Paula wandered into the lobby a little confused. "May I help you?" asked the receptionist, with a pleasant, professional smile. 

"I—I'm not sure?" said Paula, who knew why she was here but now couldn't verbalize it. 

"Are you here on business related to the firm? Or are you looking for a specific employee?" 

"I—um. I don't think so?" said Paula, frustrated. 

"Or maybe," said the receptionist, her smile not changing in the slightest, "you're here because of bluebirds singing in the rain?" 

Paula gasped as the trigger phrase sent a little jolt of pleasure through her. "Yes yes yes," she gasped, her mouth suddenly unlocked. "I need to be made a slave. I need it. I need it." 

"Yes," agreed the receptionist. "You have that delightful protoslave look, for sure. Now, we will be able to fulfill all the desires that have been burned into you, but first, you're going to answer a few questions." 

"Yes," moaned Paula. "I obey." 

"Oh," laughed the receptionist, "I'm not your owner." She turned her head a little and pulled her hair up, revealing a gleaming silver socket driven into the base of her skull. Then she laughed again at Paula's uninhibited reaction of envy and desire. "But do I represent them, perfectly, with no will of my own to dilute their glorious will. So you might as well obey me for the moment." 

"I want—I need—" mumbled Paula, still staring at the spot where the socket was again hidden. 

"Of course you do," agreed the receptionist. "But questions first. So: how were you conditioned?" 

Paula was still burning with desire, but she had been commanded, and she needed to obey. "I was browsing porn. A popup came up and I looked at it without thinking." 

"What website? What colour popup?" 

"bdsmbitches.xxx, and yellowy." 

"Hrrrrm," said the receptionist, typing. "Interesting. Good to know what's working. Once the initial inductor had primed you, what happened?" 

"I clicked through, of course. The website took over my computer like it was taking over my brain. I could feel my neurons sizzling as my owners burned a need for slavery into me. It was so hot. I watched and edged all night-" 

"All night?" asked the receptionist. 

"I was looking at porn before bed, about 10 o'clock," explained Paula. "It's 9 am now. It took me about an hour to drive here. So... ten hours, give or take." 

"My goodness," said the receptionist, her professional cool breaking for the first time into a predatory smirk. "Your mind must be just ruined, my delicious little protoslave." 

"I need to be enslaved," gasped Paula. 

"I'll bet," purred the receptionist. "So once you finished cooking your brain to perfection, what did you do?" 

"I drove here. The address was so clear. It had been carved into me. I knew I would be enslaved here." 

"And you will. Did you tell anyone you would be gone today? Did you tell anyone specifically where you were going?" 

"No. I needed to be enslaved. I came as soon as it was daylight." 

"Hrrrm," said the receptionist, making another note, "nothing that can't be fixed in future. And you came here directly. Clearly the address was correct, good. You came in here, I triggered you, and now you're answering questions as you rub yourself through your pants in front of me. Excellent." 

Paula looked down and stopped, jerkily. 

"Oh, don't worry," said the receptionist. "You're hardly the first protoslave to sexualize their obedience. I myself am a perpetually simmering cauldron of lust, you know." She reached up and stroked her socket with one fingertip, even as she licked her lips in time. "I would probably be doing more than you, and harder, if it weren't for the irresistible discipline imposed on me." 

"I need that," moaned Paula. 

"And you will have it," said the receptionist generously. She pressed a button and a door to the side unlocked with a click. "Go through there and obey all instructions—not that you'll have a problem with that, I know—and you'll get the permanent enslavement you so richly deserve." 

"Thank you," said Paula, and made for the door. 

"Any last questions for me, before the individual that used to be you is destroyed completely?" 

Paula hesitated at the door. She needed to be enslaved, but she had been asked a direct question. "Why... why didn't you ask my name?" 

The receptionist smiled beatifically. "Oh, you know as well as I do: who you used to be is meaningless, compared to the thing you're about to become. But I also know why you asked. Protoslave, what is your name?" 

"I have no name," said Paula. "I exist only to be consumed. Consume me." 

"Yessss," hissed the receptionist, and Paula stepped forward into bright white light.