then the lock clicked closed on the other side.

Grace slipped softly across the room to Amy's sleeping form. She ran her fingers over the older girl's skin as she lay down beside her. "Amy," she whispered.

Her slave sister didn't stir.


Amy rolled over and stared at Grace. Her face was beautifully proportioned and colored as if with subtle make-up, its imperfections smoothed away. A gift from master, Grace was sure. Under the mask Amy looked hollow. "Grace . . ." The rest of the thought faded away as a breath.

"I brought food," said Grace. She offered a slice of the reddish-yellow fruit. "Eat. I was always hungry in here."

The moment the fruit touched the young woman's tongue she sighed in pleasure and Grace followed it with a kiss. She could taste the sweet juices in her mouth. Amy responded with a kiss of her own. When Grace squeezed her breasts Amy's body stretched like a bow, toes curling in ecstasy.

"You're so much better now, Amy. You have simple happy thoughts like me."

"No . . ."

"It won't be long now." She kissed Amy. "You'll be happy." She kissed her again. "Forever." She kissed her on the lips. "And ever." The neck. "And ever." The belly. "And ever."



"Yes, master." She pumped her fingers in her sex. "Yes."

The man, her master, her owner, her captor, caught her hand by the wrist. "I have something much better for you." He dragged her hand up her belly, over breasts, and let her dewy fingers dangle in her mouth. "I'm going to take your body today and then I'm going to give you back your mind."

Amy's eyes opened. "Master . . ."


Her master treated her body nothing like the way Grace did. The girl encouraged further and further with each touch so that it almost felt as though every action was her own idea. Master made love to her quite gently but his touch was firm and controlling. When she was eager he forced her to wait. When she wanted to hold back he pushed though her resistance as though it were nothing.

Her lips parted. Her legs parted. Her thoughts drifted out of focus. Her breath came short.

He kissed her. He caressed her. He whispered to her. He teased her. He made her whimper and beg.

Amy went limp when he finally eased himself inside of her. He moved her slowly so that, hypersexed as she was, release was a long time coming. She tried to speak only to find that the words collapsed on her lips. She mumbled out partly formed thoughts she couldn't remember.

When they were done her head was swimming and she fell against him more out of weakness than desire. "I feel . . . um . . . mmm . . ." She hummed a tuneless song.

"That's good, you need a soft mind for what comes next. No resistance or you'll hurt yourself." He touched the back of her neck. "This will be painful, and I'm sorry for that, but when it's done you'll feel much better."

The gentle enveloping whiteness of the room exploded into a blinding onslaught of searing white light that tore into her eyes and skull. It subsided after a few minutes then collapsed into darkness. She regained consciousness slowly. "Oh my god. What did you do to me?"

"I put your mind back the way it was before."

She rested her head on his chest. "Why . . . I was so happy . . . why . . ."

"To make sure that I could," he said mildly. "I tried with Grace. I tried for months." His voice turned sad. "I think she was too fragile or perhaps my early methods were too blunt. You have been much more successful."

Amy got her breathing back under control as her memories tricked back in. "Why did you take us?"

"Otherwise you would have been killed for what you knew. This is a better use of your life." He placed a hand on her head and gently forced her to look at him. "Now you need to make one last decision with all your faculties intact. Freedom is just outside that door. I'd have to take away a few memories, of course, but you'd be able to live out your life."

She stared at him.

He stayed silent.

Amy drew herself away from him until she was sitting at the footboard of the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest. "I don't want to choose. I can't."

"Of course you can."

She tried to convince herself to leave but all of the objections felt stale. She tried to imagine ways in which freedom was better than the safety of her master's control but all the things she could remember were cold and harsh. Some ember of independence, rekindled by the return of her memories, kept her where she was. If she tried she was sure the dying flame could be brought back to life to keep her warm out in the world.

But she didn't want to live like that.

Amy felt herself crush the last tiny flicker of resistance in her mind and everything went dark. Her eyes opened again in blankness of the room. Happy. Comfortable. Warm. Obedient. Safe. Eager. She felt weightless and free.

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byThe_Fractal_King© 10 comments/ 28471 views/ 5 favorites

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