tagMind ControlThe Process Pt. 03

The Process Pt. 03


Blindfolded and gagged, body tied down onto the bed while the earbuds pump insidious thoughts into her mind and her cunt overflows. As has become her routine now, two weeks on.

As always, her handler stands nearby, watching her. So far, she has taken exceptionally well to the conditioning, but this was only to be expected. After all, anyone who is actually willing to consider becoming a slave, giving up her entire previous existence, placing her absolutely and irreparably in the hands of strangers, giving up all further decisions regarding her own life - and then actually goes through with it is someone who is halfway there.

The hard part comes later.

The handler knows, from his many years of experience in this strange career of his, that no two slaves are the same. Even if the final goal is full depersonalisation - or as full as depersonalisation can be, at least - there is no one template, method, or specific procedure that applies equally to each candidate. Enslavement cannot be turned into an industrial process, but rather requires extensive expertise and hands-on work. In fact, that is one of the reasons why the final result is so expensive: slaves are a commodity whose value systematically outstrips to an obscene degree that of any other luxury item.

Ironically enough, what you need to really, utterly break a woman and turn her into a slave is knowing what she needs. Which involves knowing how that need came about. People rarely - the handler would say never - have this degree of self-knowledge, but rather experience only the outward effects of these deep grooves in their psyches: their kinks and fantasies the epiphenomena of the dark layers beneath, of which they remain entirely unaware.

He remembers the masochist who ultimately was trying to get her mother to comfort her; the housemaid who would keep breaking glasses to be punished as she felt she deserved; the sex slave who needed to be fucked like an animal to feel that she actually existed, the very reality of her body. Once he has cracked the case, as he puts it, the real enslavement can take place, following the structures in the slave's mind which have been laid bare, and establishing an unshakeable foundation. In a way, it is a sort of therapy - forcing the woman to become the slave she really is beneath all the layers and accretions, in the unique way in which only she can become. Then matching her - and altering her, if necessary - to meet the specifications given by a suitable owner who can be assured of a lifelong possession, because by then the slave's nature has become the core of her existence, and is as natural and as vital to her as breathing.

He likes to think of himself as a benefactor of sorts.

He takes another look at his notes on Anna, who is proving to be a somewhat baffling case. The lonely single child of loving parents who died in an accident when she was seven, she received an excellent education at a boarding school and then in university thanks to a hedge fund. She then seems to have worked her way to a good social position through sheer determination. Pleasant but introverted, never had any real friends although she was generally well liked. A couple of boyfriends but nothing serious. Some BDSM experimenting with dominants she had carefully vetted previously. Obviously an intelligent, self-reliant woman with sufficient insight into her own needs as to try and manage them in a satisfactory way. Only, it clearly had not been enough.

He has discarded some of the obvious possibilities. Not a masochist (at least not a physical one). Not a repressed woman who needs a Master's command to release her from being responsible for her own desires. Not bisexually curious, although her own preferences seem to matter little to her. Competent at service, although she seems equally content, if not more so, to be left staring at a wall for hours. When touched, spoken to, or even looked at by her handler, she immediately grows damp in the most satisfying way. And then there is her extreme susceptibility to hypnosis.

There are resistances, of course, but they appear in odd places. For example, her submitting passively to the ministrations of the two house slaves, but then reacting so strongly to her handler's spitting in her mouth. Her being more than happy and eager to fellate any man in the house, yet finding it so hard to speak about herself when not under hypnosis (and even under hypnosis it's considerably harder than with most women). Her lack of shame in being naked, but her finding it so hard to masturbate while watched. Her general submissiveness but unusually intense reactions during their one-on-one sessions.

He frowns, puzzled, then takes a look at Anna, who by now is writhing and pulling against her restraints, moaning inaudibly from behind her gag. He clicks on a remote control and the voice in her ears echoes in the room: "...no mind. There is no mind, only my words. My words are your thoughts. You are blank and empty and void, a vessel to be filled, an extension of my will. You are empty and blank and null. You will be filled with my thoughts and desires. You must be filled. Beg me to fill you."

Anna's hips are bucking now, and her usually white skin is flushed as her body tenses, a taut, sweaty bow stretched against her bonds. Her handler watches her for a few seconds in silence, then can't help himself any more. He mutes the voice, then, undoing his belt and trousers, approaches the bed, takes hold of Anna's hips, and enters her.

She bucks and grips as she feels him inside. He holds her by her throat, and hisses in her ear: "Obey, Anna. You are nothing. You are mine. CUM." And her cunt clenches spasmodically around him as he pours himself hotly into her.


She has been assigned as a maid in the kitchens under Astrid's supervision, as a way, she senses, of gradually easing her into stricter forms of service. She throws herself into this work, scouring pans, wiping the countertops down, mopping floors with a thoroughness that surprises her. And then sexually servicing Astrid and Sylvia - as well as occasional, anonymous males - with her mouth when commanded with equal thoroughness.

Her handler watches in silence from the library through the CCTV cameras hidden in the kitchens. His assistant, a younger man, watches too, standing next to him. "Not bad, eh? She seems to be taking pretty well to the conditioning. Looks like you've got a natural on your hands there."

Her handler frowns slightly. "This isn't right. There's something missing here."

"Missing? What do you mean? Peter, for fuck's sake, the girl's perfect! Fully pliable, compliant, extremely suggestible, eager to serve, accepting everything you throw at her. Can't just you accept that you don't have to work so much for once in your life?"

"She's holding something back", mutters her handler, staring at the screen, watching as Anna proceeds to kneel down in front of a male supervisor and hungrily takes him in her mouth. "I have no idea what it is, but I intend to find out."


She is kneeling again in front of him. Naked, thighs spread wide displaying her shaven pubis, arms folded behind her back, eyes lowered. Dark hair falling over one shoulder, lips parted. The perfect slave in the perfect slave pose, apparently. And yet.

He has kept her awake because he wants to observe her in her conscious state. Which, unlike other slaves who need continuous stimulus, apparently can take long periods of waiting and silence with no problem whatsoever. She retreats into her mind, he suspects. She's just giving me her body.


She raises her eyes. "Yes, Sir?"

"What are you thinking now?"

"Nothing, Sir."

He can well believe it. She possibly takes so well to hypnosis because her mind blanks naturally and quite easily. Some sort of self-regulatory mechanism, he guesses. Which he will have to smash to smithereens.

"Why do you want this, Anna?"

"I need it, Sir."

"Yes, you already said that. Repeatedly. But why do you need it?"

She stares at him, slightly flushed. Clearly trying to say something, but coming up with nothing. She frowns and seems to struggle, mouthing slightly like a fish out of the water.Then an impotent gaze. Here, he thinks. There's something here. But what?

"I don't know, Sir."

"When do you remember starting to have these feelings, Anna?"

"I have had very strong submissive fantasies for as long as I can remember, Sir. Since I was a little girl. I remember fantasising that a boy in the playground would tie me down with my skipping rope. I must have been about four."

He smiles slightly. "Were you now. What else?"

"I would masturbate furiously, Sir. It terrified me. I felt like a monster. And then I came across The Story of O when I was fifteen and understood what was going on. It didn't stop frightening me, but I least I understood some more."

"Yes", nods her handler, who has already extracted all the evolution of her younger fantasies while she was under hypnosis. "But I'm interested in earlier times. You say you were four when you started having these fantasies?"

"That's as far as I can remember, Sir."

"When did you start thinking about slaves, Anna?"

She blinks. Says nothing, clearly confused.

"Let's put it otherwise. What springs to your mind when the word 'slavery' is mentioned?"

She looks down, now completely flushed. "This, Sir."

"No. This is what happened when you asked for it. But I want to know why you asked for it. What was - and is - in your mind that made you ask for it. Details. Tell me: what do you associate with slavery, Anna?"

"This, Sir," she repeats, gazing intently at the carpet, her voice tiny. "Being owned. Being a possession. Having a Master."

"That's rather generic, Anna. I want to know what images you have in your mind, what fantasies. What you see in your mind's eye."

Emotions run across her face and her handler really wishes that he could have the brain-reading devices that feature so prominently in so many mind-control stories so that he could know exactly what is going through her mind. But all he can do is watch as she swallows hard and settles finally on a neutral expression. "I don't know, Sir. It's this. I can't really see anything else."

She's lying. He quickly goes down on one knee and grabs Anna by the neck with one hand while hooking two fingers into wet cunt. "Look into my eyes. Obey, Anna. Tell me what you are thinking."

Something suddenly strong courses across her body and her face, so that she seems to twist around his fingers in a mixture of shame, arousal, frustration, submissiveness, and - irritation? He pushes deeper, hitting her G spot in exactly the way which he knows brings her to the brink, whispering in her ear: "Obey, Anna. You are a slave. Obey your owner. Open your mind and let me in. Obey."

She struggles against his hand, her breath increasingly laboured, her hips starting to pump compulsively against the firmness of her hand. She looks down, avoiding his searching eyes, her face darkened with her conflicting emotions. She is so close, he can feel it on his fingertips, he can smell it, so close now...

And then suddenly she looks up with an expression he has never seen before - her face contorted in resistance and despair and sheer fury - and spits at him: "FUCK YOU!"

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