tagMind ControlThe Process Pt. 02

The Process Pt. 02



She wakes up in the dark. Hands tied before her, ankles bound, a gag in her mouth, lying on her side. She moves a little and her knee knocks against something. She moves more, and bumps her head and back and feet. She hears the sound of an engine, feels movement, and realises that she must be in the back of a car. In some kind of box in the boot of a car. They must be taking her out of the hotel.

She starts knocking on the side of the box with her feet and knees, her screaming muffled by the gag. Horrible images course through her mind: that she will be left here forever, abandoned, to die of asphyxiation; that the car will be plunged into a river with her inside; that she will be dropped into a vat of concrete; that she is being handed over to snuff film makers... Panic and claustrophobia overcome her. She has never been so terrified in her life. Like a wild animal fighting death, she thrashes in the dark, desperate to break the box, to make enough noise that someone will hear, anyone...

Either the driver has heard or they have arrived at their destination, but after an endless time the car stops. She hears the boot of the car being opened, and feels the box being lifted and dropped - something like a forklift? - then being pushed on wheels. She can hear voices outside, a distant car, the sound of wheels on gravel. She tries to make a noise, but feels suddenly paralysed, so that even her gag would not be required. She is incapable of screaming.

Finally she feels how the box is lifted again, placed on the floor, and opened. She blinks in the sudden light - even though she finds herself in a dimly lit room, the lighting is hard enough after the blackness of the box. She realises her face is sticky with tears and saliva, her body covered in its own urine. She must have wet herself with fear.

Her handler moves into her field of vision and gently lifts her out of the box. She feels suddenly so weak that she cannot even resist or try to stand, but just nestles gratefully into his arms. "I wet myself..." she whimpers, hardly knowing what she is saying.

"You have been in there for a long time, Anna. Hush. Everything's all right."

He carries her through what seem to be endless corridors: dark wood, carpets, dim lights, high ceilings. A country house? Then he walks into a bathroom suite that is almost as large as her old apartment, with a large Jacuzzi tub filled with water in the middle. Two naked women are standing next to it.

Her handler kneels on the edge of the tub and carefully places her in the warm, foamy water. It's such a relief and comfort that she starts sobbing quietly. "I'll see you early tomorrow, Anna. Take good care of her." This to the two women, who, immediately after her handler leaves, get into the water with her and carefully start washing her with sponges.

She tries to make a question, but is too weak and stunned to say anything, and, in any case, the women don't seem too willing to talk. In complete silence, they wash every inch of her body, taking away the foulness and the sweat and the grime. Then one of them gently starts to caress her body, starting at her breasts, then gradually moving down to her vulva, caressing her lips. It is not a teasing movement - rather, she seems to know exactly what to do, what to press, how to stroke - until Anna is on the verge of orgasm. The woman's face remains inexpressive throughout.

She is about to cum, when suddenly the two women make her stand up, dry her in a fluffy bathrobe, and lead her to an adjoining room, where a huge white bed is awaiting her. The women pull back the bed covers and help her to climb in. But they down pull the covers back over her again. Rather, the woman who had previously stroked her - a dark woman of about her age, with large, pendulous breasts and wide hips - goes back to work on her vulva, while the other woman - a younger, slim blonde - kisses her breasts and gradually moves up to her mouth.

A concerted onslaught. She is assailed, unable to defend herself against this intrusive, intense pleasure, but is too weak to struggle or even protest. The dark woman brings her mouth to Anna's lower lips while the blond probes into her mouth, and she surrenders herself to the pleasure. The orgasm, when it comes, is slow and languorous and surreal, like the entire situation. She cries out against the blonde's mouth and almost immediately sinks into a heavy, heavy sleep, oblivious to everything, even to the sound of the two silent women as they close the door on their way out.


She wakes to find the two silent women standing at the foot her bed, staring at her. They are dressed now: the blonde is wearing a short dark blue dress, the dark one is wearing a cream button-down blouse and a dark grey pencil skirt. They are both wearing heels.

"I thought you would be wearing long skirts and your tits would be bare," she tries to joke. "Like in the Story of O?"

The women say nothing, but just bring out some clothes from a wardrobe and proceed to dress her. Dark blue bra and culottes, blue suspenders, dark grey stockings, and a dark blue blouse and black pencil skirt similar to the dark woman's. Black heels.

Once she is dressed, the blonde sits her down on the bed again and starts to do her makeup while the dark woman looks on appraisingly: something creamy on her face, then eyes, mouth, perfume (she sprays in Anna's cleavage, then lifts Anna's skirt to spray some between her legs). Even though she is no longer so weak, Anna submits passively to these strange women's ministrations with no protest, feeling a bit like a doll being passed to and fro. She remembers last night's kisses, and her moisture starts to well up again.

Wordlessly, the dark woman leads her out of the room. They walk down corridors and passages, the dark woman leading, the blonde behind her: past endless dark wooden doors and framed pictures, up flights of stairs, until they reach a large double door. The dark woman knocks, then opens the door, motions for Anna to walk in, and closes the door behind her.

The library in a 19th-century English library, or as close as you can get to it, at least: a huge room with book-lined walls up to the high ceiling. Large windows at the end, overlooking a garden. Her handler is sitting at a desk in front of the windows, writing something in what looks like a ledger. He looks up.

"Ah, Anna. Good morning. I hope you slept well. Breakfast? You must need it after yesterday." He smiles. "And no doubt you'll need your strength again today. Would some toast do?"

She nods mutely, and her handler rings a bell. The blonde comes in. "Sylvia, would you please bring us some toast and... some coffee, yes? Coffee, excellent. And some orange juice too, I think." The blonde nods briskly and - silent as always - closes the door behind her. Anna can hear her steps on the soft carpeting as she hurries down the corridor.

Anna can't help herself. "Are they mute?"

"Sylvia and Astrid? Oh, no. They can speak perfectly well - several languages, actually. It's just that we prefer to keep them silent most of the time. Seen but not heard. They are more useful that way."

"More useful?"

"Astrid is the main housekeeper. Sylvia is her assistant. They are the main slaves in charge of the household - although, of course, there are many other lower servants. You will soon meet them ". He looks at Anna. "I suppose you must be quite a shock for you. Well, I know it is a shock. That's the idea."

"May I ask where I am, Sir?"

"You have been brought to our country estate. This is where the first part of your training will take place. Under my supervision. This was in today's paper - I thought you might want to take a look at it."

He hands her a newspaper cutting. UP-AND-COMING STAR LAWYER KILLED IN FREAK CAR CRASH. The car of Anna Dixon, 37, a Cambridge graduate and a promising barrister at Edmunds, Stark & Gunn, was found in the Severn in the early hours. It is believed that Ms Dixon was on her way to Wales, where she had recently purchased a cottage, to spend the weekend, when her car swerved out of the main road and into the river. Due to the recent floods, emergency services have been unable to search for the body, which may by now have been washed out to the sea. Mark Gunn, a senior partner at her firm, has said "This is a huge blow for us. Anna was..."

She looks up from the clipping, hands shaking. It's real. Suddenly, it has become real. "A cottage?" is all she can croak out.

"For your family. We always try to leave some sort of sizeable inheritance so that the slaves know that their relatives will be taken care of. That sets their minds at rest and makes the process considerably easier."

Her family. Even though there isn't much of it - a single aunt she hasn't spoken to in years, a distant cousin - the thought hits her like a blow. She isn't coming back.

"You no longer exist, Anna," says her handler, as if reading her mind. "Legally, Anna Dixon died three days ago. Your assets have been disposed of, your flat has been emptied, your funeral has taken place - and a lovely one it was, too. Your friends - the few of them you had - will grieve for you, then get on with their lives. It will be as if you had never existed. And indeed, we will try to make it so that it will be as if the person who you still are had never been born. We aren't interested in that. We want the slave."

Anna stares at him, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. Just at that moment, the blonde - Sylvia - comes in and sets a tray with coffee, some toast and jam, and orange juice on the desk. She proceeds to serve her handler, then Anna. "One sugar and two pieces of toast for Anna," he specifies (Sylvia doesn't even bother to look at her). "Good girl," says her handler once Sylvia is done. "Come here."

Sylvia kneels by her handler's chair and gazes up at him, adoringly. He takes a lump of sugar and places it in her mouth. She closes her eyes and shivers visibly as the lump dissolves.

"Thank you, Master," she says then, her voice shaking slightly. He nods at her, and she gets up and leaves the room as swiftly and quietly as usual.

"Did she just...?"

"Oh yes. Sylvia has been conditioned to have an orgasm every time I give her a lump of sugar, for as long as it takes of it to dissolve. She has developed quite a sweet tooth, as you can imagine," he smiles. And commands: "Eat."

Almost as a reflex, Anna picks up a piece of toast and bites into it. It's delicious.

Her handler watches her eat. "It won't always be like this, you know. You must be ready for that. It will be... hard. Very hard. But we prefer - or rather, Iprefer - not to use brute force if possible. And I need to know you. Better than I already do. Better than you know yourself, in fact." Anna swallows. Her mouth is suddenly dry. "I know what you are thinking, Anna," her handler goes on. "You're remembering yesterday. The panic. You're remembering your old life, your friends or at least the people you called friends. It doesn't matter. Come here".

Slowly, Anna leaves the uneaten piece of toast on her plate and walks next to him, to the point where Sylvia had knelt. She kneels.

Her handler caresses the side of her face for a few seconds, then holds her tight. "You are going to become a slave, Anna. Actually, you are already becoming one, fast. That's why you just got up when I told you to do so and knelt without my needing to tell you to. You are a slave, Anna. You have always been. And now everything else is gone. There is no going back." Suddenly he grabs her hair, pulls her head back, and forces her mouth open with his other hand. "This is what you are now, Anna." And spits, a long thread of saliva hanging from his mouth.

She can't help it. She shuts her mouth automatically and tosses her head frantically, trying to avoid his saliva as it dribbles down onto her face. "No, no, no, no! Not that! No, please, no...!"

He holds her chin firmly and rubs his spit all over her closed mouth, her cheeks. "See? I said it would be hard. I just spit on you and see how you react. Don't fool yourself, Anna. You are a slave. But becoming what you are will hurt. To become what you are, we must first destroy what you now are. Completely."

He loosens his grip, and Anna recoils and stands up, escaping his touch.

"Obey, Anna," he says, in a voice like iron. "Stand still. Fixed."

And suddenly, before she can even think, Anna obeys, and stands as rigid as a ramrod. He handler stands up from his chair and moves towards her. "Good," he says, obviously pleased. "I see the triggers are working. Some more conditioning is required now, though, I think..."


A candle, or a light, or... Something shining. Revolving, turning. A crystal? It's hard to tell. She's lost in a haze, lost in a fog of arousal and submission, guided only by the commanding words that demand her answers, that force her to tell the truth even if she doesn't realise it, even if she didn't know it herself.

"Who are you?"

"Anna Dixon."

"No. Who are you?"


"No. Who are you?"

"A slave?"

"Yes. You are a slave. Why are you a slave?"

"I... I don't know."

"Why are you a slave?"

"I need it."

"What do you need?"

"To obey. To serve. To be used. To be owned."


A blind spot, the mind thrashing mutely, unable to comply. "..."

"Never mind. We'll get there eventually".

The interrogation goes on and on and on, like roiling waves over her mind, until it finally collapses and goes completely under, and the words just come out of her mouth on her own like the wetness that is leaking into the towel placed on the armchair beneath her.


And then she is kneeling again in front a mirror, in the library. She doesn't remember kneeling, nor does she remember getting her clothes off, or sliding onto the smooth silvery thing between her legs, or having the earbuds placed in her ears. She can only stare at herself - she thinks it's herself, whatever that is - mouthing the words that are seeping into her mind. "I am a slave. I have given myself. I am owned. There is no going back. I am a slave. I exist only to serve. I exist only to obey. I obey."

Behind her, her handler stands, then leans forwards and removes the device from Anna's vagina (she gasps but continues to recite her mantra). Then he slides his fingers into her wet cunt, takes them out covered in her glistening juices, and removes one of Anna's earbuds. "This is the scent of your slavehood, Anna. Taste it," he whispers in her ear, and rubs the juices on her lips. "Obey, Anna. Cum."

He watches, deep in thought, as she convulses at his feet.

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