tagMind ControlThe Process Pt. 09: Final

The Process Pt. 09: Final

byannadixon©

"Yes, the new embassy building is hideous, n'est-ce pas?" says the man with the French accent. "All this trendy architecture - the concrete, the metal, the ugly spikes. Néanmoins, it is my duty as the ambassador to sit there every day and uphold the virtues of French architecture. Fortunately, from my office building I can only see the garden - so I must be very original, someone who is glad to be in a building just so he won't have to see it."

The other dinner guests titter politely. Then the beautiful woman sitting next to the ambassador - the hostess - turns and says: "Actually, you aren't being that original, I'm afraid, Ambassador. Isn't that similar to what Guy de Maupassant said about the Eiffel Tower? Je déteste la Tour Eiffel. J'y vais manger tous les jours, comme ça, je ne la vois pas."

The ambassador stares for a second, surprised, then laughs. The woman takes a look at the man sitting across the table, who nods with a slight smile, in approval, as the ambassador leans forward and engages her in conversation in French, glimpsing briefly at her décolletage.

***

The hosts stand next to the door as the dinner guests file by. As the woman kisses a blonde socialite goodbye, a male guests shakes the host's hand, moves closer, and says cheerfully: "Congratulations, old chap. She's far too good for the likes of you."

The man smiles, taking a quick side look at his partner, who is being held for a few seconds too long by an elderly MP. "Oh, I'm well aware of that."

After most of the guests have left, the man grabs the woman and squeezes her bottom through the thin eau-de-Nil shift she is wearing.

"Did I do well?" asks the woman, slightly breathlessly, as she starts to be caught in her own arousal. "Did it go well?"

"Well? My dear, you just got us the contract with that look you threw at Williamson. And I think it's fair to say that we will be hearing from the French people soon, too."

The woman smiles radiantly, delighted like a little girl who is elated to be praised.

"I told some friends to stay for a whil" whispers the man, caressing her side and making her shudder. "Could you bring us some coffee up to the library, please? Five cups."

The woman smiles in pleasure and hurries to the kitchen, followed by his fond look.

When the coffee is ready, she carefully sets the cups and cutlery, the hot coffee in its pot, the milk jug, the sugar, the napkins, on a tray and carries them upstairs. She walks up to the library door, knocks, and enters.

The men are sitting around the room, chatting, and stand up as she comes in, helping her to place the tray on the desk. She pours the coffee for each of them, who thank her politely. Then her handler walks up to the door, closes it behind her, moves up to her, and the real meeting starts.

"Deep sleep now, anna."

***

"Can she hear us?"

"Of course she can hear us. She's hypnotised, not asleep."

"That's amazing."

She finds herself in the familiar position - kneeling, thighs spread, arms behind her back, naked. She has a brief flash of the sudden shock of trance crashing over her as a dark wave, the green shift dropping to the floor like a puddle around her feet, her feet stepping out, the collective men from the watching men at her nakedness, her glazed look, her sudden helplessness. Her obedience.

A familiar voice. "To be honest, I didn't think you would be able to pull it off, Peter. Everyone thought she would be far too gone into the brainwashing process, that she would only be of any use as a drone."

"By 'everyone' you mean Farris, I take it".

"Well, yes."

A brief silence. "Farris was right in his diagnosis of her... mental structure, I'll give him that. He underestimated her resilience. I think Farris underestimates human beings as a species, actually."

He takes a look at anna, who is gazing at him, calmly focused, waiting. She can wait the rest of the night - the rest of the week - with no sound, no complaint, even though he can smell her dripping cunt from her seat. He smiles softly. "anna. Come here."

Gracefully, she crawls on all fours towards him and stops between his knees, gazing adoringly up at him. "Good girl," he pats her head. She closes her eyes and nuzzles against his leg, against his hand, happy, asking for nothing.

"I'll be honest, Peter," says another voice, with a slightly awed tinge. "I never thought they would let you out. I didn't think..."

"I sold my shares in my business to buy her. And there was plenty left over to start our business, which, I must say, is going quite well. Everything was done strictly above board."

"Come on, Peter. One doesn't leave our line of work just like that..."

"Well, they have got things on me and I have got things on them. If either party did anything, it would be a lose-lose situation for everyone. It's just a version of the prisoners' dilemma, and I think everyone involved is intelligent enough to understand it." Her handler's tone takes a somewhat steely tone. "So you can go back to Urquhart and tell him that he'll get no trouble from me..." He looks up from ann to his guests. "As long as we get none either."

There is an embarrassed pause - anna can hear the guests shift awkwardly in their seats, slurp their coffee. Then a younger man - her handler's former assistant - can't help himself and asks:

"Was it worth it?"

Her handler leans back and holds her head in his hand, with a sudden twisted smile. He gazes deep into her eyes. "Please him, anna."

Immediately, anna kneels back and stares straight at the younger man. She crawls towards him, holding his gaze, moving her bottom provocatively, allowing her breasts to swing pendulously as she moves. Then she reaches the younger man, kneels, and slowly starts to rub her breasts, her cunt, against his shin. A bitch in heat.

Wordlessly, she reaches forward and undoes his fly. His penis, in full erection, springs out. She has such a determined look in her eyes that the younger man looks rather flustered. She does not even look back to seek permission - she knows perfectly well what her owner wants.

She leans forward and takes him in her mouth. Her owner sips the - excellent - coffee, calmly watching as the younger man groans helplessly and she swallows his cum.

***

"Good girl. I'm so proud of you, anna."

anna purrs like a cat as her owner strokes her naked, wet body. The final guests have left and she has been rewarded: he has allowed her to cum three times while he fingered her.

She smiles, playfully taking his thumb in her mouth. But he knows her better than she knows herself by now. He looks down at her, at her blissful, satisfied face. He knows that she needs something more - it's been days now. It's time.

"anna."

She gazes up at him and sees the change in his expression: now hard, steely, cruel. Impassive. Her throat trembles. "No, please..."

"You know you need it, anna."

"Please".

Ambiguous, as always, although the fear is real. As is the smell of her arousal, once again strong, the moisture seeping again between her thighs.

He grabs her roughly by her hair and leads her into the adjoining room, where the device has been made ready. He then releases her, and she steps naked towards it, a mixture of fear and devotion, like a sacrificial victim. She looks briefly over her shoulder, seeking his look for support, and his expression softens somewhat.

She lies down on the black, soft bed, legs straight, arms by her sides, and waits, like that first time when he had ordered her to lie down and wait. He walks around the bed, running his finger along her body, then up to her head and out of her field of vision. Then he places the open gag in her mouth, the blindfold on her eyes and the world disappears. She panics briefly, as always, but feels his hand on her shoulder steadying her.

"A thing. now."

Darkness within the dark. Then the earbuds slide in, and his voice in its head, moulding, programming it. _nothing. deep now. deep. nothing. no mind. no thoughts. no will. no desire. a thing. a thing to be used. a hole. a thing to be fucked. nothing. nothing_.

The black latex sheet slides over its body as the secret voice hisses in its body, as the vacuum pump hisses the air away. Its owner looks on in interest as the black latex tightens over its body, over its face, over its mouth, covering it, gagging it. A brief spasm as it feels the constriction, the choking, but then it quiets down, passively accepting. Quickly, he leans forward and inserts the tube through which it will breath. Eventually, he knows, there will come a point when, if commanded, it will hold its breath immediately. Indefinitely. Even to the point of asphyxia, should he allow it. Which he won't, of course. Ever.

The tight latex is now revealing the contours of its body in obscene detail, covering it completely except for the area around its cunt - a blind, mindless thing, a thing to be used, stinking of sex, dripping, open.

As always, he can't help himself. He undoes his belt, climbs on top of the tight, black-clad thing, and spurts into almost immediately into its convulsing, gripping cunt, cementing its brainwashing as it crashes into orgasm.

***

After cleaning - almost tenderly - her pubis and gathering himself, he leaves the room. Tomorrow he will wake her up, carry her to their bed, and make love to her before they both go to the board meeting - after all, she's the head of R+D, and a bloody good one (placing her in that position, rather than legal advisory, was a stroke of genius. But he had suspected that she had it in her to be more creative than she had been allowed to for most of her life).

But that will be tomorrow. Tonight she will sink into the depths of nothingness she needs, as she is programmed for the day, in a few weeks' time, when he will use her as a faceless sex slave with a few trusted friends. He may even send her back to Dr Farris to brush up on her treatment for a couple of weeks. After all, he knows what she needs better than she does. And he can't help being amused by Farris's annoyance.

He caresses her thigh through the latex as the creature beneath writhes slightly, reacting to the relentless voice and his touch. "Good night, my love."

And he steps out, shutting the door on the dark room.

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