We’re approaching the end of the story - or at least, the parts I’m the most keen to recount! (There are other bits I might share at some point, and some more recent stuff that could well make up a whole new book...)

I want to tell you about this one night in mid-January, where we both had reason to celebrate. A few days ago Richard had learned that this production company were interested in hiring him for their new TV show’s writing team, so he’d been grinning like a lunatic all week. And that day, I’d found out that I got a part in a movie I’d auditioned for just before Christmas! It was a fairly substantial supporting role too.

So we were both in really good moods - and when we’re in good moods, we like to have some hypnotic fun! (Although, same goes for meh moods too, to be honest...) Anyway, we were sitting on the couch chatting to each other, his arm around me, a glass of wine in my hand, a fruity cider in his. We hadn’t got underway yet, we were just talking about all kinds of other shit. And the topic turned to something I’d been thinking about for a while, but more and more lately...

“I have to say, that idea appeals to me,” Richard said with a grin.

“I thought it might,” I giggled. “I mean, you’re having so much fun with one hypnotised plaything, but I’m sure you wouldn’t say no to a second!”

“True enough! Although I might go mad with power,” he chuckled, fanning himself with his hand a little.

“I’ll just have to brat extra hard, bring you back down to Earth,” I said with a wink.

He studied my face for a moment, as if trying to read my mind. (He’d actually convinced me that he was doing that one time. Turned out, I was quietly saying everything I was thinking without realising it. Devious bastard.)

“You’ve mentioned involving another girl before,” he remarked. “I thought you were joking at the time, but now...”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m bi,” I admitted. “But I’ve never been with a girl before - I’ve kissed girls, but I never went any further. And I have no regrets about my life - I love you so much, and I wouldn’t leave you just to satisfy my curiosity...”

“Is it just curiosity, though? I mean, how strong is the - the impulse?”

I considered. “About a 6 out of 10. Maybe 7.” I smiled slyly. “Although that number does tend to rise the more I think about it... Especially thinking about being with another girl who’s also hypnotised!”

“I can’t say I blame you,” he said with a smile. “Women are so hot.”

“I know, right?”

“And hypnotised women are also very hot. So, if you’re serious about this - about trying to find a third person to join us, either for sex or hypnosis or both...”

I nodded eagerly. “I am.”

“Well, then, let’s do it! I mean, I think I’d struggle with having, like, a fully open relationship - I’m not sure I’d be at all comfortable with the idea of you hooking up with women without me - but I’m OK with it if I’m involved...” He screwed up his face. “Does that make me a hypocrite? Or just an arsehole?”

“I think it just makes you a man, sweetie,” I teased. “But I get it. I wouldn’t want you running around with other women, either. But if it’s something we can do together...”

He smiled broadly. “Exactly! So, do we look for a hypnosis partner first, or a sex partner?”

“Sex,” I decided. “We wanna make sure we’re compatible in that area before we even broach the subject of hypnosis. I mean, if she’s not comfortable with being hypnotised, or even with hypnotising me, then that’s fine - as long as she’s good in the bedroom, I’m sure we can cope with keeping hypnosis out of it!”

“It’s a fairly unusual kink,” Richard pointed out. “Much better chance of her being into bondage. So at least one of our kinks will be satisfied! But I don’t see how anyone could say no to trancey, submissive AJ...” He gave me a squeeze.

“I, yeah, that’s...” I blushed and looked away for a moment, regaining my composure. “I am pretty irresistible, aren’t I?”

“Very. But not as irresistible as me and my hypnotic powers,” he teased, stroking my shoulder, sending tingles through me. “At least, on you. You’ve gotten so good at hypnosis, babe - so easy to drop...”

I struggled to control my growing fluster once more, reaching forwards and putting my glass down on the table. “Ha, yeah, I know - I’m so fractionated at this point, I think I’m half in hypnosis pretty much all the time...”

“That’s right, you get hypnotised so much that you’re constantly on the edge of trance,” he said softly, gradually leaning closer to me. “Waiting for me to lead you down, to guide you back under... Ready to drop at a moment’s notice...”

“Nngh,” I managed, already so spacey after only a few seconds. My arms flopped bonelessly at my sides (good thing I put my wine down, huh?), my face relaxed, and my eyelids started to droop.

“Such a good obedient plaything,” he purred in my ear, his hand still caressing my shoulder. “Such a hypnotised slave... Such a mind-controlled puppet...”

His hypno-voice was really getting to me, as were the strokes. My brain was slowing down, just as my pussy really began to stir, conditioned to respond any time I went into hypnosis. But I kept my eyes sluggishly moving around, knowing that I could resist the trance a little better if I continued moving them and didn’t fixate on anyth-

“Look into my eyes, Alyssa.”

I think I managed to resist for about a second and a half? That was my personal worst the previous year, and my personal best this year! Soon though, my eyes were inexorably drawn to his - and pretty much as soon as they made contact, I was lost. As my mind emptied out almost instantly, I made a little stupefied whimper, my mouth falling open as I found myself held by my boyfriend’s - my Master’s - gaze.

“Good girl. So deep down already, and sinking further all the time, all the way to the bottom of the Spiral Seas...”

***

I jerked awake an indeterminate amount of time later to find my forehead resting on Richard’s shoulder, my hair in disarray (as usual). Sitting up straight, I wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth and glared at my boyfriend. “I hope I drenched your shirt, you ass.”

He laughed. “It is a bit soggy! Worth it, though. You’re so adorable when you’re mindless...”

I squirmed, quickly noticing how turned on I already was - and growing hornier from the condescending compliment. “OK then, Mr. Hypnotist, I know you’re dying to tell me what you did to me while I was in trance...”

He sniggered. “What makes you think I did anything? Perhaps I just put you under and then brought you out again...”

I gave him a sceptical look.

“Well, do you feel any different?” he asked. “Do you notice any changes, anything unusual?”

I took a moment to consider. “No... but that doesn’t prove anything. You might’ve done something devious.” I grinned bashfully. “I can never tell when you’ve done something to me...”

“Loop,” he blurted quickly, his face alight with mischief.

I took a moment to consider. “No... but that doesn’t prove anything. You might’ve done something devious.” I grinned bashfully. “I can never tell when you’ve done something to me...”

I took a moment to consider. “No... but that doesn’t prove anything. You might’ve done something devious.” I grinned bashfully. “I can never tell when you’ve done something to me...”

I took a moment to consider. “No... but that doesn’t prove anything. You might’ve done something devious.” I grinned bashfully. “I can never tell when you’ve done something to me...”

His grin spread. “No, clearly you can’t, can you? So easy to control, so pliant and malleable...”

I took a moment to consider. “No... but that doesn’t prove anything. You might’ve done something devious.” I grinned bashfully. “I can never tell when you’ve done something to me...”

Richard got up from the couch and leaned over to the nearest armchair, picking up something we’d left there before. I continued staring at the empty space where he’d been a moment before - as far as I was concerned, he was still there, smirking and teasing me.

I took a moment to consider. “No... but that doesn’t prove anything. You might’ve done something devious.” I grinned bashfully. “I can never tell when you’ve done something to me...”

Sitting down next to me again, he patted me on the head, knowing I wouldn’t even notice. “Nothing going on up there, is there? Just mindlessly repeating... Just blankly obeying... An empty-headed plaything, caught in those few seconds...”

I took a moment to consider. “No... but that doesn’t prove anything. You might’ve done something devious.” I grinned bashfully. “I can never tell when you’ve done something to me...”

“Good girl... Play.”

“Because, well, you usually tell me not to notice. Which is cheating, if you ask me.” I stuck out my tongue at him.

“Not cheating so much as making use of the resources available,” he retorted, glancing down at the object in his hands as he chuckled. It was at that point that I noticed it.

“Oh, great,” I sighed. “Shoulda known you’d bring that out sooner or later.”

He brandished the collar at me, a mocking grin on his face. “Would you care to put it on, AJ, like a good submissive?”

“Nuh uh,” I snarked, folding my arms and shuffling along the couch to get further away from him. “Not a chance. If you want me to wear that, you’ll have to make me.” (Said the hypnotised slavegirl, knowing full well that he can and will.)

He gave me a stern look, eyes wide, mouth set, still holding out the collar for me to take. “It’s good girl time, Alyssa,” he told me.

My own eyes widened. My arms unfolded, slumping to my sides. “Yes, Master,” I said meekly, feeling like the proverbial deer in the headlights.

The next thing I knew, the collar was affixed around my neck, and I was straightening it and extracting stray strands of hair that had got caught beneath it. With my faculties coming back to me, I pouted at my amused and aroused boyfriend. “Not fair!”

“Yeah?” he sniggered. “What are you gonna do about it, huh?”

Despite knowing it was useless, I tried to give him a playful whack in the arm, but my own limbs refused to co-operate. I tried to snark and mock the way I always do, but with my mind collared just like my body, all I could come up with was, “You big bossy meanie!”

He fell about laughing. “Was that really the best you could come up with? Wow, AJ. That was pathetic!”

As I sulked, he slid across the couch towards me and put his arm around me, drawing me into a hug. I let him. I didn’t have much say in the matter. And God damn it, that turned me on.

I lifted my leg over his, positioning my crotch so that I could rub it along his thigh to satisfy my rapidly increasing arousal. I did this knowing there was no point. As long as I was collared, I couldn’t cum unless he let me - and he was mean enough to keep me from doing it for quite some time. (In fact, knowing this only made me more aroused, and more eager to hump his leg...)

He allowed me to do this for a couple of minutes, clearly enjoying it about as much as I was. (Probably more, to be honest, because the lucky bastard had the luxury of being able to cum whenever he wanted.) Then he reached up and tapped me lightly on the nose. “Off you get now, AJ.”

“Yes, Master,” I said automatically, clambering off him with a frustrated moan and sinking back into the couch. I gave him a mutinous glare, writhing a little in my seat as I rubbed my thighs against each other.

He reached behind my head and stroked the back of my neck, sending me into little ecstatic spasms. “Guhh,” I spluttered, trying to squirm away from him (not very successfully).

Eventually withdrawing his hand, he smiled tenderly at me. “God, you’re just delightful, AJ.”

Unable to brat back at him, I simply folded my arms and stared downwards, stubbornly refusing to meet his eye.

He laughed. “OK, I want to test something. Count your fingers from one to ten, and then count back down to one again. I want to see just how restricted your mind is while you wear the collar - maybe it’s keeping some numbers tucked away where you can’t reach them...”

I shot him a sceptical look, unconvinced by this. I’d found myself running through the numbers in my head, and was fairly sure I wasn’t missing any. But then again, if one or two were missing, I probably wouldn’t notice - not unless I counted my fingers and ended up with a different number from ten... So it couldn’t hurt to check, right?

And anyway, he’d phrased that as an order. And with the collar around my neck and my brain, I didn’t have the will to disobey. “Yes, Master,” I said with a sigh, stretching my arms out in front of me.

I began counting, tapping the fingers on each hand, one by one, with the tip of the index finger on the other. “One, two, three, four, five... six, seven, eight, nine, ten.” Didn’t seem like any were missing, but I still counted back down again, because he’d told me to. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six... five, four, three, two, one.”

“Loop.”

I began counting, tapping the fingers on each hand, one by one, with the tip of the index finger on the other. “One, two, three, four, five... six, seven, eight, nine, ten.” Didn’t seem like any were missing, but I still counted back down again, because he’d told me to. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six... five, four, three, two, one.”

I began counting, tapping the fingers on each hand, one by one, with the tip of the index finger on the other. “One, two, three, four, five... six, seven, eight, nine, ten.” Didn’t seem like any were missing, but I still counted back down again, because he’d told me to. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six... five, four, three, two, one.”

I began counting, tapping the fingers on each hand, one by one, with the tip of the index finger on the other. “One, two, three, four, five... six, seven, eight, nine, ten.” Didn’t seem like any were missing, but I still counted back down again, because he’d told me to. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six... five, four, three, two, one.”

You get the picture.

I don’t actually know many times I went up and down, from one to ten to one - it can be hard to keep track of time when you’re in a time loop! But it was quite a few times. Maybe nine or ten? Plenty long enough for Richard Fuck Hawk Yorke to go and refill his cider, anyway - and pour a glass of water for me.

As he returned from the kitchen and sat back down beside me, he waved a hand in front of my face, getting absolutely no response. He let me run through my little countdown once more, and then said, “Play.”

Lowering my arms, I stared at him. “Nope, not missing any. At least, I don’t think I am. Unless you’ve been even sneakier than usual.” Noticing my throat was quite dry, I reached for my wine glass - but, noticing the full glass of water, I took that instead, not registering that it seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere while I’d been counting.

“Well, that must be a relief for you,” he said with a mischievous smile. “I know how frustrated you get when you forget things!”

I narrowed my eyes as I gulped some water. Usually, when he says something like that, mischief is coming.

Sure enough, as I put my glass back down on the table, he said, “Your memories of yourself are bound.”

I groaned. He’d made use of this one a lot since our first session, so it was very familiar at this point - I knew exactly what kind of effect it would have on me. At least, I did when I had full access to my mind...

“Rude!” I protested.

“What is?” he teased. “What did I do?”

“You -” I stopped short, hesitating suddenly as I realised I wasn’t actually sure what he’d done. I had the sense that he’d done something - something about being bound? But the information, or rather the part that related to me, just wasn’t there any more. “You... you did something... mean,” I said lamely.

“To who? To you, or someone else?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t tell him what I didn’t know.

“What’s your name?”

The weirdness of the question didn’t occur to me, as I found I had the same problem again - I didn’t know the answer. My eyes widened. “Whuh - I... I don’t know!”

He raised a mocking eyebrow. “You don’t know your name? Are you in the habit of forgetting your name?”

“No. Yes... I don’t know,” I spluttered, burying my blushing face in my hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

“How old are you?” he asked, in that infuriating teasing tone of voice he gets at times like this.

I kept my face hidden in my palms as I mumbled, “Dunno that either...”

“Do you know where we are right now?”

Finally lowering my hands, I glanced around me, taking in my surroundings. “Uh... an apartment?”

“Whose?”

I shrugged. “Yours, I guess...”

“I see.” His smug grin was making me feel all kinds of embarrassed and helpless (and horny).

“Stooop,” I whined, slapping at him as lightly as a feather (which was as much physical abuse as the collar would let me inflict). “You’re making fun of me...”

“Having fun with you,” he corrected, smiling. “I just can’t help it, you’re too cute like this. So confused and clueless...”

My face nearly melted from blushing. (Now there’s a lovely Raiders of the Lost Ark-style mental image for you.) I went into an upright foetal position from embarrassment, wrapping my arms around my legs and pressing my face into my knees.

“Alright, I’ll take some pity on you,” he decided, prompting me to sit up properly again and look at him. “I’ll tell you who you are.”

“Thank you,” I sighed, relieved.

“Your name is Alyssa Johnson, you’re 23, and you’re from Cotati,” he told me. “We’ve been together for two and a half years, and we live here together, in our apartment. Got it?”

I listened intently to every word he said, and then promptly forgot each and every one. All I could do when he asked, “Got it?” was open and close my mouth in that goldfish impression I’ve mastered so well.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” he sniggered, and proceeded to repeat everything he’d just told me. Same outcome - in one ear and out the other. Of course, I hadn’t just forgotten all these facts - they were bound, which meant my conscious mind couldn’t access them even if they were told to me. I had to sit there and listen to my boyfriend tell me basic details about myself, unable to take in anything he said, helpless to do anything about it. Fu-uck, I’m masturbating to the memory of it even as I write this.

Ordinary bondage, being denied movement and control through ropes or cuffs - that’s super hot. Hypnotic bondage - being betrayed by my own body, unable to control what it does or move it in the ways I choose - that’s another level. But when my mind betrays me, withholding facts that I always know about myself - that anyone would know about themselves - at a single word from my boyfriend? That’s fucking awesome. 10 out of 10, would recommend.

I was so turned on in that moment, without even knowing why. Of course, because I had lost all my memories relevant to myself, I had no recollection of doing hypnosis.

“How do you feel, not being able to know who you are?” he asked me.

I didn’t want to answer, but the collar compelled me to. “Horny,” I whimpered, blushing furiously once more. “Helpless... confused...” My hands ran up and down my thighs compulsively. I wanted to rub my pussy so badly, but for some unknown reason I couldn’t. (Spoiler alert: the collar again.)

“If I gave you a choice right now, between getting your memories back and being allowed to touch yourself, which would you choose?”

Good God, it was like he was trying to drive me nuts. Have you ever heard of Buridan’s donkey? It’s this philosophical problem to do with free will (yeah, I’m smart, I know stuff when Richard’s not tying my brain in knots). Basically, there’s this hungry donkey standing between two bales of hay, each the same distance away from it. It’ll starve to death before it can choose between the two bales, because they’re both equally attractive.

Um, yeah, that was me just then. Memories, or masturbation? To remember or to rub one out, that was the question. I stuttered and groaned as my addled mind struggled to make a decision.

Richard saw fit to take ‘pity’ on me. “Alright, don’t worry, love - I’m going to decide for you.”

I whimpered, grateful to him for stepping in.

“I choose... option three.” His eyes glinted fiendishly, like a fuck hawk that’s spotted some prey to fuck. (I should make a wildlife documentary, right?) “I choose to make you lose all the rest of your memories.”

My eyebrows shot up. A sentence liked that... kind of implied he was the cause of my memory loss! And he was going to make it worse? Maybe until I couldn’t even remember that I was trying to remember... until there was nothing left inside my head...

And why, exactly, did that turn me on so fucking much?

“W-wait,” I stammered, raising my hands as if to defend myself, “just - just hold on there, just a secon-”

“Your remaining memories are bound.”

I blinked, noticing that my hands were in the air in front of me. I observed them with a detached curiosity. My first thought was, why are they up?

Next, as I looked around the room, came, where the hell am I? Then, as I tried and failed to remember anything further back than five seconds ago - and who the hell am I? I giggled slightly from bewilderment, feeling strangely tranquil - and weirdly horny. (This calm reaction had been conditioned into me by Richard over the past eight months, ever since that first time he completely wiped my memories - all the way back in chapter 5 - when I got kinda scared. Now, all I could feel was a detached, amused curiosity. And arousal, of course. Always that.)

I noticed the man sitting in front of me, smirking at me. For some reason, his expression turned me on even more - whoever I was, I clearly liked seeing other people having fun at my expense - but I tried to conceal that as best I could. It wouldn’t do to get horny in front of a complete stranger.

“Uh, hi,” I said, giving him a little wave.

“Hello there,” he replied. (Mm, British accent. Score.)

I inhaled deeply, still smiling broadly from how silly I felt. “This might sound weird, ’cos normally when you meet someone new you ask who they are... but, um, do you, by any chance, know who I am?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Having some memory problems, are you?”

“Uh, yeah, seems like!”

“What d’you remember?”

“Apart from the last minute or so?” I shrugged, grinning helplessly. “Nothing. I just kinda woke up here on this couch.”

“I see,” he said, nodding sagely, as if thinking deeply about my predicament. (Which I’m sure he was - just not with any intention of helping me resolve it!) “And how does that make you feel?”

“I dunno,” I replied, shrugging again. “It’s... pretty funny, actually!” Another giggle bubbled up and escaped my mouth. “I mean, how absurd is this? I just woke up here with no memory of who I am, or anything else... I feel like I should maybe be worried about this, but I’m just not. I’m just finding it really funny!” I neglected to add, ‘and really arousing’. Although, with my thighs slowly, compulsively rubbing together, maybe that had clued him in already.

The British guy edged along the couch towards me. This didn’t alarm me. If anything, the simmering arousal building inside me was turned up further by his proximity.

“Shall I tell you who and what you are?” he asked.

I sighed with relief. “Oh my God, yes, please! Thank you so mu-”

“Blank,” he interrupted.

My mouth, already open as I was mid-word, fell agape, my shoulders slumping, my arms sagging. I stared vacantly at him, head instantly empty. (Again, conditioned over past months to clear out straight away when I heard that word.)

“Good girl,” Master said as he got up from the couch and exited the room, leaving the horny zombie to grunt and writhe in her seat and gaze stupidly at the space where he’d been sitting. He returned a moment later, carrying a long black leash we’d recently purchased, attaching one end of it to the loop on my collar.

“Stand up,” he commanded as he stood before me.

“Yes, Master,” zombie mumbled automatically, my mouth and voice working without any input from my non-existent mind. My body ran on auto-pilot too, zombie slowly getting to her feet - just a sleepwalker obeying orders, with my waking self knowing nothing of it.

“Hold your arms out, zombie.”

“Yes, Master.” Zombie’s arms floated up, stretching out in front of her. (I know, I’ve slipped into third person when I describe my mindless self, it’s weird. I tend to do that, hopping back and forth between first and third person as it pleases me when I describe my other persona. Trust me, you’ll be seeing a lot more of it!)

Looping some of the leash around his hand and wrist, Master gave it a tug, which zombie felt around her neck. “Walk with me,” he told me, “and repeat, ‘I obey my Master’ until I tell you to stop.”

“I obey my Master,” zombie slurred, stumbling after him as he set off through the apartment, arms still outstretched. “I obey my Master... I obey my Master... I obey my Master...” Zombie’s mouth hung open for a second between repetitions, letting the drool collecting in her lower jaw trickle out in a steady stream, trailing below her chin as she walked, droplets landing either on the floor below, my top, or my cream-coloured chinos. (I’d bought myself a couple of nice new shirts that afternoon to celebrate my acting success, but once we decided there would be hypno-horny havoc that night, I changed into my favourite casual wear, a Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers crop top. I’d kinda got used to dribbling all over my clothes at this point, so I always tried to prepare for that...)

Although zombie didn’t notice, I remember that Richard wasn’t leading us in any specific direction through our home - in fact, at first, he simply meandered around the living room, zombie plodding along behind him. He was probably paying more attention to the sight and sound of his brainless girlfriend reciting “I obey my Master” over and over again than he was to our route. (Can’t say I blame him.) We did two or three zig-zag circuits of the room, and then he sauntered through to the kitchen, tugging zombie along behind him. By now zombie was so horny that her walking, already mindlessly shambolic, was even more erratic - she almost crashed into a wall on the way through the corridor, though a quick yank on the leash from Master diverted her just in time.

Master led zombie back and forth along our kitchen a couple of times, making her walk the full length of the room before pulling her back around to walk in the other direction. All the while, she kept blankly chanting the mantra, oblivious to their meaning but affected by them anyway. All the while, my mind was tucked away in the back of my own head, unaware of what I was doing or how much either my mouth or pussy had drooled (a lot, in both cases).

Finally, he brought zombie through to our bedroom, bringing her to a halt by the bed. Reaching forwards, he took hold of the bottom of my shirt and pulled it up over my boobs. And no, I was not wearing a bra underneath, for reasons of both comfort and easy access.

“Rub your tits,” he ordered. “Keep repeating that mantra.”

Zombie had never stopped. Her arms finally moving from their horizontal sleepwalker pose, they folded inwards towards her chest, her hands beginning to grope and rub in earnest. She began to gasp mid-word as she worked herself up even further than she was already. “I ob-uh-ey my Master... I-I obey my Maaah-ster...”

My mindless body soon reached the edge. But with the magic collar controlling her, zombie couldn’t cum. And Master wasn’t feeling merciful at that moment.

“Stop repeating, and stop playing,” he commanded.

“Yeees, Masterrr,” zombie moaned, letting her hands drop limply to her sides, panting and whimpering. She didn’t - couldn’t - feel any indignation over not being able to finish. She only knew base instinct and obedience, desperately aroused but complying without a thought.

Reaching forward, Master brushed hair out of zombie’s face, and then rolled her shirt back down, the soft fabric only turning zombie on more as it slipped over her sensitive nipples. Then he planted a hand on her chest and gently pushed her onto the edge of the bed, where she sat in a slump, gazing at nothing. Unclipping the leash from her collar and throwing it to the side of the room, he sat next to her and put an arm around her.

“In a moment, I’m going to bring your mind back,” he said in his soft, delectable hypno-voice. “But only the part of it you had before I made you my blank, leashed zombie. The part that doesn’t remember anything except sitting on the couch with me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” zombie droned stupidly. She didn’t understand, of course, but my subconscious did, and it used zombie to communicate that to Master.

“Good girl. Mind, released.”

I shook my head dazedly, letting out a surprised moan as I became aware that I was at least four times as horny as I was just a moment ago. The next thing I noticed was that I was in a completely different room from before, and at almost the same time I realised that my chin and shirt was absolutely soaked with saliva, and that my mouth was still almost overflowing.

“Uh... whuh?” I burbled, letting more liquid escape. Closing my mouth, I swallowed hard, shooting a bewildered look at my British companion, whom, I now realised, had his arm around my waist and was holding me close. OK, that was odd. Nice, but odd. Get your coat, nameless amnesiac girl, you’ve pulled. (Did I have a coat?)

“You’re probably a little confused,” he remarked, before smiling slyly and adding in his hypno-voice, “Your disbelief is bound, and now you’ll be completely convinced that anything I tell you is true.”

I nodded, not consciously listening to the second thing he said because of the tone he’d spoken in. “Yeah, uh... where are we? Is this a bedroom? We were just in the living room...”

“No, we weren’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “We were in here all the time.”

I blinked, uncertain for a moment. “We, uh... we were?”

“Sure.” He smiled kindly (or so I thought). “You’re just confused because of your memory problems!”

“Oh, right, of course.” Now that he mentioned it, this room did look familiar. Of course, I remembered now - we had been in here all along. My stupid mind wouldn’t stop playing tricks on me! First I forget everything, and then I get confused about what room I’m in...

“So, I was going to tell you who and what you are,” the Englishman continued.

I gave him a grateful smile. “Yes, you were. Thank you!”

“Well, first, let’s see if you can work it out. How do you feel right now? You don’t have to answer me out loud - just notice it for yourself...”

I took a moment to analyse my own feelings and behaviour. I still felt oddly detached and amused by my predicament, not at all concerned by my complete and total amnesia. And I was unbelievably horny, for no apparent reason.

“And what are you wearing right now?”

I studied at my attire, working my way up my body with my eyes. Bare, dainty feet; cream chinos; a crop top with a band on the front (reading upside down, I figured out that the band was Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers), and clearly no bra underneath (my hard nipples were visible through the material); and finally, around my neck...

I fumbled with it with one hand, half-convinced I was imagining it. Nope, it was real. “Is... is that a collar?”

“Why, yes, it is,” he confirmed with a smile.

I laughed with astonishment. “Why... why am I wearing it?”

“Because you’re my slave.”

I took that in, repeating it to make sure I’d heard correctly. “I’m your slave?”

“Yes. You’re my slave. You exist to serve me. To do whatever I tell you.”

Huh. Yeah. That sounded right. And also... wickedly hot.

I squirmed in his embrace, my lust almost doubling as I came to understand who and what I was now. “I’m your slave,” I said again, and this time it wasn’t a question - it was a thrilling, enticing, fucking awesome fact.

“You love being my slave, don’t you?” he purred in my ear.

I whimpered. “Yeah...”

“Yes, Master,” he corrected, firmly but not harshly.

My face lit up. “Yes, Master!”

“Oh, but slaves don’t sit on the same level as their Masters, do they?” Master (as I now knew him) said. “No, no - slaves kneel.”

As he relinquished his grip around my waist, I hurriedly scrambled off the bed and onto the floor, angling myself around to face him as I kneeled with my upturned palms on my thighs. “I - I’m sorry, Master,” I spluttered, eyes wide and apologetic.

He gave me an adoring smile. “That’s OK, slave. You didn’t know. You didn’t remember. But I’m going to tell you everything you need to know.”

I beamed up at him. Master was so kind to help me with my memory problems!

He reached forwards and cupped my smiling face with his hand. “You are my slave,” he told me. “You have always been my slave. You will always be my slave. Being my slave is your reason for existing. Being my slave makes you feel complete. Being my slave turns you on. You love being my slave. You don’t need anything else. You just need to obey me, and my commands.”

I listened to his words and accepted them as absolute truth, ingrained into my mind, heart and soul. I was his slave, now and forever. That was my purpose. It made me complete. It made me happy. And fuck-a-roo, it made me so, so horny. It was all I wanted - literally, the only thing. I could give up anything else in that moment - food, water, furniture, orgasms, light, even air. All I wanted was to serve and obey my Master.

“You are my property. You are my pet. You are my toy. I own you. I control you completely.”

Yes, yes, yes. I was property, not a person! No wonder I couldn’t remember anything. None of it could’ve been that important anyway. Why would a pet slave’s memories matter? A toy, an object owned by someone else to do with as they wish, doesn’t need to think or remember - just obey.

“I took your memory away,” Master told me. “I can do this, because my control over you is so absolute that I can even change your thoughts.”

I gasped, amazed. Of course, I knew what he’d told me was true. But I was still awestruck by the power my Master possessed. And the idea that he could change and shape my mind however he chose only made me hornier - which I didn’t even know was possible until it happened.

Master grinned down at his smiling, panting, drooling slavegirl. “So, slave, is there anything else you want to know?”

I pondered this, though it was hard to think through the overwhelming arousal and the bliss of my enslavement. I didn’t need to know anything else. Master had told me everything I needed to know - if there was anything else important that I should know, I was sure he’d tell me in due course.

But there was one thing I was curious about.

“Master,” I said, quietly and meekly, “do I have a name? Or am I just ‘slave’?”

He considered this for a minute. I smiled, realising he was most likely trying to decide whether he preferred to keep my name from me - keep me as just a nameless thing, just property, just a toy. Mmmm, I really wouldn’t have minded that...

But at long last, he said, “Your name... is Danielle.”