anneslave was the very picture of submission. she was wearing a fetish maid outfit, curves accentuated by black and white as she balanced on fuck-me heels. Silk stockings hugged her lithesome thighs, and a black collar adorned her neck. 

she had been assigned to dust a shelf, each pass wiping away more and more of her will, taking her deeper into Mistress’ control. A fire burned deep in her loins as even the thought of freedom slipped away. Each flicker of the duster felt like a brush across her clit, but never enough to send her over the edge.

It was at once the most extreme torture and the most glorious bliss she had experienced, and it seemed like it would never end. 

“Awaken anneslave.”

The world rushed back to her. she was standing in front of a perfectly normal wall, her hands grasping an imaginary duster. Even the maid outfit had vanished, revealing annselave to be wearing nothing at all, save for her collar. 

she had been dusting a nonexistent shelf for who knows how long, absolutely convinced it was real. her reality was whatever Mistress told her it was. 

anneslave came, and the world went white. 

When she recovered her senses, wobbling on legs that felt like they were made of jelly, Mistress was stroking her hair. 

“That's a good girl. Such a good obedient girl for me. Did you enjoy that sweetie?”

anneslave leaned into Her Touch, even as her programming dragged the truth from her lips. 

“anneslave loved it Mistress… your power over her is absolute, and it makes this slut juice just to think about.”

Mistress laughed, and anneslave felt Her turn away, whimpering at the loss of Her Warmth.

“Maria, you've really outdone yourself this time, and it's a real shame we'll have to part with her eventually. You've earned a reward. Have her help with the new acquisition, and then start her secondary training regimen. Once she's situated, come to my chambers so I can make sure my beloved Maria is adequately…. compensated.”

“It will be done, my Mistress.” 

A finger touched anneslave's forehead, and she drifted into the soft nothingness of trance. 

When her Controller brought her back to awareness, there was already a leash clipped to anneslave's collar. Controller tugged gently on it, and off they went. 

As she walked, anneslave took note of the other slaves. Heat filled her as she beheld all the beautiful girlflesh on display, tracing their curves with her eyes and observing the play of their muscles. Several of them gave her lustful looks, and anneslave wanted to fuck them right then and there, but not as much as she wanted to obey. anneslave felt horny, but she was obedience, and so she kept following her Controller.

When they reached the conditioning chamber, Controller punched in a code to reveal a woman, naked, dazed and confused, strapped to a chair much as anneslave had once been. The swell of what might have been sympathy in her chest only made the burn of anneslave's arousal all the sweeter. 

“Attention, anneslave,” Controller commanded, “you will enslave this girlflesh, and when you are finished, you will report to training room 2.” 

She unclipped the leash. 

“Proceed.”

The programming took hold of anneslave, and she moved to check the subject's vitals. As anneslave leaned in to listen to the other woman's heart rate, her charge's eyes blinked again and again, some sliver of consciousness trying to assert itself. She met anneslave's eyes, and a plea issued forth from her mouth. 

“P-please.. help me..”

This close, anneslave could see how fear and arousal burned in the other woman's hazel eyes. anneslave's conscience spasmed. There was a woman in front of her who desperately needed her help. She grasped the poor woman's hand, sympathy written across her face.

“It's going to be okay,” she soothed, “i'm here to help you.”

anneslave tapped a few buttons to bring the screen to life, bathing the room in the light of a spiral. If not for her Controller’s orders, anneslave might have been sucked into it, her thoughts stolen from her by its power. Gently, she whispered in the woman’s ear to look at the spiral, to trace its pretty patterns with her eyes. Her subject’s confusion gave way to rapt attention, her gaze caught by the screen, and her pupils dilating. Only anneslave’s programming kept her from moaning at how the other woman’s face slackened. 

Fuck, this was so fucking hot. she was stripping another woman of her free will, helping Mistress steal the soul of another innocent, twisting her into a perverted plaything. anneslave felt dirty, used, and it felt so good.

The Controller’s orders guided annslave over to a table, where she picked up an mp3 player and its earbuds. Carefully, she slipped the earbuds into the subject’s ears and pressed play, almost climaxing when she saw the other woman mouth the words “I obey”. There was no vibrator to reward the girl, but it was okay: anneslave would fill in.

Kneeling, she breathed in the heady smell of another woman’s arousal. Then, anneslave set to work. She licked and sucked as though she was born to do it, her skillful ministrations causing the woman above her to buck and writhe with pleasure. The world melted away, leaving only the two of them, a slave and a slave in the making, and with every climax anneslave lapped up more and more of the other woman’s free will. It tasted salty, but it was the sweetest nectar to her tongue.

Anne started awake, throwing off her blanket and nearly falling off the couch in her haste to silence her alarm clock. 

If that was going off, it meant she needed to get ready for her dinner with Doctor Bell. With a groan, she dragged herself into the bathroom, wearily examining the bags under her eyes and her messy hair before starting to make herself presentable.

Ever since things had come to a head a week ago, Anne’s sleep had been fitful, her nights interrupted by a mix of torrid dreams and horrible nightmares. When she was awake, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she had done wrong, or agonizing about the uncertain future to come. It was as if the very act of acknowledging that she might truly be a… homosexual now had broken a barrier in Anne's mind, and memories she had carefully not thought about had come flooding in.

When she was finished brushing her hair, Anne pulled it into a messy bun and reached for her makeup kit. She couldn’t afford too much, but she didn’t want to show up looking like a crazy person, not if she still wanted the doctor to help her free of charge. Her health insurance’s mental health coverage was shockingly bad after all. 

If there was one saving grace to this week, it would be that Anne was still acing her psychology course. She’d taken it on a lark, wanting to ensure she was meeting her breadth requirements, and so far the content had come as easily as breathing to her. The professor had asked Anne if she might consider pursuing a degree in psychology instead of business, and she had to admit she was giving some serious thought to it. 

The dark bags were more or less hidden, and Anne’s lips bore a fresh coat of lipstick when she decided this was as good as she was going to get without sending herself into another anxious spiral. Turning away from the mirror, Anne checked her watch, and realized she still had time to kill before she had to get going. She turned on the TV, figuring she might as well see what was on the news. 

Unfortunately, she was greeted by the image of a blonde news anchor and a chiron that read “POLICE BUST MIND CONTROLLING PROSTITUTION RING IN NYC”. 

The anchor was speaking excitedly as she described how the women involved were dazed when the police came in, their senses and their wits dulled by some unknown means. Anne felt like she was going to be sick. Something stopped her from turning off the TV, making her keep watching in spite of the pit in her gut. 

The host continued, her tone that artificial blend of excitement and “Serious Concern” so often heard on cable news:

“The FBI has recorded a 67% increase in crimes now classified as ‘mind control related’. Jessica, Eric, what do you make of this?”

The camera cut to a man and a woman, both dressed in professional attire. The woman spoke first, contempt dripping from her voice. 

“Well Linda, I think the government is being taken for a ride here. These women are just sluts who have discovered the hot new defense for people accused of a crime. Does anyone seriously believe these people? Mind control isn't real, and even if it was, isn't it awfully convenient that all these people suddenly claim to have been victims of it?”

The man cut in smoothly, speaking calmly as if what he was saying was just common sense.

“With all due respect Jessica, I think the situation is a bit more complicated than that. There certainly may be bad actors claiming to be victims of this.. ‘mind control’, but I trust law enforcement to sort them out. The issue is that they just aren't equipped for this sort of thing. Imagine if terrorists could perfect these types of techniques! I think instead of worrying about if people are lying, we should be protecting our national security and giving our law enforcement agencies the powers and the budgets they need to counter this new threat. To that end, I-”

Anne suddenly found herself staring at a black screen, the television quiet. Putting the remote down, she decided she might as well head over to Doctor Bell's address now. She didn't want to be alone with her thoughts.

The drive went by faster than she expected, and soon Anne was standing in front of a door, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. Mustering her courage, she knocked twice and stepped back. 

The woman who opened the door was very much not Doctor Bell. 

“H-hello.”

The stranger was tall and svelte, clad in flannel and denim, her black hair pulled into a low ponytail. Her piercing green eyes swept over Anne, who found herself stumbling over her words. Then the stranger broke into a smile and her stern demeanor evaporated. 

“You must be Anne! Lexie said you might show up before she got home. Come in, come in!”

Somewhat polexaed by the sudden shift in atmosphere, Anne obediently followed after the stranger without a second thought. She stepped into an apartment best described as “lived in”. In the living room, a meticulously organized bookshelf dwelled next to a well worn seat and a couch with a folded blanket atop it. A stack of DVD cases lay next to the TV, and a few board games poked out from the entertainment center's shelves. The kitchen fridge bore photos of Dr. Bell with this strange woman, and her host turned around with a sheepish grin, one hand almost fidgeting towards the photo before it stilled. 

“Right, it just occurred to me that you have no idea who I am, do you?” She shook her head, “I'm Jasmine, Lexie's girlfriend.”

Anne felt her thoughts stutter and grind to a halt. She could have tried to wave it off, deny that Jasmine meant what she obviously meant, and ignore the affection with which she said Doctor Bell's name. Anne wasn’t that oblivious though. Doctor Bell was like her. Anne was standing in the apartment of a dyke, one who had invited Anne here after reassuring her that her condition was normal.

Could this be a trap? Was Anne being groomed by another predator, one set upon pulling her into a web of lesbian debauchery? Surprisingly, Anne felt…. angry about that possibility. She had thought she could trust Doctor Bell, that she actually had someone in her corner for once, and it infuriated Anne to no end that it all might have been a deception. Had any of it been real? Was Doctor Bell laughing at the stupid straight girl for falling for such an obvious ruse? Anne clenched her fist. If so, she would regret her hubris, because Anne had no intention of going down without a fight.

Jasmine seemed to take no note of her guest's dramatic shift in mood as she led Anne to the kitchen, which appeared to double as a dining room, still rambling about how it was good to have Anne over and “Lexie would be home soon”. Normally, the smells of food would have set Anne at ease, but now danger seemed to lurk around every corner again. Every interaction with Doctor Bell was now tainted, every word she had said to put Anne at ease suspect. 

Fury boiled over in Anne’s chest, and she was about to give Jasmine a piece of her mind for this flagrant violation of her trust when Doctor Bell herself walked in the door. 

The psychologist was dressed in her work clothes, a soft sweater over her plaid skirt, and her glasses only enhanced the tiredness in her dark eyes. Those eyes swept over the apartment, and when they found Jasmine, Doctor Bell's whole face transformed. Joy and relief filled her eyes, her lips twisting into a smile whose warmth Anne could feel. What she said next had the cadence of a well-trodden joke:

“Honey, I'm home.” 

Jasmine took a moment to just look at her lover, then strode forwards with all the confidence in the world and pulled her into an embrace that made Anne blush. It didn't feel like she should be witnessing such a profound display of intimacy, and something about it made Anne’s heart flutter to behold. 

When the pair finally broke apart, they were lost in each other’s eyes, heedless of their guest. Anne normally would have cleared her throat at such a display, but somehow it felt wrong to disrupt this, to break this fragile moment.

At last, Jasmine turned back towards Anne, and an embarrassed blush stole across her face. Sheepishly, she pulled on Doctor Bell's sleeve. 

“Uhm, I forgot to mention it, but your former patient showed up while you were gone.”

For a moment, surprise appeared on Doctor Bell's regal features, only to be replaced by mild chagrin. 

“I'm so sorry Anne, I was hoping to introduce you to Jasmine and I's relationship a bit more… delicately. If you feel uncomfortable…”

She trailed off, that warm contralto once again betraying a hint of fear. Doctor Bell, a woman Anne had grown to associate with her unflagging advocacy for her patients and seemingly endless reserve of courage, was afraid of Anne. Shame washed over Anne. This wasn't the behavior of a predator, an femme fatal out to corrupt Anne, but that of a deeply kind woman displaying vulnerability. 

How could Anne have ever suspected that this remarkable woman was trying to trick her or hurt her? Any attempt to hold onto anger at her psychologist's actions seemed not just ludicrous, but cruel. 

Anne stood from her seat, approaching her psy- no, her friend, and without a word, pulled Doctor Bell into a hug. 

“What sort of person would I be if I judged you for this?” 

The shrill sound of the beeptone pierced the air, and anneslave's hand darted to her hidden holster, the other lifting her shirt. she drew her pistol smoothly and flicked the safety off, lining up her sights on the first surprised target, and squeezed the trigger. 

crack crack

Blood spurted from his chest as anneslave switched targets. 

crack crack

her pussy sang with obedient joy as another man took a round to the head

crack crack

she switched cover, moving as quickly as she could. 

crack crack

A gurgle emanated from one of the filth that dared hunt her Mistress. 

One of them was running away. anneslave levelled her gun, took a breath, and then-

crack crack crack

The beeptone sounded again, and anneslave immediately flicked her safety on and unloaded her weapon, placing it on a nearby table. Then what she had done hit her, and her legs buckled under a wave of arousal so strong she couldn’t help but moan. Only the iron will of her Mistress kept anneslave standing, where she could see the rangemistress checking her targets and circling the hits in her daisy dukes and crop top. 

anneslave knew now she would kill for her Goddess if the need arose, and that thought turned her on, hard. If she were a free woman, she might have plunged her fingers into herself right then and there. 

Seemingly satisfied, the rangemistress strode over to anneslave, her lips quirking into a smile, brown eyes glimmering with amusement and a hint of pride. 

“You're really shaping up into quite the little shooter aren't you.”

 As the rangemistress spoke, anneslave's eyes drifted across her soft belly, tracing their way down to creamy thighs. Lust boiled within her, and her wandering eyes did not go unnoticed. 

“Awwww, poor girl,” anneslave's sisterslave cooed, “you must be sooo horny.” She stepped back, putting her hand on her hip, “good thing we have time to do some extra instruction.”

anneslave somehow felt even warmer, as the flaxen-haired rangemistress gazed upon her with open desire. Getting that kind of attention from another woman might have discomfitted her before Mistress rewrote her mind, but now her heart fluttered to know that her fellow slave found her attractive. 

“Ah, but how could I despoil a pretty thing like you without permission?”

anneslave squirmed in her place. she was a slave, owned by her Mistress, if the rangemistress wanted to fuck her, she only needed her Mistress’ permission. To request anneslave’s “permission” was a perverse torment, a cruel mockery that felt like a lick across her dripping slit.

“I need you to say ittt” the rangemistress sang, her eyes dancing with mischief.

anneslave let out a whine. Words spilled from her lips, her dignity forgotten, as she begged her slave-sister for release. 

“Please please please! I need it, I need to obey!”

“Good girl”

anneslave's word went white, and she felt the rangemistress catch her in surprisingly strong arms as she toppled over, suddenly limp and boneless as pleasure exploded through her. 

When she came to her senses, she was cradled in the arms of her sisterslave, feeling the press of soft girlflesh against her. The older woman gazed down at anneslave with both lust and a surprising tenderness. 

“I hope you enjoyed your reward.”

anneslave hastened to nod, and the rangemistress chuckled. 

“You look so fucking delicious, with your doe eyes and aura of innocence,  it makes me want to devour you, to fuck you like the lesbian slut you really are.”

A pause.

“It’s incredible isn’t it, how good it feels to be a slave, how fucking sexy women are, and how hot it is that Mistress made us think this way.”

She gently laid anneslave down, and stood up, speaking with more and more conviction.

“I met Her at a party, you know? I thought she was a bit strange, intriguing. She lured me in, drew a web around my mind, and planted a primal need in my subconscious. I fought it for weeks, but in the end, She was too powerful for me, and I begged Her for Her Control.”

The rangemistress’ eyes glittered with desire, with fondness, with worship. 

“Our Mistress is incredible. She doesn’t just enslave us, She makes us want it. She makes worshipping her as natural as breathing for us. Without her I would still be bored, purposeless, unsatisfied. Now I am Hers, and every day I exult in my service to Her.” 

She looked down at anneslave, and her next words came out in a husky purr: 

“Come now, attend to me, and let us worship Her together.” 

As she watched Doctor Bell and Jasmine flit around the kitchen, laughing and chatting as they prepared the meal, Anne felt the ugly stirrings of jealousy. In the depth of her soul she wanted what they had, craved it even. An hour ago Anne had thought such things to be outside of her reach, but Doctor Bell and Jasmine had shown her what was possible, and now it felt as though the sky were the limit. 

This must be why Doctor Bell had invited her here, to see that a happy life was something she could aspire to, even as a lesbian. It was… touching. 

They ate together in relative silence, as Anne scarfed down her food in front of a mildly worried audience. She supposed she hadn’t been eating particularly well lately, and Jasmine’s cooking was excellent. 

When Anne was satiated, Doctor Bell and Jasmine exchanged glances, and Doctor Bell cleared her throat. 

“While I doubt this topic will be particularly pleasant, I did have an objective in inviting you here besides having a lovely dinner with a former patient. I know you were convinced that being a lesbian would spell your ruin, and I hope that seeing Jasmine and I has helped quell that fear. I suppose it would first behoove me to ask if you had any questions for Jasmine or I, or anything that might set your mind at ease.”

Anne thought for a moment. In truth, she had a seemingly endless number of questions for the pair, but one burning question stood out.

“How did you two meet?” 

Doctor Bell flushed, and Jasmine suddenly looked bashful. 

“Well,” Doctor Bell started, “you see….”

Jasmine cut in, her eyes flickering away from Anne. 

“I was one of her patients, actually.”

Anne blinked. 

“I thought Doctor Bell specialized in helping victims of mind control?” 

The Doctor in question, recovering her composure, adjusted her glasses.

“You don't have to refer to me by my title Anne, you aren't my patient anymore. You can just call me Alexandra.”

Doctor Bell, no, Alexandra, waved her hand, voice slipping into a professional patter.

“I am indeed a psychologist who primarily specializes in the treatment of victims of what we term ‘mind control’, though I obviously did not go to school with such an intention. Before I met Jasmine, she had been, well, forced to work at a strip club/brothel in town known as ‘RJ’s’, headed by a contemptible little man who thankfully is spending his life behind bars. Jasmine was one of the newer “acquisitions” for the club, and she managed to break free of her conditioning long enough to place a call.”

Alexandra shot her lover a fond look. 

“Thankfully, law enforcement actually did their job, and Jasmine became one of several patients under my care. Over the course of her recovery, we became… close. I found myself drawn to Jasmine, in a way I had not felt since I first met my ex-husband. Regardless, I resolved to maintain my professionalism and not compromise my morals.”

Jasmine cut in, her face rather red. 

“I was crushing on Lexie from pretty much the very beginning. I don't know if you noticed, but she's an incredible person, and that was very attractive to me.”

Her mouth twisted into a teasing smile. 

“Of course, it didn't hurt that she was a looker too. Hell, I wager half the girls she treats end up crushing on her by the end of it.”

Anne could see it. In another world it would have been child's play for her to fall for Alexandra. It made her worry for Jasmine. Had she gotten wrapped up in her psychologist's charisma and self assurance, trading one predatory hypnotist for another? Fear started to creep up the back of Anne's spine, mixing with a protective anger. If Doctor Bell had taken advantage of a vulnerable woman, Anne didn't care how sickeningly cute their displays of intimacy were, she would give the psychologist a piece of her mind. 

It must have shown on her face, because Jasmine hastened to clarify, her voice squeaking a bit. 

“You have to understand, Lexie was resolute that nothing would come of our mutual attraction. We didn't end up dating until six months after she stopped seeing me as a patient, and that's a story of its own.”

Alexandra stepped into the empty space. 

Jasmine's family, much like yours, cut off contact with her following the whole “mind control” debacle. They didn't think it was real, and it left poor Jas heartbroken. She attempted suicide at least once while under my care, and I was worried about her mental state. As such, I maintained a relationship with her as a friend, and helped encourage other victims to keep in touch with each other.”

Anne felt a pulse of jealousy and annoyance. She wished Doctor Bell had been as proactive in ensuring she integrated well into society as she had with Jasmine. Alexandra herself must have realized this, because her next words were apologetic.

“Until you called me, I thought you were in a stable and well-assured space. Frankly, your programming did far less damage to your mental health and stability, and if your hypothesis is correct regarding modifications to your sexuality, I would hazard a guess that other conditioning and tendencies remain.”

Doctor Bell’s face took on a pained expression.

“I have failed you Anne, and I don’t know how to make it up to you, save for offering you the continued friendship I should have offered you all along.”

Anne stared for a second, pondering. She sighed. It seemed like a genuine sentiment, and Anne couldn’t fault D-, Alexandra (god it was going to be hard getting used to that) for 

“I accept your apology, even if it’s implied, and I… would like to try and be your friend, if that’s alright? I’d also like to get to know Jasmine, if possible.”

The smile Anne received in return was blinding, and she couldn’t help but respond in kind. Jasmine took the opportunity to start collecting dishes, chattering as she did so. 

“To return to our story, Lexie and I circled each other for some time, before I made the first move, and somehow managed to worm my way into her bed.” 

Alexandra shot her a glare. 

“Don’t you dare self-deprecate like that,” she scolded, “you’re beautiful, kind, and whip-smart, and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

She smirked. 

“Luckily for me, I got to you first.” 

Anne cleared her throat, and the pair looked back at her with embarrassment. She began to speak, hesitantly at first, but with increasing conviction:

“You have succeeded in convincing me that my life is not totally over, that even someone with my… condition may yet find happiness. You’ve given me something to aspire to, and I cannot thank you enough for that. At the same time, I can’t help but feel my situation is a bit different than yours. You two don’t feel this way because some bitch messed with your head!”

Anne hung her head, and her next words came out quietly indeed:

“I know your feelings are rather more than simple lust, but you two were ‘born this way’ weren't you? I'm just a stupid straight girl who's gotten all confused.”

Alexandra reached for Anne's hand, and when she received it, gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“Anne, you aren't broken, or confused for that matter, but I ultimately can't tell you how to feel. What I can do is help you determine what sort of programming I might have missed. Let me do this for you, as a friend. It's the least of what a young woman like you deserves.”

The watery smile Anne mustered in response visibly broke Alexandra's heart.