tagMind ControlThe Process Pt. 07

The Process Pt. 07

byannadixon©

She is lying on her bed. Yet her arms are not strapped down, and she realises that her mask is off. She touches her face gingerly, worried about what she might find, but feels only smooth skin – no scars or bumps or holes or anything strange. She smiles in relief, as if a huge burden had been lifted off her.

And suddenly hands push her down roughly, tie her down, and bring the dark hood over her head again. She tries to protest, reacting against the loss of the relief, the wonderful feeling of her skin once again, but a thick plug is slid into her mouth hole and she bites down on hard rubber. There are no nostrils in the mask. She realises she cannot breathe, and try to spit the plug out, but a gag is stuck over it, tied around her neck, so it will not budge.

She is choking. Desperately, she tries to force some air in through the sides of her mouth but the plug is too thick, the gag is too thick and tight. There is no air. She sucks in noisily, frantically, through her nose, but there is no space between the tight mask and her skin. She jerks in a panic, trying to break her bonds, trying to shake the mask off, force the plug out of her mouth, but to no avail. She is going to die.

The leather blindfold is brought down over her eyes and she is plunged into darkness as she thrashes wildly. She is going to die, she is dying. Caught in her bonds, the thick black plug filling her mouth, blind. She wishes she would pass out, a merciful death, but she continues to kick and choke and scream behind her gag, and she feels that something else is being laid out on her body – a long, thick dark piece of cloth, from head to toe, covering her like a sheet, like a burqa, like a black shroud enveloping her as she feels her death and her panic and her own horrified, desperate wetness, and she cums helplessly as she ceases to be...

She wakes up screaming.

***

The nurse comes later, when she has lain semi-awake in the drug-induced stupor, strapped to her bed, for hours.

"Already awake?" she says. "There's a surprise for you today. "

She feels hands untying her and helping her up, as usual. But this time, instead of helping her to the wheelchair, the nurse makes her stand up and she finds Dr Farris there, watching her. The nurse makes her stand in front of the mirror on the wall, then Dr Farris steps behind her and starts to undo her mask.

"Let's see what it looks like now."

She feels something being untied, loosened – as if her skull were coming unstitched. Then he pulls, and the leather slides over her face, and off...

She opens her eyes.

A stranger.

Eyes still greenish, but now almond-shaped. High cheekbones. Full lips like swollen plums. A stubble of dark hair. Skin white as a ghost.

A stranger with vacant eyes. Nothing there. Gone.

Her mouth opens, and she screams and screams and screams.

***

What happens then is a blur. Kicking, screaming, biting, slapping – hitting someone (Dr Farris?) biting his face hard, biting the nurse's hand, kicking, running out, trying to escape in her thin hospital gown, barefoot – running desperately down the corridor, screaming, desperately, running, running, trying to escape. Then an impact bringing her down, winding her, throwing her down to the floor, crouching, still kicking and screaming and spitting.

People coming, restraining her. Pulling her arms forcibly through sleeves, tying her arms at her sides – a straitjacket. Then Dr Farris approaching, his face dark like the face of a wrathful god, bending down, gripping her head, and placing a ball gag in her mouth.

"The isolation room. Now," he mutters, and turns around, nursing a bleeding cheek.

She is left lying in the padded cell for what seem to be hours and hours, bucking and thrashing in fury at first. Then crying and sobbing wildly.

The finally a door opens, and Dr Farris appears in the threshold, coldly watching her lying in her straitjacket, covered in tears and snot and the smell of her own fear and desperation and – yes – arousal. He stands back mutely and two male nurses walk in, pick her up, and drag her out of the cell and down neon-lit corridors until they reach a double door. They take her in.

An operating theatre.

She starts struggling again, seized by panic, but the two male nurses hold her in an iron grip. They remove her straitjacket and throw her on the operating table. More people appear to hold her down, and even so she is thrashing so desperately, so wildly, screaming behind the ball gag, that more people have to be called in. Finally they manage to strap her down – these are stronger restraints on her limbs, as well as a vice-like grip around her head.

They are going to lobotomise her. Her heart is thumping so hard and so fast that she must be hyperventilating. But Dr Farris just leans down, removes her gag, and quickly inserts something like a mouthguard that cushions her teeth and goes all the way in, almost down to her uvula. "Drool," he says, slightly disgusted, as he places the ball gag aside. "There'll be plenty more of that soon enough."

Something is crackling next to her head. She can't turn her head to see it, but out of the corner of her eye she catches a glimpse of a large piece of equipment, a large grey metal box, something being started, a low hum.

A nurse approaches her and gently swabs her temples with alcohol. Then something metallic and cool is placed on them, a steel kiss. Her cunt clenches in foreboding, a sick, cold fear coursing through her body, even as her thighs grow sticky with dread and arousal.

A male technician leans over her and attaches cables to the electrodes. Then everyone steps back from the table, and she sees Dr Farris's face hovering above her, dark against the bright light above. God in judgement.

"I said it was punishment," he says softly, and nods.

Lightning strikes her. Seized by a god, her body arched on her heels and neck, taut, a sacrifice on an altar as the current runs through her head and her flesh and her mind, cleansing her, torturing her, fucking her. An electric orgasm, a grand mal seizure, punishing her, loving her, reducing her, ending her, making her blank, nothing, zero. Killing her.

***

It drools. Sitting on the wheelchair, unrestrained – it is too weak, too fuzzy now to need restraints – facing the desk. Vacant, empty, mind gone. No memories, no thoughts, no desires. Lost in the blankness that it has become. Only the whiff of its animal cunt signalling the drives pulsing beneath the skin. Dr Farris gazes at it with a satisfied smile. "Good," he says. "I think we can begin properly now."

***

Hours and hours and hours. Words pouring out of it, compulsively, endlessly, the flow of words unstoppable, words it does not even understand as they flood out, coming from a place inside which it had never even been aware of. Transparent. Open.

The metronome, again. Hours watching it, following the slow light, the hard voice drilling into it, into its empty mind, instructing, training. The orgasms flowing as easy as the words, one after another. Unthinking, blind, the heat flowing through it, cementing the programming.

Naked in a darkened room, on all fours, a collar around its neck. Its mouth wrapped around the cock of the man standing outside the cage, its eyes staring into nothingness. Then a bell rings in a corner, and its cunt clenches and spasms.

On the other side of the two-way mirror, Dr Farris writes down something on a pad. The man next to him frowns, quietly seething. "And may I ask what the point of this is? Other than satisfying your little Pavlovian fantasies?"

Dr Farris raises an eyebrow. "Conditioning is always useful. Implanting various types of triggers in a subject is a very thorough way of ensuring control. I'm surprised you don't know that."

"Don't give me that. I know perfectly well how to use conditioning. But your penchant for paraphernalia is getting ridiculous. There is no need for this... circus." He waves in the general direction of the cage on the other side of the mirror.

Again, Dr Farris raises an eyebrow, buy says nothing. "Well. Shall we discuss my report then?"

"Please," mutters the slave's previous handler, and follows Dr Farris out of the room. Not without taking one long last look at the creature in the cage.

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