The Abduction of Margaret

It was only minutes before her eyelids began to droop, and her limbs relaxed into a drowsy lassitude that left her sprawling onto the soft, cushioned floor. She didn't bother trying to rise; it wasn't as if she had anywhere to go, anyway. Margaret closed her eyes, and somehow it seemed like she couldn't remember how to open them again. The drugged lethargy swallowed her mind up like a pool of black water, submerging her into darkness even deeper than the cube at night until her awareness slipped away completely once more.

*****

"It's time to open your eyes for me, Maggie." Margaret stirred blearily at the sound of Madame's voice, but it was just another recording. Even so, it was hard to ignore the feeling of eager anticipation that welled up in her chest every time she heard those soft, soothing tones-the only human contact she'd had in what felt like months. She supposed that to that extent, the conditioning had worked. She associated Madame with familiarity, comfort, connection. It was probably why they had Madame record the brainwashing mantras.

"Open your eyes and stare into the spiral for me. Stare, stop thinking, and obey." Margaret knew better than to follow the instructions by now. Instead, she turned to face the opposite wall, looking away from the screen that had already dissolved into a whirling vortex of swirling lights. They'd caught her once or twice, back when the spiral was an unexpected novelty and any kind of light in the darkness of her cell immediately attracted her attention, but Margaret was determined not to let it happen again.

"It's so much easier to follow the patterns and let my voice tell you what to think."Margaret shivered, remembering for herself just how true Madame's words really were. Once she started watching, it was all too easy for her stimulation-starved brain to drink in the trails of light as they wove around each other into a twisting, swirling tunnel that pulled her mind into slack-jawed fascination with the images on the screen. She remembered a moment of astonishment at how effective it all was... and then nothing.

"The less you think, the better you feel. Emptying your mind into the spiral brings you so much peace and pleasure." In a way, Margaret felt a little sheepish about how easily she'd fallen into the swirling patterns on the screen. Somehow, after the sophisticated sensory deprivation and varying routines and strategic deprivation of social contact, it seemed kind of silly that it all came down to plopping her in front of a big cartoon spiral and telling her to listen and obey. And it was even sillier that it actually worked.

"You want more pleasure, pretty girl. It's only natural to want to feel good. And the less you think, the more you listen to my words and follow my instructions, the better you feel." Margaret tried to tell herself that it was every bit as absurd as it sounded to believe that any of this was actually working. Just because she allowed herself to become... distracted, once or twice, it didn't mean that she was actually falling victim to some sort of insidious brainwashing scheme. It only meant that she was bored beyond belief and desperate for any kind of sensory input. She'd probably watch a test pattern the same way.

"When I tell you to stare into the spiral and play with your wet pussy, you feel so much pleasure when you comply." Margaret's fingers twitched reflexively, but she kept them planted firmly on her knees. That had to prove that the conditioning wasn't working, didn't it? If she was really being brainwashed by the spiral and Madame's soft, comforting voice, she would have turned around by now. She would be stroking and rubbing her tingling labia, dipping into her slick cleft to tease her pulsing clit... god, she really did need a good fuck, didn't she?

"And every time you comply, a little bit more of your mind slips away into thoughtless, obedient bliss. Getting more aroused, more happy, more blank and open to my words now, pet." It was enough to make her wish that she'd masturbated more, back before they tried to make her feel like she was only doing it because they told her to. She did it a few times back at the beginning-what else was there to do in the pitch darkness of an empty room? But Madame had dropped a few hints that their hidden cameras could see her even when the lights were out, and she'd decided not to show them anything more than she had to.

"Imagine how good it's going to feel when that pleasure fills you up completely, when you rub your thoughts away and fuck yourself into placid, helpless surrender to your owners." In hindsight, though, Margaret's modesty seemed pointless. It certainly didn't stop Madame from relentlessly coaxing her to play with herself, constantly describing masturbation as just one more way that Margaret was giving in to her captors. It might be blatant reverse psychology, but Margaret was willing to accept a little sexual frustration to keep herself convinced that resistance was possible.

"Imagine how much better the collar will feel around your neck, a warm and constant embrace reminding you that you're a good girl, a happy and contented slave with no desires save obedience." Margaret couldn't help herself, she tugged at the thick leather strap in another futile effort to pull it free from its buckle. She knew it was pointless-even if she somehow managed to loosen the locking mechanism enough to get it off, they'd only put it back on the next time they drugged her into unconsciousness. But she couldn't stop trying. It didn't seem like a coincidence that so much of Madame's mantras drew Margaret's attention back to the collar. She'd feel safer with it off.

"The sweet, gentle caress of the leather against your skin never ends, just like your descent into obedience never ends. You can always sink deeper into the spiral. You can always fill your mind with more pleasure. You can always surrender more and more to our unbreakable control." Not that she was sure that taking off the collar was the safe thing to do at all. Margaret was perilously aware that she was playing a dangerous game when she openly defied their attempts at brainwashing; Madame had made it very clear that while they wanted her to resist, the better to determine exactly how to break her, they also had no use for anyone they couldn't brainwash. Margaret couldn't let them think that she was a waste of time.

"The spiral never ends either, Maggie. Stare deeper, sink deeper, let your thoughts float endlessly into the tunnel of light. Our thoughts will replace them, and you'll be so much happier when they do." But at the same time, she couldn't just go from open defiance to sitting in the middle of the room chanting 'I obey' like a mindless zombie. They'd get suspicious. They wouldn't trust it. She'd never get her chance to escape. No, she had to remain on her guard, stay wary of the constant efforts to numb her mind into compliance, and pretend to sink into obedience so convincingly that she fooled them. Somehow.

"You know exactly what we want you to think, Maggie girl. My voice is always in your mind, telling you how to obey, telling you what to say and what to do as you forget how to be anything but a good slave for us." Maybe she could pretend to play with herself. Just sort of rest her hand on her pubic mound and make moaning sounds. If she got really good at looking down at the floor just below the screen, she might be able to convince them that she was being hypnotized... and Madame was definitely right about one thing. Hours and hours of listening to the recordings gave Margaret a pretty good idea of what a brainwashed slave was supposed to say.

"Our programming feels so much better than your thoughts, Maggie. It feels so good to think the thoughts you've been given, the thoughts etched into your head by deep, irresistible pleasure." For now, she just needed to stay awake. She wasn't sure how much sleep she'd gotten since the last brainwashing session, but it didn't feel like nearly enough. She'd fallen asleep a few times with Madame's voice playing in her ears, the endless soporific chant combining with the lack of regular rest to lull her into a half-doze filled with strange, erotic dreams. It seemed... less than safe to give in to her exhaustion like that.

"Deeper pleasure, good girl. Deeper obedience. Deeper sleep. Rub your mind off to sleep and let my voice fill your world, pretty girl." Margaret's eyelids drooped. But she stayed on her guard. She was determined to resist Madame's programming. She wouldn't look. She wouldn't touch. And she wouldn't give in.

**** *

Of course she gave in.

She wasn't really sure when she started masturbating again. It was a gradual thing, almost accidental; Maggie surfaced from sleep more and more often with her hand nestled between her thighs and Madame's soft voice dripping sweet words into her ears. At first, she pulled her fingers away when she realized what she was doing, but eventually it started to feel too much like work. It felt so comfortable, lying there in a drowsy haze with her index finger rubbing back and forth, around and around her clit in a slow teasing motion, and Maggie could only resist the lazy pleasure for so long when she was constantly turned on like that. After a while, she forgot why she even bothered to try.

It certainly made Madame happy. "That's my good girl," she cooed during one of Maggie's seemingly endless masturbation sessions, her voice slipping in between the recorded recitations so smoothly and easily that it took Maggie a few moments to realize that it was really her. "I'm so proud of you, Maggie. You're doing such a good job, and learning your lessons so well. Tell me, pretty girl, doesn't it feel good to rub your thoughts away for me like that?"

Maggie earned herself a long spell in the darkness that day. She couldn't remember her exact words anymore-it was something defiant, but her brain reflexively shied away now from thinking about anything that might send her back into the void of utter solitude again. Even so, Maggie knew she tried to tell Madame that she wasn't rubbing her thoughts away. She wasn't obeying, she was just... just horny, that was all. Just aching to cum. To clear her head with a good hard orgasm so she could think straight again and make it easier to resist Madame's programming.

Madame didn't like that. The next time the spiral came back-the spiral was Maggie's only source of light now, filling the room with shifting bands of color that flowed ceaselessly over the white vinyl surface wherever Maggie looked-she asked the question again. "I'm so sorry we were interrupted," she said, her voice never losing that poisoned sweetness. "But I believe I had a question for you, and I'm not sure if you answered it correctly. Does it feel good to stare into the spiral and rub your thoughts away for me, Maggie? Take your time and try to think about it."

Maggie definitely took her time. It seemed to stretch like taffy in her head as her eyes followed the swirling patterns of light, as her fingers drifted down between her thighs to tease and stroke her slick, sensitive labia. She couldn't remember when she'd stopped looking away from the spiral, any more than she could recall exactly when she'd given up on resisting the lazy, drifting pleasure of masturbation. It had simply happened. It didn't even affect her the way it used to; she could stare into the whirling patterns for hours, following them down and down, deeper and deeper, and still... still...

Think. She had to think about Madame's question. It was important to get it right-if she answered wrong, Madame's voice would go away, and take the light with it. But she couldn't say yes, she simply couldn't. It wasn't true. Maggie still remembered her name, she could look into the spiral without losing track of Madame's sweet soothing voice and her instructions... she was still resisting. She still knew she was resisting, because... because she could still, um, still... still...

Think. She could think about this. She needed to think about it; Madame was waiting patiently, no doubt watching on the hidden cameras as Maggie stared into the spiral and worked her fingers in and out of her soaking cunt. Maggie couldn't let her think that any of this was having an effect on her, not when she... not when it... Maggie's brain tripped over itself, trying to find the delicate balance between self-defeating defiance and slow, delicious surrender to the pleasure that filled her mind.

If Madame got the idea that the brainwashing was working... if she saw Maggie mindlessly finger-fucking her gushing pussy and heard her admit that she was losing track of everything except her programming... then maybe she would let her guard down. Maybe this wasn't a threat to Maggie's independence at all. Maybe it was the opportunity she had been waiting for all this time. Maybe all she needed to do was convince Madame that she was sinking into blank, blissful obedience, and Madame would let her out.

Or leave the light on for a little while longer. Or keep talking to her. Or at least give her the recording to keep her company, instead of leaving her in darkness and isolation for hours or days or weeks or years or... "Yes, Madame," Maggie murmured. "It feels good to stare into the spiral and rub my thoughts away for you." Her voice sounded strangely vacant and helpless in her own ears. She hoped it was convincing.

It was. At least enough for Madame to keep talking to her. "That's my obedient girl," she purred triumphantly. "You love to be hypnotized and obedient, don't you?" Maggie nodded absently, her fingers still working away in her pussy. The warm, tingling arousal slowly melted into the gentle praise in Madame's voice until Maggie couldn't separate them anymore. She didn't need to, anyway, not yet at least. All she needed to do was convince them that she was giving in, and they would have to let her out.

She just needed to be a little more believable, that was all. They, they could probably still tell that there was a tiny bit of defiance left underneath the surface, they could see it in the darkness when she thought nobody was looking. Maggie needed to remember that. She needed to behave like a good girl, even when no one was watching. Even when she was all by herself, alone in the darkness. If she showed them any resistance at all, then they would see and they would leave her here and she'd never get away.

That idea preyed on Maggie in the 'days' that followed, during the waking periods that she filled with slow, sensuous masturbation to the spiral and Madame's words. How did they know she was still resisting? How did they know she hadn't been brainwashed yet? They must be keeping an even closer eye on her than she imagined; somehow they knew whenever she came, punishing her for her orgasms with silence and darkness that stretched on and on no matter how much she begged Madame to speak to her again. They must be able to tell when she was thinking about escape, too.

Which meant that the only way to truly resist them was to stop even thinking about resistance. Maggie needed to push those thoughts deep down, deep into the core of her very self until even she didn't know they were there. Until anyone looking at her would see only an empty, drooling, obedient slave, mindlessly masturbating and staring into the spiral with glassy eyes as she recited along with Madame's brainwashing mantras.

"It feels so good to comply," Maggie murmured in a vacant monotone, her eyes half-open and unseeing. "It makes me happy to sink deeper into the spiral and stop thinking. I am a mindless slave, and it's so wonderful to... to think only the thoughts my owners give me." Maggie was so proud. She was resisting so well. She had no doubt that she would be free before she knew it.

*****

"Maggie?"

No response.

"Maggie girl, can you hear me?" A moment later, the woman in the small cell nodded, her head bobbing slowly as if moving through thick syrup. The motion was the only sign that she had registered Madame's words at all; her eyes continued to gaze vacantly into the spiral, and her expression remained blank and plastic. Her parted lips curled at the corners in a tiny smile, as if the pleasure coursing through her empty mind was so powerful she could scarcely even register it, and a trickle of drool dribbled down her chin to drip onto her breasts.

If there had been a mirror in the room, Maggie would barely even have recognized herself in it; months of following the experimenters' regimented diet had trimmed her body down into smooth, flowing curves. Her long dark hair had been buzzed into a short, stubbly cut that barely hid her pale scalp. But nothing had changed as much as her eyes. Even if she had looked the same in every other aspect, Margaret would never have known that the mindless, placid woman with the empty stare was her.

In many respects, it wasn't. "Maggie, can you stand for me?" Madame asked, and Maggie rose to her feet robotically to stand, swaying slightly as though in a slight breeze, in front of the screen. Her fingers continued to lightly tease her dripping cunt; masturbation was almost as reflexive as breathing to her now, her hand slipping down to play with herself even when she slept. She ate and drank one-handed, fucking herself even as she drank extra water to make up for the fluids she lost to her constant arousal.

"That's a good girl," Madame continued, her words stroking Maggie's empty mind into a bliss no masturbation could match. "Turn around and walk for me now." Maggie swiveled on her heels, still looking for all the world like a brilliantly constructed automaton, and began to walk to the edge of the cell. She would readily have smacked straight into the wall if allowed; but before she could reach it, a concealed door opened up and she marched out of the small room to stand in a much wider hallway. She didn't respond with surprise, or excitement. She simply continued to march until Madame's voice echoed, "Stop."

The hallway was taller than it was wide, an impressive achievement given that it stretched almost a full twenty feet from one side to the other. Walkways lined either side, each one leading past banks of containers that slid into the walls on purpose-built rails. A massive crane in the center of the room sat idle, but its unique jaws left no doubt that it was there to move the containers in and out as needed. Each container had a number. Each container had a door. Each door looked exactly like the one Maggie had just walked out of.

Not that she noticed any of this. She simply stared straight ahead, her fingers still playing with her soaking cunt.

A blonde Caucasian woman in a lab coat came out of a booth at the far end, the room so vast that it took her almost a full five minutes to reach Maggie's door. Maggie waited patiently for her, staring vacantly into space as though she still saw the spiral in her mind's eye. At long last, she made her way over to where Maggie stood. "Hello," she said, a tender smile on her face. "Do you recognize my voice, Maggie?"

Maggie nodded again, the same exact motion as before. "Good, good," Madame said. Her hand reached out to caress Maggie's cheek, the first human contact Maggie consciously registered in months. "And how do you feel right now?" She smiled proudly as she spoke, looking at Maggie like a proud teacher staring out on a class of graduating students.

Maggie stood in place for a long moment, her mind sluggishly searching for words in a sea of passive pleasure. "...happy," she said at long last, her tiny smile curling a bit more broadly on her cheeks. "Obedient." Madame waited a moment or two longer, but those two words were seemingly all that Maggie was capable of now without further prompting.

"Excellent," Madame said. "And what do you want to do right now, Maggie? If you could do anything in the world, if you could go anywhere that you wanted, what would you be doing right this minute?" She watched Maggie carefully, barely even daring to breathe in anticipation of her response.