There’s something quite hypnotic about polishing shoes.

The spiralling movement of my hand as I gently wipe the cloth around and around, the creamy substance painting the leather surface a richer, shinier shade of black... It’s easy to get lost in the rhythmic, repetitive routine. At least, it is for me.

I used to get really into it when I was a teenage army cadet, cleaning my own shoes as part of my training. Who knows - perhaps that used to mesmerise me back then, in a way. It’s hard to be sure. I certainly couldn’t have recognised it at the time. Now that I think about it, a lot of my drills might’ve had a similar effect on my young, impressionable mind. It was paying dividends in the present, as Sir took advantage of my pre-existing training for my slavegirl conditioning.

Kneeling in the corner of Sir’s living room cleaning his shoes for him, I found myself drifting mentally, my other thoughts evaporating as I focused fully on my task. I wasn’t actually hypnotised - at least, I don’t think I was. But I’d reached a point where it was hard to distinguish, my mind blankly fixated, my body running on automatic.

This wasn’t unusual for me by now - I’d spent so much of the last eight months being plunged in and out of trance, and I had so many suggestions planted in my subconscious, I was on a hair trigger. Crouching in the corner without any clothes on was also pretty typical these days. I was fairly sure I’d spent more time on the floor than on a chair this summer, and I’d definitely spent more time naked than dressed.

I was also getting used to being horny more often than not. To think, my sex drive used to be quite low. I guess I just hadn’t discovered what really turned me on - Sir had given me a whole new sexual awakening. Now I spent most days at his feet, nude, obsequious, brainwashed and wet. Just how he liked me. Just how I liked me.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t like this all the time. When I was around other people I was the same as ever. I’d go to work and function normally, and be the same smart, capable teacher I always was in my everyday life - and then my brain would turn off as soon as I went home with Sir in the evening, and I’d just do whatever he said with a smile and a, “Yes, Sir.” I could go back and forth between those two mindsets pretty easily, like flicking a switch.

But that was in term-time, and the school year had finished weeks ago. And during these summer holidays, I’d spent pretty much every day with Sir. Consequently, I’d been stuck stupefied and submissive pretty much permanently, his constant presence perpetually keeping me in a nice, docile state where I didn’t have the brainpower to do anything except obey him. I wondered if I’d even be able to go back to normal once term resumed, or if I met up with any of my friends or family. Maybe I’d be able to act normal at his command, while still inwardly slow and blank and blissful. Like a sleepwalker, appearing so convincingly awake as to fool any onlookers.

Or maybe I’d passed the point of no return now, and I’d lost all my smarts and and my free will and my ability to make any decisions for myself, and I’d have to give up my career and be Sir’s live-in slavegirl. I have to admit, I didn’t find that prospect too troubling.

Applying the last bit of polishing cream to Sir’s shoes, I stashed the cloth away in my kit and got out a brush, beginning to buff the shoes to get that perfect shine. He had some kind of party at the weekend - a friend’s engagement do, or baby shower, or something. It was hard to retain much information when my wits had been persistently dulled throughout the summer holiday. Besides, I was too fixated on something else he’d mentioned - that he was bringing me act as his ‘arm candy’.

I can’t tell you how it felt to hear him describe me like that. I’ve always been proud of my brain - my intellect, my focus, my capacity for quick thinking. It helped me build a teaching career where I was respected and admired (by my colleagues at least, if not by the students... or by SLT). Being reduced to a stupid slavegirl at home with Sir was one thing. Knowing that he planned to take me out to an event and show me off - to treat me like some vapid bimbo whose only worth was my looks, like I had nothing going on upstairs - was so fucking demeaning. Particularly because I expected I wouldn’t have anything going on upstairs - because, again, proximity to Sir usually switches my brain off - so I probably would act like his flirty, giggly, airhead arm candy, against my own volition.

Naturally, I couldn’t wait. I’d already picked out a dress that just about stayed the right side of the line that separated ‘classy’ and ‘slutty’.

I suppose my mind can’t have been entirely blank as I worked in the corner, because I’d been thinking about all this as I worked, daydreaming about my descent into debasement and dutiful servitude, getting more and more turned on, feeling more and more submissive. Before I knew it, I was finished.

Packing my polishing equipment away in the box my stepdad bought me when I started at cadets, I scooted across the carpet on my knees, a gleaming shoe in each hand, and sat my naked bottom down at the end of the sofa, by Sir’s feet. He was laughing at the TV at that moment, watching some American comedy gameshow that I’d never seen before.

He ignored me for a couple more minutes, taking a hit of weed from his vape pin as he giggled at Game Changer, then paused the show and glanced down at me. “All done?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said cheerily, holding up the shoes.

He inspected them with a grin. “Good girl. Very good work... Useful having you on hand to do things like this for me, saves me a lot of time.”

I suppressed a shudder as his praise sent the usual pulse of pride and pleasure through me. “Well to be fair, this isn’t exactly hard for me. I used to do this all the time...”

“That might be why I made you do it,” he sniggered. “If I’m gonna get my shoes polished, might as well use an expert.”

“And if you have a compliant ex-cadet under your control, might as well use her,” I said with a smirk, setting the shoes down neatly next to the sofa, side by side.

“Mm. I admit, it was hard to choose whether to get you to do it properly with actual polish, or with your tongue.” As I squeaked and blushed, he continued, “Ultimately, I think this was the right choice. They look fantastic. You did such a good job, my good little toy soldier.”

I quivered like a jelly, wrapping my arms around my naked torso. “Thank you, Sir...”

“But there’s no reason I can’t make you do it the other way some time, is there?” he continued, in that seductive purr of his that always sets my nethers aflame. “I’m sure you’ll take just as much care and attention, and be just as dutiful and diligent, polishing them with your tongue until they sparkle. Working your saliva into every pore of that leather... licking every trace of dirt from the soles... sucking the tips and the heels clean... Wouldn’t you?”

“Of - of course, Sir,” I stammered, fairly boiling with embarrassment and arousal at the thought of it.

He beamed, reaching down and patting my head. “That’s my good little human shoeshine kit.”

Giggling and squirming, I tried not to look at him, instead staring down at the gleaming black shoes. “Doesn’t much appeal to me right now, though - the polish wouldn’t taste very nice,” I remarked, because I’m an idiot and I can’t learn the most fundamental lesson of having a sadistic dom - never give them ideas.

“You’d do it though, wouldn’t you? If I told you to?”

My head lifted, my eyes widening as they gravitated towards Sir and his confident, commanding grin. “Yes, Sir.” I found myself saying the words without thinking about it - but I meant them regardless. I suddenly knew that if he asked, I’d run my tongue over every inch of those shoes, polish or no polish. Unpleasant tastes were not enough of a deterrent for this brainwashed toy. I’d zealously suck and slobber over them like they were Sir’s dicks.

“You’ll do anything I tell you, won’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded, my eyes glazing over as I sank further into subspace.

“Say it.”

“I’ll do anything you tell me, Sir.” My breathy voice was barely more than a whisper.

“That’s right,” he purred, grinning maliciously. “Because you’re my good soldier.”

“Good soldiers follow orders,” I recited primly. (Yes, that was a mantra he’d recently implanted in my head. Yes, he’s a Clone Wars fan. And yes, he’s used episodes of it to trigger me. Feel free to point and laugh at the poor beleaguered slavegirl.)

“Exactly. You’ll follow any orders I give you, won’t you, Rain?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me you’ll do anything for me.”

“I’ll do anything for you, Sir,” I said dreamily.

He raised an eyebrow. “Even eat a raw onion?”

I blinked, and snorted with laughter. My prior admission that I’d obey a command I found distasteful (literally) knocked me for six, shifting me into an even more docile mindset than before (and that was saying something, since I’d already been kneeling naked polishing Sir’s shoes). But this latest question surprised me so much, my brain shifted back up a gear, giving me just a bit more mental capacity.

“Um - yeah,” I spluttered. “Yes, Sir, I’d do that.”

“Really?” he sniggered.

“Yeah, of course. I actually - I’ve done it before,” I suddenly recalled. “Game of truth or dare when I was, like, sixteen. It actually wasn’t that bad - I finished it. My friends didn’t think I’d make it through, like, two or three bites, and I was like, ‘I’ll show ’em’! Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t pleasant, and it made my eyes water no end, and my breath was rank after... but, y’know, it was fine. If you want me to eat another one, I’ll do it, no problem.”

Sir whistled. “That is honestly impressive. OK then - would you eat your least favourite food, if I told you to?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What is your least favourite food?”

I frowned, scratching my chin as I considered the question. “Umm... I actually don’t think I have one. I mean, I’ve got a pretty versatile palette, I eat all sorts of things. I can handle pretty strong spices, and there’s nothing I’m allergic or intolerant to, and... yeah. I can’t think of anything I really dislike.”

“You do have pretty adventurous tastes, I’ve noticed that before,” Sir conceded, nodding. It was his turn to look thoughtful. I couldn’t help blushing a little - he was now actively trying to think of things I’d hate. Orders to follow that I’d find uncomfortable or unpleasant. He was seeing how far he could push me, testing my limits, the extent of my slavish loyalty.

I straightened my back, staring up at him intently, determined to prove my unswerving obedience. Of course, I could safeword at any time, if he ever tried to make me do anything I genuinely didn’t want to do. But I wanted to please him. I wanted to obey him. I wanted to be his good girl, his good soldier, his good arm candy.

We’d set boundaries when we’d started this journey together, negotiating the terms of our dynamic. But I’d been a lot stricter with them back then than I was now. I’d already given so much ground to him at this point. A lot of my previous rules had been crossed off the list. I’d let him rewire my mind to the point where I wasn’t even sure how deeply he controlled me. I rarely wore clothes around him. I regularly cooked for him. I cleaned for him - his home, his dishes, even his shoes now. I put on sex shows for him, fucking myself or Ruth for his amusement.

I’d offered to move into his flat, or let him claim mine as his own and force me out of my own bedroom. I’d offered him ownership of all my worldly possessions. I’d given him my phone PIN, and access to my socials. I’d offered him my bank details and my debit card information, so he could take as much money from me as he wanted, any time he wanted. I let him meddle with my orientation - I was once sure I was straight, but now I was powerless for pussy. I even allowed him to change my name in the most awful way possible, whenever he liked.

I’d declared myself his property, perpetually under his power. I wasn’t sure I had much left to give, or to give up. And awash in submissive bliss as I was at that moment, it felt very much like I’d do absolutely anything he asked.

He leaned forward, his hand supporting his head and his elbow on his thigh, admiring me with a curious smile. “What if I got you drunk?” he wondered. “I know you don’t usually drink very much... What if I took you out to a pub, or a club, and just kept handing you drinks? Strong ones? What if I got you totally off your face...?”

I pictured myself reduced to a drunken mess, slurring and staggering and making a tit of myself, only staying upright because of Sir’s arm around my waist. Allowing him to put me in that state deliberately, knowing how much I’d embarrass myself, just to amuse him. Would I really go that far for him...?

I hid my burning face in my hands, shaking with flustered laughter. “Nngh... y-yes, Sir,” I mewled softly. “I - I would, I would do that, that’d be OK...”

“That’d be OK? You wouldn’t mind getting super drunk, would you?”

“No, Sir.” As he’d mentioned, I wasn’t much of a drinker - but I had gotten pretty wasted on a couple of nights out, just from joining in with my friends. So it wasn’t a totally unfamiliar situation. I’d never intended to get that intoxicated, but I just got carried away. I’d be mortified if he compelled me to do it again, deliberately - but I would obey. I’d do anything for him.

With a curious smirk, he held out his hand, twiddling his vape pen between his fingers. “What if I got you high?”

I swallowed, taken aback by this new, more daunting challenge. “Um...”

“Have you ever tried weed before, Rain?”

“No, Sir.”

“Do you want to try weed?”

I gave a flustered giggle. “No, Sir.” That was true. I’d never had any interest in trying weed, or indeed any other drugs. I’d seen some friends get stoned before, and honestly, I didn’t see the appeal.

“But you will if I tell you to, won’t you?”

The words sent tremors all through my body, through my torso, up my backside, and right between my legs. Would I? Would I do something I genuinely didn’t want to do, simply at his say-so? Was I really prepared to cross that line, to put something in my body I’d never experienced before and deal with its effects...?

“Yes, Sir,” I said meekly. I could’ve sworn I almost came just from saying that.

His smirk grew. “Are you quite sure, Rain?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Some part of me knew he was going to hold out the vape pen, and that was exactly what he did. “I’m going to put this in your mouth,” he told me, “and you’re going to press the button, and take a hit. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I repeated once again, nodding vehemently. The more I said it, the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that I’d do it. I’d never tried drugs before. I didn’t want to try drugs. But this was a test. A test of my devotion, my submission, my obedience. And it was a test I wanted to pass. I wanted to prove that my loyalty was unfailing and unquestioning. I wanted to prove that I was such a good girl, I’d let Sir drug me. Hell, I’d let Sir destroy me if he wanted to - and even actively help him to.

He lowered the pen towards my mouth. “Last chance to safeword, sweetie.”

I stayed silent, trembling with apprehension and arousal.

He eased the end of the pen between my lips, and I dutifully held it in place. My wide eyes fixed on his slyly smirking face, I raised a shaking hand to the pen and pressed the button.

As I gulped at the inrush of air down my throat, he said nonchalantly, “It’s empty. It ran out like an hour ago, I’ve just been puffing on it out of habit.”

The pen dropped into my hand as I gaped up at him. Then I burst into peals of hysterical laughter, feeling so relieved and yet so defeated at the same time. I wasn’t going to get high. I wouldn’t have to cope with that new form of altered mental state tonight. Frankly, my mental state was already altered enough. I wondered if the feeling of being high was anything like the feeling of being hypnotised - if there was any real difference between the sense of all-encompassing submission I felt right now, and being stoned. From what Ruth had told me, they weren’t dissimilar.

Regardless, I’d passed the test. I’d shown I really would do anything for Sir. It didn’t necessarily matter that the pen was empty. If he handed me a full one, I’d suck it dry.

Fuck, I was so broken. He’d completely subjugated me. I was nothing more than a shell now, a vessel for his whims.

He took the vape pen back from me, my hand instantly slackening enough to let him snatch it from my grasp. “Maybe I’ll get you addicted,” he mused, as casual as anything. “Maybe I’ll get you high every day, until you can’t cope without it. Would you let me do that, toy?”

I could have safeworded. At any time, at any moment during all this.

“Yes, Sir,” I giggled helplessly.

He beamed at me, ruffling my hair. “Very good girl!”

I shuddered and squirmed on the spot, feeling smaller and weaker than I ever had in my life. My brain swimming in endorphins, my wits and willpower dripping from my cunt onto the carpet, I sat and stared up at Sir with a stupid, lovestruck smile as he gave me headpats.

I started to idly wonder - was this love? I’d been in love before, but it’d never felt like this - like I’d do absolutely anything to prove my devotion. Like I’d give my heart, soul, mind and body to my partner, to do with as they wished. Like I had truly become part of another person, an extension of their will.

But was I in love with Sir, or just with being a slave? I couldn’t tell. I still can’t. I can’t decide if it matters. I suppose, as long as I remain Sir’s slave, it probably isn’t important one way or the other.

All that matters is that I obey his every command, and keep proving myself a good girl, even if it shatters me into tiny pieces. Fucking hell, I really have given him a dangerous degree of control over me. He could ruin my life at any moment of his choosing, just on a whim.

I love it.

“Alright, Rain drops.” As he spoke, the hand on my head pushed down, forcing it to nod into my chest.

“Mngh - Rain drops, Rain drops,” I gurgled, my eyes rolling as my fawning, fractured thoughts fell away.

Hooking his leg around me, he prodded his heel into the small of my back. Limp and loose as I was in my entranced state, that was all it took to unbalance me. I toppled forwards, landing face-first on the floor, at which point my rambling ‘Rain drops’ cut off with my mouth squished into the carpet.

My legs instinctively shifted around into a more comfortable position, propped up wide apart on their knees, arching my back and lifting my bum into the air. This was a pose he’d trained into me recently. Whenever my face was down, my arse had to be up, spread open to show off my snatch. That way Sir had easy access, in case he wanted to stuff anything into my wet, welcoming hole.

Instead, he planted his feet on my bowed back and went back to watching his show. I stayed right where I was, holding the position as I dropped deeper into trance, sinking further under Sir’s hypnotic control (if that was even possible at this point), letting him use me as a footrest as I drooled on the carpet.