Brooklyn sighed as she found herself, as always, lingering on the threshold of the gym. She wanted to work out. She really did. She’d made it all the way inside, and managed to change into her workout clothes. She was so close.

And yet she was just so damn tired.

Filled with some kind of masochistic impulse, she’d forced herself out of bed at seven in the morning - on a Saturday, no less - to go to the gym. When she’d set the alarm the night before, Brooklyn had told herself it would feel good. She’d be filled with the satisfaction of having worked out, and her day would have only just begun. That had been the theory, anyway. In practice, she was just standing there, procrastinating and wishing she’d stayed in bed. As if her shitty office job as an under-paid assistant didn’t already tire her out enough.

Why was she doing this to herself? Was this really the best use of her precious weekends? Brooklyn had probably asked herself those questions a hundred times already - whenever she stopped or started her inconsistent workout regimen, in fact. At moments like these, it seemed so easy to give in. But she knew she’d always end up dragging herself back, telling herself that she just needed to shed a few more pounds of her plentiful puppy fat before she could fit into that dress she’d always wanted, and look like the kind of radiant femme goddess she’d always yearned to be.

It would all be worth it in the end, if she ever pushed herself hard enough. Brooklyn had to believe that.

“You!”

Brooklyn practically jumped out of her skin at the sudden, sharp voice, directed straight at her. For a moment, she just glanced around blearily, feeling confused and oddly guilty. Why would someone be talking to her? Had they noticed the awkward way she was lingering? Maybe she was just hearing things. Maybe she needed to go and grab her morning coffee. But after rubbing the sleep from her eyes for a few moments, she was able to discern the silhouette of a tall, sharply dressed woman marching towards her from across the gym.

“M-me?” Brooklyn asked uncertainly.

“That’s right,” the woman said, once she reached Brooklyn’s side. Unlike Brooklyn, she seemed to have no trouble making herself heard over the sound of the gym’s music. “You. You’re exactly what I’m looking for.”

That remark didn’t help Brooklyn feel any less confused. She couldn’t imagine why a woman like this would have any business talking to someone like her, especially at the gym, of all places. The strange woman looked undeniably professional, in her perfectly-fitting black suit jacket and sleek pencil skirt. In fact, once Brooklyn had a chance to get a better look, she realized just how expensive her clothes were. Her white blouse alone looked like it would cost more than one of Brooklyn’s entire paychecks. In fact, with her black hair tied back in a severe bun the way it was, she looked exactly like one of those senior managers that always seemed to end up making Brooklyn’s life hell. But what made it all so much worse was the crisp, cold smirk carved into the woman’s face. Brooklyn couldn’t decide if it made her look more like a shark chasing down a shoal of fish, or a cat with a tiny mouse trapped under its paws.

“Allow me to explain,” the woman said smoothly, before Brooklyn had the chance to do anything else. “I am Zora Carmine. Here, my business card.”

Zora Carmine reached into one of the pockets in her blazer and retrieved a stack of business cards, offering one to Brooklyn, who took it dumbly. ‘ZORA CARMINE,’ it said, in printed block capitals, ‘CEO. AMAZONESS SPORTS AND CLOTHING.’ Brooklyn immediately felt even more like a deer in headlights. A CEO? That was even further above her pay grade. With no pockets in her workout clothes, Brooklyn was left holding Zora’s card awkwardly.

“As you can see, I operate and represent a company that designs, produces and markets sports clothing, equipment and miscellanea.” Zora delivered her pitch like she’d rehearsed it a hundred times. Brooklyn couldn’t help but find that level of ice-cold professionalism disturbing, but even beyond that, there was something uniquely unsettling about this woman. Was it her eyes? Her smile? “Among other things, we trade in sports models, and as CEO, one of my many responsibilities is to oversee the recruitment of new such talent. I’m here in that capacity, and I think you would make a wonderful model for us.”

“You… what?” Brooklyn definitely needed her morning coffee. There was no way she was actually hearing this. “Me? Ms. Carmine, you sure you don’t mean, uh, one of the other women here?”

She gestured around the room. There were half a dozen or so other women, all of them busy working out and all of them clearly in much, much better shape than Brooklyn was.

“I’m not looking for them,” Zora said, without ever taking her eyes away from Brooklyn. Brooklyn noticed her jaw twitching slightly, with impatience. “I’m looking for something special. And please, you can simply call me Zora.”

Brooklyn did a double-take. She couldn’t believe what she was wearing. Being a model was a fantasy, but she knew she didn’t have the confidence for it. And besides, some things were too good to be true. “But I’m not-”

Her words died in her throat when Zora reached out and grabbed Brooklyn firmly by her chin. Somehow, that single, strong touch completely short-circuited Brooklyn’s brain, and she was left staring dumbstruck and helpless at the forceful CEO, even letting Zora manipulate her like a doll, turning her head this way and that to carefully inspect her face from all angles.

“Yes… good…” Zora murmured, entirely to herself. “Good bone structure. Pretty lips. Promising hair. No use right now, of course. But abundant with potential.”

The way she looked at Brooklyn, sizing her up like a piece of meat, made the helpless girl’s blood run cold. But still, she didn’t resist, and she barely breathed until Zora released her grip.

“W… what the hell was…” Brooklyn had no idea what to say, and Zora was still standing uncomfortably close to her, leaving her with no space at all to think or catch her breath.

Zora sighed, and spoke slowly, as if she was dealing with a small child. “I am offering you an opportunity to be my model. Are you going to take it?”

Part of Brooklyn wanted to say ‘yes’ very badly, but another part of her couldn’t bear another moment in the presence of this terrifying woman. Conflicted, she was left stammering stupidly. “I just… I simply… I mean… I d-don’t understand, what do you actually-”

“Be quiet,” Zora snapped, cutting her off once again. Brooklyn’s mouth closed. Zora started tapping her foot, the clack of her high heel loud on the gym’s hard floor. “I suppose it’s fortunate I don’t require your intellect for you to be an important asset for my company.”

Her tone was withering enough to make Brooklyn shrink. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to fight back, to walk off or make some kind of equally rude comment in return, but she simply couldn’t. Zora was a picture of confidence and authority. She spoke like she’d never once in her life been disobeyed, and every single fold in her unbelievably expensive-looking suit was ironed, tailored and styled to perfect. She was exactly the kind of woman Brooklyn was awful at standing up to.

“Allow me to make everything much simpler for you.” Zora put her hand up to Brooklyn’s face again, ignoring the way the intimidated girl flinched. But instead of grabbing her firmly by the chin, she instead simply touched her fingertips to the side of Brooklyn’s face, slowly and languidly drawing the tips of her manicured nails across Brooklyn’s skin as she stroked her cheek. “Just listen to me. Listen very closely. Even you can do that much, can’t you?”

“W-what… what are you doing?” Brooklyn managed to force out. She felt unbelievably weak, and all she could think about was the way all the hairs on her skin were standing on end. Why was a single touch ruining her this much?

“I’m hypnotizing you,” Zora told her matter-of-factly. “You’re clearly incapable of making a sensible decision by yourself. Now, look into my eyes.”

Hypnotizing her? It sounded like a bad joke, but Brooklyn couldn’t find the humor in it when she found her eyes obediently turning upwards to gaze into Zora’s. The haughty CEO’s stare was utterly commanding and utterly cold.

“It’s really very simple,” Zora told her quietly and efficiently, holding her gaze without blinking. “I’m going to overwhelm your poor, stupid little mind with confusing, ambiguous sensations until your consciousness gives in and submits to me. Understand?”

Brooklyn felt the insane urge to nod agreeably, but she couldn’t even manage that. She was frozen stiff. Zora’s touch on her skin was as light as air - so light, it felt more like a gentle breeze than a touch. It was captivating. Somehow, it was so delicate it seemed to swallow up all of Brooklyn’s attention.

“You see,” Zora continued, raising her other hand to touch the other side of Brooklyn’s face, her fingertips moving together symmetrically. “Right now, your body can’t quite tell if it’s being touched or not, and that’s driving you crazy. Until your brain makes up its mind about that, it’s just going to stall out uselessly. And I won’t let it make up its mind.”

Brooklyn found herself sweating. It was true. It was working just like Zora said. She could feel it. No matter how hard she berated herself, she just couldn’t think. It was maddening, and made her feel small and stupid, especially under Zora’s withering gaze. It didn’t help that she felt like she was getting tunnel vision. The gym around her was falling into the void. All she could see was Zora’s pale blue eyes.

“Eye contact is part of it too,” Zora added, as if she was sensing Brooklyn’s thoughts. “It’s one more thing for your poor, weak mind to struggle to focus on, and it has a naturally compelling effect on the human mind. Did you know that wolves use eye contact to establish dominance? It’s animal, instinctive.”

Brooklyn would have done anything to be allowed to blink, but she couldn’t do that either. She couldn’t do anything. She was helpless. She was in Zora’s power. The business card slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor.

“Oh, and I’m not telling you all of this simply for fun.” Out of the corners of her rapidly-shrinking vision, Brooklyn could see the corners of Zora’s lips curling into a victorious smirk. “I’m telling you this to plant suggestions in your mind. I’m priming you to accept my words as the truth, and to let them guide you into a hypnotic trance. You can’t resist it, Brooklyn. You’re already too far gone for that.”

Brooklyn started trembling, white spots appearing in her field of view. If Zora could just stop touching her for just one moment…

“So now that you know that,” Zora concluded, bringing her fingertips together on Brooklyn’s forehead, still using that maddening light touch to keep her from fighting back. “I can tell you that I’m going to bring my hands down your face. And when I do, I’m going to tell you to sleep. And when I do that, you’re going to close your eyes, and you’re going to go to sleep for me. Understand?”

Brooklyn tried to force herself to shake her head, but she failed yet again, and Zora seemed to take the weak, dizzy, sleepy look in her eyes for acceptance. 

“Good.” She dragged her fingertips down across Brooklyn’s face, and the moment they passed her eyes, Brooklyn’s eyelids fell shut. “Sleep.”

And that was the last thing Brooklyn remembered.

***

When awareness started to return to Brooklyn, it came slowly. She started to become conscious of where she was and what she was doing, but it all felt distant, like she was in a dream. She could see herself, feel herself, but not control herself. Everything happened automatically. Even the burning ache of her muscles as she worked out felt muted and numb.

The workout felt like it lasted for an eternity. Certainly, it lasted a very long time. Brooklyn felt herself go through set after set of pull-ups, sit-ups, and squats. She went through almost every single weight machine in the entire gym, working them until her body was on the verge of giving out. She’d entered the gym in the early morning, but by the time her exertions came to an end, the sun was high in the sky. Despite how strange and concerning the experience was, Brooklyn felt faintly proud of herself. This was the kind of exercise regimen she’d always told herself she wanted. But whatever pride and pleasure she might have taken in the achievement was dulled by what she could always see, out of the corner of her eye.

Zora Carmine, intently watching her work out.

The sight of the rich, stern-looking CEO filled Brooklyn’s stomach with butterflies, but she couldn’t have explained why. It didn’t help that she remembered so little of their earlier conversation. She remembered Zora introducing herself, she remembered something about a modeling gig… and that was it. But then, why did she feel so beholden of the strange woman? Why did she feel so afraid? Why did Zora’s cruel smile of approval send a pleasurable chill down her spine? It made no sense, but what made even less sense was the way Zora approached her once she was done with her workout.

“That was perfect, Brooklyn,” she purred, eyes shining. “Well, for your first day, anyway. I knew it. You’re going to be an ideal asset.”

Brooklyn’s chills doubled. “T-thank you, uh, Zora,” she replied awkwardly.

Zora tapped her chin with a fingertip. “Actually, I think you should really call me ‘Ms. Carmine’ from now on, don’t you agree?” It sounded like a polite suggestion, but the steel beneath her words made it clear it was anything but.

Brooklyn instinctively straightened her back a little. “Right. Of course. Yes, Ms. Carmine.”  Why was she acting like this? Why was she being obedient? What was going on?

“Good girl,” Ms. Carmine told her, and Brooklyn almost gasped at how it felt. “Well, I expect to see you back here tomorrow. Understood?”

“T-tomorrow?” Brooklyn asked timidly, already having to fight the compulsion to simply agree. She hadn’t been planning on coming to the gym twice in a row, had she?

“Oh yes,” Ms. Carmine answered, laughing. “You have to work out daily, Brooklyn. It’s in your contract.”

“My… what?” Alarm bells were ringing everywhere in Brooklyn’s head.

“Your contract.” Ms. Carmine reached into her handbag and unfurled from it a piece of paper. From what Brooklyn could see, it was indeed a legal contract. And on the bottom, in unmistakable handwriting, was Brooklyn’s signature.

Brooklyn’s blood ran cold. She didn’t remember signing any contract. “T-t-that’s impossible!” she blurted out, panicked.

“Brooklyn,” Ms. Carmine said pityingly, laughing again. “It’s not impossible at all. In fact, it’s signed in triplicate. The other copies have already been validated by my legal department.

Brooklyn’s head started to spin like she was falling, as it dawned on her just how much trouble she was in.

“You’re more than welcome to reacquaint yourself with the precise terms at your leisure,” Ms. Carmine finished, turning on her heels and striding away. “But I’d be happy to summarize them for you. It’s really very simple.”

Somehow, Brooklyn just knew what she was going to say next.

“I own you now.”

***

“Six… seven… eight… nine… ten.”

The room was silent, save for the sound of Brooklyn’s weighty grunts as she counted her reps. No more public gyms for her. She exercised in the private suite at Ms. Carmine’s company. She couldn’t quite remember how long that had been the case. Just like she couldn’t remember how long she’d been working for Ms. Carmine, or how long it had been since she’d quit her old job. In fact, she couldn’t even remember what her old job had been.

None of which bothered her at all. Brooklyn cared about nothing except the ecstatic burning in her hips as she forced herself through the last few squats of her set. She lived for that feeling now: the burn, the gains, the wonderful exhaustion that came from a whole day devoted to improving her physique.

And how she’d improved her physique!

In the time - weeks? months? who knew? - since Ms. Carmine had become her manager, Brooklyn’s body had changed almost beyond recognition. There was no more of that puppy fat left anywhere on her. Instead, she had biceps that bulged when she flexed, and thighs that could crush a watermelon with ease. Wherever she went, she had people staring at her chiseled abs and round, firm ass. She was built like an amazon now, and Brooklyn loved it. Whenever she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she always ended up spending whole minutes admiring herself, a big, dumb grin on her face.

It wasn’t just the muscles, though. It was also the style. Her long hair was gone, cut dyke-short, and Ms. Carmine insisted she dressed the way a sports model should, which seemed to mean a lot of yoga pants, tight jeans, and flannel over a crop top or even just a sports bra. Brooklyn loved showing off her abs that way. It was strange, though. She could have sworn she remembered longing to wear dresses and skirts instead. Sometimes she got confused about that.

Fortunately, whenever she got confused, Ms. Carmine would do something that involved touching Brooklyn’s face, and then all her confusion melted away into thin air. Ms. Carmine was so kind, and so much better at thinking than Brooklyn would ever be.

Well, maybe ‘kind’ wasn’t quite right. Brooklyn’s manager and owner was the strictest and sternest taskmaster she’d ever met. She was always quick with criticism or a withering comment, especially whenever Brooklyn tried taking the initiative about something. But Brooklyn figured it was fine for her to treat her that way.

Ms. Carmine owned her, after all. That always made perfect sense to Brooklyn.

“How are you getting on, Brooklyn?”

At the sound of her owner’s voice, Brooklyn snapped to attention, looking over at the doorway. Ms. Carmine was stood there, wearing, as ever, a finely-tailored suit that made her look just as sharp and vicious as Brooklyn knew her to be.

“I just finished for the day, Ms. Carmine,” Brooklyn reported. She didn’t question why her urge to obey was so powerful. Ms. Carmine was her owner. She had to be loyal to her owner.

“Good.” Ms. Carmine’s small nod of approval had Brooklyn grinning from ear to ear. “You seem like you’re coming along very nicely. Follow me to my office. I want to see how my prize asset is progressing.”

“Yes, Ms. Carmine.”

Ms. Carmine was already turning and walking away. Brooklyn quickly trotted after her, slinging a towel around her neck and using its ends to mop some of the sweat from her brow. She was now far more physically imposing than the businesswoman, but she followed obediently at her heels like a well-trained puppy as Ms. Carmine led her through the private suites of her company’s building, all the way to her personal office. She took her seat behind the desk, leaving Brooklyn standing at attention in front of her.

“Now,” Ms. Carmine said, pouring herself a scotch from the bottle under her desk. “Show me. Pose.”

For Brooklyn, obedience was instinctive and immediate. It had been drilled into her over and over again. She slipped effortlessly into a simple pose, feet at right-angles with one hand resting on her hip and the other hanging at her side. Modeling was being conditioned into her just as much as exercise was. This pose was basic, but designed to draw attention to her hips and powerful arms.

“Very good,” Ms. Carmine purred, sipping from her scotch. “I made the right choice with you - naturally.”

Brooklyn could feel her owner’s eyes across her skin, and it filled with a different kind of heat to the one she’d felt working out. She loved being stared at like that. Like a hunk of meat. She had vague memories of finding attention like that a little off-putting and scary, but that must have been a long time ago. Now, she lived for it. As a model, yearned for women to appreciate her muscles and butch, masc appeal. After all, she was a hunk of meat. Brooklyn was her body. She did little each day except figure out how to make her body more muscular, more defined, more alluring. She knew it was superficial. She knew some of her friends were starting to call her a jock. She didn’t care. She loved it.

Brooklyn held the pose until fresh beads of sweat were forming on her forehead, and she’d go on holding it until Ms. Carmine told her to stop. After a few more minutes, her owner made a little, impatient gesture with her scotch glass.

“Another pose,” she demanded.

“Yes, Ms. Carmine,” Brooklyn said, and obeyed.

Ms. Carmine put her through several more poses, taking her time with each one to carefully study and admire Brooklyn’s new body. As she stared and sipped her drink, she started relaxing a little, gradually slipping out of her suit jacket and loosening her blouse. Brooklyn was on fire from the attention. She couldn’t keep the dumb, jockish grin from her face. She knew she was hot, and she wanted other people to appreciate it too. And the best way to make that happen was to do anything Ms. Carmine wanted.

“Perfect,” Ms. Carmine purred, after several long, arduous minutes spent holding poses. Brooklyn shivered. There was no higher praise. “Brooklyn, why don’t you come here?”

Brooklyn obeyed, walking around Ms. Carmine’s desk until she was standing right in front of her.

“Hmm,” Ms. Carmine mused, finishing the last few sips of her drink. “You know, I think you should be ‘Brooke,’ rather than ‘Brooklyn’. A little less femme. Leans more into your jock girl appeal. What do you think, Brooke?”

Brooklyn - Brooke - just grinned, entirely at ease with having her own name taken from her. “That’s a great idea, Ms. Carmine.”

“Of course it is.” Ms. Carmine set her glass down on her task, and licked her lips. “I think it’s time for me to introduce you to the last part of your training. Get down on your knees.”

Brooke obeyed without question. She looked up. Her owner was looming over her, a wicked expression on her face.

“I want you to go down on me,” Ms, Carmine told her. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Brooke almost said ‘yes’ right away. Almost. But something about what her owner was proposing itched at her uncomfortably, and she couldn’t stop wondering why. Brooke spoke slowly; it had been a long time since she’d had to think for herself, and it didn’t come easily.

“Why, uh, do you want me to do that, Ms. Carmine?” Brooke asked dumbly. “What kind of, um, training is that?”

Ms. Carmine made a displeased little ‘tsk’ noise that made Brooke flinch. “It’s really very simple, for anyone with half a brain,” she snapped. “You’re a model. My model. You exist to look good, and make me money. I’m sure even your empty, muscle-bound head can imagine what certain women might want from a big jock hunk like you. What they might be willing to pay for.”

Brooke’s eyes widened slowly. “You’re… you’re gonna like… sell me?”

“Sell you? Oh please.” Ms. Carmine waved a hand dismissively. “It’s much more profitable to auction off a little time with you, here and there. I’ve put far too much effort into you to simply trade you away.” Despite how much bigger and stronger she now was, Brooke trembled as Ms. Carmine’s smirk became particularly twisted. “At least, not unless you piss me off the way your predecessor did.”

That gave Brooke chills. Being separated from her owner? She couldn’t even imagine it. Serving Ms. Carmine was what made everything make sense. Her owner did all the thinking for her, and all she asked for in exchange was a little loyalty. Only, right now, it wasn’t making sense. Brooke tried to think, and found it so hard. Her head was so foggy these days. She really was a meathead.

“But… uh…” Brooke said slowly. “Doesn’t that seem kinda… like… weird? For a model? Why… why am I even…”

The words came out of her mouth in a thick, deep, drawn-out way that she knew made her sound incredibly stupid. Ms. Carmine knew it too, and laughed in her face.

“I don’t care how you think it seems, idiot.” Brooke’s owner’s scorn felt like a slap to the face. “I don’t pay you to think. I pay you because I want to turn you into a thick-headed himbo girl for me to rent out. Clearly, I need to remind you of a few things.”

“What are you-”

Before Brooke could finish her sentence, Ms. Carmine reached down and pressed a fingertip against Brooke’s forehead. Brooke froze. She was two hundred pounds of amazonian muscle, and Ms. Carmine had made her so weak, a single finger was all it took to render her helpless and mindless.

“You poor, stupid girl,” Ms. Carmine simpered. Her eyes were shining with glee. “You’re such a pathetically slow learner, Brooke. You still don’t seem to understand how this works. You see, you’re a big, dumb jock now. And big, dumb jock girls like you don’t know how to think. All you need to worry about is looking good, and doing what you’re told. That’s why you have clever women like me to make the decisions for you. Do you understand now? Did I say that slowly enough?”

Brooke nodded dumbly. It was starting to make sense again. Each of Ms. Carmine’s words ran right through her to her core. She’d been hypnotized countless times over the course of her training. She had no defenses left. She’d been conditioned to accept everything her owner told her as absolute truth, and her weak, entranced mind would rewrite itself to make sure that was so.

She was stupid. Brooke was a stupid, musclebound jock who couldn’t think for herself - and thankfully, she didn’t need to. Ms. Carmine had told her that hundreds of times, but as ever, it completely undid her. Brooke’s mind went slack, her face relaxing into a dumb, broad, vapid smile as she emptied herself of thought and intelligence. It was so easy to get dumber, now that Ms. Carmine had shown her how. It was just like relaxing a muscle. All Brooke needed to do was relax, and let herself become brainless.

It felt so good, too. Being stupid was incredible. It was a relief, just as relaxing a muscle was. There was such bliss to be had in letting her mind become simple. In letting herself not understand things. In accepting that someone else knew better. Brooke let out a long, happy sigh as she felt her head become light and pleasant, like it was full of so much hot air. Being dumb suited her. No more anxiety, no more stress, no more long, complicated thoughts that had her tying her head in knots. All she had to do was let herself not think, until she got so dumb she couldn’t think even if she wanted to. Ms. Carmine seemed to salivate over telling her that it would start to become permanent. Brooke couldn’t wait.

The last but most important thing about being dumb was that it made her an even better model for Ms. Carmine. Brooke’s owner wanted her to be a big, dumb himbo - the bigger and dumber, the better. And pleasing her owner was the most important thing of all.

Ms. Carmine just watched intently as Brooke’s weak, shattered mind worked its way through those thoughts, practically brainwashing itself at her merest suggestion. She waited until Brooke’s eyes grew wide, glassy and placid.

“There you go.” She laughed cruelly. “Did you finally get that through your tiny little head?”

Brooke nodded thickly, oblivious to the insult.

“Good.” Ms. Carmine started stroking Brooke’s cheek with her thumb, petting her in the condescending, indulgent way she might have petted a prize animal. “So. You’re going to go down on me now, because I’m telling you to. Just like you’ll go down on anyone else, if I tell you to. Understand?”

Brooke nodded again. Her owner’s earlier words were still echoing in her head. All she needed to worry about was looking good and doing what she was told. That was all that mattered.

“Then get to it,” Ms. Carmine ordered sharply, leaning back in her office chair and releasing Brooke’s face.

“Y-yes, Ms. Carmine,” Brooke gasped, as awareness rushed back into her head. With all her hesitation hypnotically banished, she crawled between her owner’s spread legs submissively, mouth open, ready to serve.

As Ms. Carmine leaned back, she reached down to hike up the hem of her neat pencil skirt, exposing that underneath, there was already an unmistakable, throbbing bulge in her tights. Brooke was about to reach up and pull them down, but before she could, her owner used her sharp, manicured fingernails to rip her tights apart impatiently, and swiftly pull her panties aside to let her dick , fully hard, spring forth.

Brooke immediately placed her lips on the tip of her owner’s shaft, and started to suck her cock.

Her first efforts were clumsy and unpracticed, but she more than made up for it with her enthusiasm. This was her owner’s cock. She was pleasuring her owner. That was the most important thing she could imagine. Brooke kissed, licked and sucked adoringly between Ms. Carmine’s legs, all her attention devoted to making her owner feel as good as possible. She knew it probably made for a strange image - a big, strong, toppy-looking butch like her, kneeling and sucking like a submissive slut - but somehow that only added to the perverse joy Brooke took in what she was doing. She knew she made a wonderful submissive. And as Ms. Carmine started to moan from above her, Brooke started to feel a deep satisfaction in the primal, butch, cavewoman part of her brain. Making other girls moan was what jock girls like her were for. It stroked her ego like nothing else.

Until Ms. Carmine reached down and chided her with a small but sharp slap to the face.

“Wow, you really do need training,” Brooke’s owner moaned, callously grabbing Brooke’s short hair and using it to force the powerless butch girl deeper onto her girlcock. “Fortunately, I’m here to provide.”

Yes, Ms. Carmine, Brooke instinctively tried to reply, but with her mouth full of Ms. Carmine’s thick shaft, all she managed to do was make a series of muffled grunts that seemed only to add to her owner’s pleasure.

“Oh, good girl!” she laughed, making Brooke moan in time with her. “My hypnosis really did a number on you. Guess you were never very smart to begin with, huh?”

Brooke couldn’t reply. All her attention was devoted to keeping herself from choking as Ms. Carmine forced her cock into her throat.

“Well, don’t worry,” Ms. Carmine continued, starting to grind her hips back and forth, fucking Brooke’s face without mercy. “Dumb girls do better with me around. No more thinking. No more hovering at the gym. Just keep getting nice and big and stupid for me, and let me rent you out for other women to use. How does that sound? A life as a brainless himbo sex toy? I think it’s perfect for you.”

Brooke moaned desperately, weakly nodding agreement even as she failed to understand what she was agreeing to. She was getting light-headed. Her owner wasn’t giving her any chances to breathe, but Brooke wasn’t about to tap out. She was loyal and obedient. She was going to whatever she was told, and right now that meant sucking cock.

“Fuck!” Ms. Carmine gasped, her shaft already throbbing dangerously. “Your throat feels so good, Brooke. Once I get you trained into a real suckslut you’re gonna be driving women like me crazy.”

From between her legs, Brooke’s moans only grew louder at the prospect of being an even better submissive for her owner. Driven only by an irresistible urge to please, she used what little remained of her awareness to keep bobbing her head back and forth on Ms. Carmine’s cock in rhythm with the businesswoman’s eager thrusts, clumsily using her tongue to lick the head of her dick whenever she could.

“Mmmf, this is the best,” Ms. Carmine moaned. As much as the blowjob, she seemed to be reveling in what she had done to Brooke. In the fact she had turned a meek office intern into this - into an imposing, butch jock who was currently obsessed with nothing except deep-throating cock. “Fuck, I’m close. You’re going to swallow every drop, understand?”

Brooke was on the verge of passing out from lack of air, leaving her far too brainless to respond - and far too brainless to resist or refuse. When Ms. Carmine’s moans started to turn curt and gruff, Brooke simply braced herself and tried to relax her body as much as she could, fastening her lips around the base of her owner’s cock as Ms. Carmine came, her balls pumping a huge load down Brooke’s throat.

By the time Ms. Carmine released her and allowed to back off for a breath, Brooke was seeing stars. Even once she started to get her breath back, all she could see was Ms. Carmine’s haughty, smirking face staring down at her. Ms. Carmine was, in turn, laughing at the expression on Brooke’s - at the distinct, suggestive blush in her cheeks, at the utterly blank, blissed-out, unintelligent look in her eyes, and at the small trickle of cum and drool that had just barely managed to escape the brainwashed girl’s lips.

“Not bad for a first time,” Ms. Carmine praised, using one finger to clean up the mess and then slipping it past Brooke’s lips for her to suck on obediently. “You’re definitely a keeper, Brooke, at least for now. In fact, I think we might almost be ready for your first auction.”

***

“As you can see, she’s one of the finest specimens I’ve yet produced,” Ms. Carmine announced, owning the whole stage with her unshakable confidence even when she was just standing at a podium set to one side, speaking into a microphone. “And a very promising young talent. She’s already been featured in sports magazines across the country - as well as some other, rather more adult publications.”

A small, appreciative laugh ran around the room. Ms. Carmine was smiling. She had her clients in the palm of her hand.

“I’m sure discerning buyers such as yourselves need no more introduction to Brooke Mayer than that,” she concluded, spreading her palms. “So, shall we start the bidding at five thousand dollars for a night with her?”

Instantly, hands started flying up around the room. Ms. Carmine started counting, listing off bids and bidders. Brooke ignored all of it. She didn’t need to understand the fine details of what was going on, and besides, large numbers had quickly become something of a weak point of hers.

She just needed to pose and look like the hottest slab of lesbian beef on the menu - in some of Ms. Carmine’s more offhanded words - and that was exactly what Brooke was doing. To her, the auction was just another catwalk. She was wearing tight jeans, an open flannel shirt, and nothing else. Her pose was meant to look casual, like she wasn’t showing impossibly good abs and like her flannel shirt wasn’t constantly threatening to fall a little further open and expose her tits. The room was filled with women in expensive suits, and all their eyes were on Brooke. She loved it. It got her so hot.

Brooke didn’t mind being auctioned off anymore. Not at all. A few private conversations with her owner had set her straight about that. She was a submissive. An asset. It was only sensible for Ms. Carmine to make money off of her. And besides, making other women moan all night long was exactly what a dumb jock like lived for.

But even that didn’t matter. Not really. All that mattered was that she was doing what she was told. Everything was better when Ms. Carmine did all the thinking for her.

“And… sold!” Ms. Carmine declared, as the room filled with polite applause. “Congratulations on your prize, Ms. Wardell. I certainly won’t force you to sit through any more formalities. You’re welcome to enjoy your new purchase right away.”

A tall, handsome, rich-looking woman in the third row of the auditorium rose to her feet and started making her way towards the exit with a gracious nod. Brooke also started to leave the stage. She knew Ms. Carmine had prepared a private room for them, and she knew she was going to spend the rest of the night doing whatever she could to blow Ms. Wardell’s mind.

As she left the stage, she passed behind Ms. Carmine, who stopped her briefly with a hand. Brooke’s owner put her lips close to Brooke’s ear, and whispered in poisonous, sadistic tones:

“Let’s see what you can do, fucktoy. Do a good job with her, and I’ll use your ass just the way you like tomorrow. Do a bad job, and… well… maybe I’ll have to reconsider about auctioning you off permanently.”

Brooke shivered, blushing. She didn’t bristle at the cruel threat. Her owner had made her perfectly docile and perfectly loyal. All she wanted was to please - but the prospect of her owner fucking her as a reward certainly bolstered her enthusiasm.

“Yes, Ms. Carmine,” Brooke replied submissively, and hurried off to seduce the woman who had bought her, just as she knew she’d be doing over and over and over again.

At least, for as long as she was still valuable.