Mike had fallen back asleep. Sophie was checking some data on her tablet. Sarah was leaning in the corner, arms crossed. She was tapping her feet, looking pensive. Suddenly, she looked up in surprise.
”What was that?” she said.
With a mechanic snap someone locked the door to the sick room. Sarah rushed towards it and tried to open it. It didn’t budge. “Kate? Director West? What is going on?” she shouted and banged on the door. No reply came. Instead, Sarah heard the sound of knocking and the front door being opened, followed by footsteps.
“Right on time,” said Kate’s voice, coming muffled from behind the door. She sounded short of breath.
“I noticed. She’s not even awake yet. Well done, slave,” said a young, bright voice.
Sarah would recognize that voice anywhere.
The world shrunk, shifted, turned upside down. She blanked on reactions. For a moment she just stood there, mouth open. Her insides were molten lead.
“They’re in the sick room, Mistress” came Kate’s voice. Sarah stepped back from the door without thinking.
“What is going on?” whispered Sophie.
“It’s happening again,” Sarah muttered, her eyes as dead as her voice. “It’s always happening.”
“What is happening?”
With a click, the door opened and behind it stood Lilly Zimmerman, Kate Prescott, and Florence Moreau.
“Not this time,” whispered Sarah, her face a grimace of pain and rage. She held a pistol, aimed at Moreau. Faster than she could fire it, Lilly and Kate were between them. They looked at her with unreadable expressions. She looked at Kate. She looked at Lilly, down the barrel of her pistol.
“No,” she said, and pulled the trigger.
The hammer pulled back and snapped forward. Click. Nothing happened.
“Removable firing pin,” said Kate and sprang forward, knocking the gun out of her hand. Sarah ducked, dodging the follow-up and punched her in the gut. Kate’s left fist hit her flank, a bit too high. Sarah grabbed her by the shoulders, and pulled Kate’s face into her raised knee. Kate screamed and hit the floor. Sarah made an automatic side-step to dodge whatever attack Lilly would be launching against her right now. She felt a blow glance her shoulder and there was the noise of someone falling behind her. She pivoted and her eyes darted around. Kate was in a heap at her feet. Lilly was struggling to her feet behind her. Moreau—
Moreau had a gun pointed at her.
Sophie saw Sarah hesitate for just an instant. She should have charged. Instead, she hesitated. Running into gunfire isn’t a human instinct. That moment of indecision was enough. Sarah seemed to realize it, too. But she reacted too late. It was enough time for the blonde woman that had been Agent Lilly Zimmerman to grab her from behind, violently twisting Sarah’s arms into a tight grip.
Sophie watched, paralyzed in terror and confusion. Sarah was struggling hard. She let out a scream of pure rage.
“No! Fuck you!”, she yelled as she twisted in the woman’s grip. The sinews in her arms and neck stood out as she tried to escape the police hold, lifting her feet off the ground, bringing her center of mass almost up to head level, kicking, trying to gain leverage. Lilly swayed, but didn’t let go.
Moreau strode forward, pulling out a small metal cylinder. She narrowly sidestepped a kick by Sarah. There was death in Sarah’s eyes. She kicked again, missing. Moreau raised her hand. Sarah screamed in rage. Kate, still on the floor, had grabbed her by the legs. The woman stepped up to Sarah. Sarah spat at her.
“Moreau! You motherfucking--”
The woman brought her hand down against Sarah’s neck.
“Aaargh! You fucking--” Sarah began, but her breath caught, all the air inside of her suddenly gone. Her eyes went wide in pain and shock. Her mouth stood open in a silent scream. Then, her head fell forward. With a final voiceless sigh, she collapsed.
Lilly and Kate were still holding her by her armpits and calves, making her arms poke out awkwardly as she was being held upright. They quickly lowered her unconscious body to the floor where she lay motionless, her eyes closed.
Sophie found herself backed into the far corner, her back against a cabinet, the gurney and Mike between her and them.
Moreau was now pointing the gun at her.
“Drop it,” she said with the slightest trace of a French accent.
She hadn’t even realized it, but Sophie was brandishing a scalpel. It was trembling in her hands. She looked at it, then back at the gun pointed at her. She dropped it and it hit the floor with a thin clatter. The woman handed the gun to Kate and turned her attention back to Sarah. Kate aimed the gun steadily at her with both hands, feet planted firmly in a solid stance. Sophie looked at Kate with an expression of betrayal and fear.
She looked at Mike. He was out. The noise hadn’t woken him. Even if it had…
“It’s some new technology, isn’t it?” asked Sophie, looking at Sarah’s motionless face. She felt her eyes turning wet as tears filled them, uselessly and unbidden. Kate just kept pointing the gun, not answering. “They got to you!” She swallowed. “How long does it take? Twenty minutes? Half an hour?”
Kate softly sighed as she seemed to recall a pleasant memory. “About two minutes,” she said with a benign smile.
Something caught in Sophie’s throat. She felt cold. She looked at Sarah again. She could have been sleeping. Two minutes? Sophie wasn’t ready for this. She looked back at Kate, mouth agape in disbelief and fear. She tensed, and Kate immediately straightened the gun in her hands.
”Sophie,” said Kate calmly but firmly. “We’re not going to hurt you, unless you do something stupid. So stay where you are.”
Something drew Sophie’s attention, then. There had been some movement behind Kate. Someone stepped inside the sick room. Sophie’s guts turned to ice. She’d forgotten. But of course she’d been here.
It was so much worse.
“You started without me,” said Director West as she walked in, brushing wrinkles from her crumpled dress. It was a statement of simple fact. The director was utterly relaxed. All stress seemed to have lifted from her face. She looked content and dignified. She noticed Moreau. She stood up straighter.
“Mistress,” she breathed.
“Slave,” answered Moreau in the cadence of ritual.
“Slave Karen,” supplied West, her breath catching slightly as she spoke.
“Slave Karen. I’ll have need of you shortly. For now, you may watch.”
”Thank you, Mistress. I shall,” she said gracefully and looked down at Sarah.
Sophie caught herself looking, too. She knew and dreaded what would happen next. She felt sick. She wanted all of this to somehow go away. To wake up.
But it didn’t stop. This was real. No one spoke. They were all just watching as the unthinkable happened inside of Sarah’s sleeping brain.
Sophie imagined this was what mice felt like when cats played with them before they got eaten. Lilly was kneeling over Sarah now, gently brushing her neck and shoulders with the back of her fingers. It was a loving, intimate gesture -- and it made Sophie queasy.
Sarah lay on her back, arms and legs spread out around her, like a doll dropped carelessly on the ground, her head tilted in Sophie’s direction. She was wearing a tight black tank top, and Sophie couldn’t help but notice Sarah’s nipples stiffly poking through the fabric. She shut her eyes so she didn’t have to deal with it. She lasted ten seconds before her own morbid curiosity got the better of her again. She opened her eyes, looking at Sarah, trying hard to concentrate on her face, and only her face. It had been well over a minute already.
Suddenly, Sarah twitched, and her fingers flexed. Sophie winced. The dread in her chest almost physically hurt. This couldn’t be happening! Sarah was too strong! She’d get up and fight again! Something! Anything! This wasn’t who she was! This wasn’t something that could happen to her!
But it did.
Sarah opened her eyes. She saw Sophie Shaw staring at her, her expression frozen in terror and disbelief, and their eyes met. Sarah felt a brief moment of disorientation and confusion as her dazed thoughts assembled themselves. Something had happened, and she felt.. excited? She looked at Sophie, all helpless and scared. Why was she scared? Everything was perfect now. It hadn’t been perfect but now it was, because…
She was a slave.
Realization hit her and she gasped, the sudden sizzling need between her legs greeting her in a flare of pleasure. Her face lit up in a smile, her eyes going wide. For a heartbeat, she wondered how it had happened -- then the thought was drowned out by waves of throbbing ecstasy.
She was a slave!
Her pussy ached with the thought. As she saw Sophie wince Sarah’s smile widened even more, and she realized why seeing Sophie’s expression of fear made her hot: Yes! Yes! Sophie’d be next!
The thought was so new and so perfect! Oh God, yes, how much she wanted this! She wanted to see Sophie enslaved! Enslaved like herself! Her head swam with the newfound ecstasy of everything that she was now and how much she loved it. Oh God, she was so wet! She was a wet, horny, slave! The Syndicate had won! She’d been enslaved! She mewled when she thought about how Sarah was gone, now. Enslaved. Like… Kate! Oh God yes, Kate!
Kate had betrayed them! Kate was a slave, like Sarah was a slave! The thought made her want to come. She tried to look around for slave Kate. She wanted to see her -enjoy the sight of her as a slave, touch her, thank her for betraying them.
But there was someone else on top of her.
Slave Sarah turned her head upward, and her breath caught.
Above her, mere inches from her own face, was the slave that had been Lilly Zimmerman, watching her with an expression of lust and satisfaction so deep she couldn’t see the ground. Slave Lilly’s blonde hair was falling down towards slave Sarah’s face, just inches away.
The woman she loved was with her again.
Slave Sarah didn’t think. She just wrapped herself around slave Lilly and pressed her open lips against hers as love and desire overwhelmed her. Slave Lilly responded in kind and they kissed like they had never kissed. As their tongues played around each other, slave Sarah’s thoughts spiraled. She had Lilly back and they were kissing again.
Only it wasn’t Lilly.
Lilly was gone.
Lilly had been enslaved.
The thought rolled through her mind and it felt better than Lilly’s kiss, better than her touch. They were both slaves, and it was perfect. They fell back down together, smacking and slurping. Feeling slave Lilly against her skin, her tongue pushing into her mouth, hands all over her, was bliss.
As they kissed, slave Sarah remembered back two days ago when they had last seen each other. She realized that Lilly hadn’t been a slave then.
Some useless part of her felt relief.
She remembered how untouchable Lilly had looked in the leather jacket as she’d walked out the door of Sarah’s bedroom. She remembered the anxiety and fear she had felt in that moment. She had wanted to stop her from going, but hadn’t.
She hadn’t stopped Lilly from going, and because she hadn’t, Lilly had been captured and enslaved by Moreau!
That thought nearly made slave Sarah come.
“Slave Sarah” spoke Moreau and the world fell away. Thoughts flooded her brain in an overwhelming rush of ecstasy. Her head spun. No.
Not just Moreau.
She obeyed Mistress! Florence Moreau was her Mistress! She obeyed Florence Moreau!
The realization filled her heart with a warm golden glow and the glow wandered down between her legs, and the swelling feeling in her loins made her wonder how far the pleasure of being a slave might still reach.
She forgot slave Lilly. Mistress had spoken to her. Sarah was a slave and slaves needed to obey. Wanted to obey. Lived to obey. She scrambled to get up, breaking the kiss with utter disregard and pushing slave Lilly aside to meet the woman that had enslaved her.
She stood erect before her Mistress. She looked at Florence Moreau, her slim bespectacled face and dark hair thrown into sharp contour in the overhead light. In slave Sarah’s mind were memories of hate, recent and fresh, and clear as day.
Monster. Enemy. Target.
This was the woman who had enslaved Lilly, taking and destroying her lover and friend. This was the woman she had hunted. The woman she’d wanted to kill with every fiber of her body.
Slave Sarah smiled at the woman she served and worshipped -- the woman she wanted to obey, to fuck, be used by. She was her slave. She was obedient and eager to serve. Everything she’d done to fight it only made it more satisfying to know that she’d been destroyed, and all those memories were nothing but kindling for the fire in her chest that burned for Mistress. Yesss! She had been defeated and enslaved! It was so fucking good!
"Thank you, Mistress!" she whimpered, as adoration threatened to overhelm her. Her. Only her. Anything for her! She loved her. She loved her so much. She stood before Mistress, body tense in pleasure and excitement as she offered herself to the woman she served. She was hers! She was her slave! She would obey!!!
She stood before the woman that was her reason for living -- shivering, dripping, and breathlessly waiting to be told how to serve.
Slave Kate felt the wetness seep through her panties as she watched. Her pussy was throbbing. This was what she’d been waiting for. She had wanted it so badly. It had been like an itch, and resisting it earlier had been so incredibly hard. She had watched Sarah collapse and the sight had been like someone sucking on her clit. Then, she’d woken up. Seeing the smile on Sarah’s face as she realized that she’d been enslaved had brought her painfully close to climax. Now, she was drinking in the look of absolute devotion in slave Sarah’s eyes and the sense of achievement bloomed in her loins with gratifying warmth. God, everything about this made her so fucking horny. But she knew she wasn’t to act on it, yet. So instead, she quietly enjoyed the hot stickiness of her sex as she kept eying Sophie.
Sophie stood at the edge of the room, trembling and crying. She had watched Sarah urgently disentangle from Lilly when Moreau had spoken to her. After Sarah had tossed her aside, Lilly had gotten up with an expression of silent pride. They both stood at attention before Moreau now.
Sophie saw Sarah's gleaming eyes burn with fanatical zeal and there was absolutely no trace left of the person she used to be. There was no doubt. No question. Sarah was gone. She was a slave.
Seeing it shouldn’t have made it worse. Sophie had known what was going to happen. But actually seeing it unfold was different.
She felt a strange absence of fear. Instead, she felt mostly sick and dizzy, like there was a vacuum inside her that coldly tugged at her, trying to collapse her. She felt like she had departed her own body, no longer participating, like she was watching a movie.
“Slave”, said Moreau. There was a question in her tone as well as proclamation.
“Slave Sarah.” The answer came unhurried, confident.
It was like a punch in the chest. Seeing her call herself ‘slave’ was wrong. There was a smile of deep satisfaction on Sarah’s lips, which was also wrong.
Not five minutes ago, Sophia had still been talking to Sarah. They’d been colleagues. They might have been friends, even. The woman that stood there looked like her, but Sarah was gone. Sarah would despise Moreau and scream at her for what she’d done. Sarah would be fighting Moreau right now. Hurt her. Kill her.
The brainwashed woman that had been Sarah just stood there, looking at Moreau with wide eyes and erect nipples.
Sophie winced, unable to really process what she was seeing. It was just too much. She felt numb, the cacophony of thoughts and feelings inside of her too jumbled and too far away to understand.
At some point their kiss ended and Moreau held up an injector, like the one she had used on Sarah.
Sarah took it like she’d been given a precious gift. Sophie watched numbly.
“Slave Sarah,” said Moreau with a nod in Sophie’s direction. Sarah immediately fixed her gaze at Sophie. A thin smile played across her face.
”Serve,” said Moreau.
Awareness hit Sophie like a brick and her thoughts cleared. Suddenly, she was painfully aware of her own presence. Fear descended upon her, overwhelming and relentless. The kind of fear the body reserved for matters of sheer survival, sharp and pure. That injector was intended for her.
Enslavement was something you read about. It happened to other people. Now, it was happening to her. Right now! This was real! Dread punched her in the gut. She looked into Sarah’s eyes and it was like looking into an abyss. There was no sympathy there, only purpose. Sarah was a dangerous woman, strong and uncompromising. Sophie had been under her protection. Now she was prey. Sarah strode towards her, steps quick and pitiless. An unstoppable avalanche rolling down a mountainside.
Sophie tried to back away, but she was just a trapped mouse about to be devoured. She was alone, among the enemies that used to be her friends. They were gone. Kate, and Sarah, and the Director. They all looked at her like hungry predators. She felt impossibly exposed and vulnerable. Sarah stepped forward, a look of grim enjoyment on her face.
“No!” Sophie whimpered quietly, desperately. She hit her back against a cabinet as she stumbled backwards. “No!” she whimpered again. Tears were rolling down her face. Empty IV bags spilled on the floor. Her hands were blindly grasping behind her, searching for something to defend herself with, finding nothing.
”Sarah, no!” she begged as Sarah reached out to take her, “Please!” Her voice became a screech as it broke.
Sarah’s gaze stayed unmoved as she took a last determined step. Sophie had run out of space and Sarah grabbed her by the wrist, her grip brutal and hard. Sophie noticed just how much taller and stronger Sarah was than herself. The slave that had been her friend raised the injector. “No! Wait!”, Sophie screamed weakly and raised her other arm in front of her in a final desperate attempt to stop this from happening. Sarah easily brushed it aside, as if Sophie had no more strength that a little child. Sophie screwed her eyes shut and instinctively turned her head away.
The sharp pain of the needle made Sophie gasp and squeak. Burning pressure erupted from the puncture and filled her with throbbing agony. Her teary eyes were still screwed tight, brows furrowed and teeth clenched. There was a last moment when the entire reality of it hit her in terrible clearness. The terribly reality that this was her last moment, her last thoughts, her last--
Life went out of her and her face melted into blank calmness as she passed out.
She never saw Sarah’s look of sheer ecstasy.
Slave Sarah barely managed to lower Sophie down to the ground, sitting her prey’s limp body against the medicine cabinet. She dropped the spent injector with a tremendous gasp. Her legs gave in underneath her as she climaxed harder than she’d ever had. She went to one knee. A long, deep moan escaped her throat and she trembled and gasped, abdomen convulsing in waves of pleasure.
Finally, a satisfied smile settled on her face.
“I obey, Mistress” she purred. Her voice was slick with adoration of her Mistress and the gratification with what she’d done to serve her. She’d loved every second of it. She loved how completely enslaved she was.
Mistress smiled at her, and it made her shiver.
“I told you we’d get you,” whispered slave Lilly, embracing slave Sarah from behind, putting her chin on slave Sarah’s shoulder and her hands on her enslaved lover’s breasts, squeezing firmly.
“And now we serve her together,” slave Sarah murmured back, and put her own palms on the back of slave Lilly’s hands, squeezing them tighter against her tits. “So… what was that about licking cunts all day long?” she whispered. Slave Lilly chuckled.
Director West, slave Kate and Mistress Moreau stepped closer, watching the incredible sight of an unconscious Sophie, minutes away from becoming just like them. Director West moaned openly.
“Glad to see you like this, Director,” said slave Sarah.
“Slave Karen,” corrected the Director with a satisfied smile.
“Hot,” replied slave Sarah. They exchanged eager looks.
“So fucking hot. I’m so damn wet right now,” said slave Karen.
“Hey, look at you, talking all dirty. Hardly recognize you,” said slave Kate, who had holstered the gun.
”That is kind of the point,” said slave Karen with a smile.
They enjoyed the next moments together quietly as they looked down on former agent Sophie Shaw, whose unconscious body sat on the floor, head hanging from her neck. They watched in reverent silence as the seconds passed.
She looked tiny and vulnerable. Her lips hung half-open and her limp arms rested on the floor spread out next to her. Her breathing was still fast, but shallow. Any second now.
Her face twitched, followed by her fingers.
And then, slave Sophie woke.
There was the smallest of pauses before her face lit up in a manic smile.
It had happened to her. She was a slave!
“Oh God, Yes!” slave Sophie moaned, her eyes taking in the faces around her. “Yes! Fuck, yes!” Her hands were on her chest, squeezing her tits in excitement.
She felt it in her mind. Where she’d been violently altered. New desires and instincts made from pure, sweet dopamine, singing in her mind, making her dance. It was at her core, monolithic and so completely, fundamentally, right: She was a slave, and she would obey. She explored these perfect new thoughts that were so easy and so satisfying to think. She was glad to discover that the feeling of pure sex she got from thinking them was the thing she now lived for.
In the flash of a moment she saw how artificial these thoughts were, how they’d been violently forced into her. She liked that idea so much that she let out a high squeal of pleasure. Her new neural pathways were paved with ecstasy and joyous obedience and it felt so good to be this way. Her whole body tingled and shivered in excitement over what she had become.
She remembered how afraid she had been. It had been only minutes ago and it was dizzyingly fresh in her mind. She could still taste the bile in her throat. That crying whimpering bitch had been her.
Now, she was still that same person, but now she was a slave, and she loved it. It was sex. It was life. It was everything she’d ever wanted. The cognitive dissonance sparkled like a thousand wet kisses on her clit. She was so glad she got destroyed. This was better. So much better. Being turned into a slave was the hottest thing she’d ever experienced.
She hadn’t known she could be that wet without touching herself. She was ecstatic to find out. This was who she was now. Who she wanted to be. Little slave Sophie, wet and ready to be fucked. Ready to obey. She enjoyed how swollen and wet her pussy was from just thinking about it.
She was still urgently squeezing her tits, and her nipples felt hard and almost painfully sensitive under her palms. She’d spread her legs without really thinking about it. She needed someone between them. She looked up.
Above her stood the others. The former agents who had been so deliciously destroyed, like poor little Sophie had been. All of them were slaves, now. Slave Lilly. Slave Kate. Slave Karen. Slave Sarah. She wanted them all. She wanted to fuck them. They were slaves, and that was the hottest fucking thing in the universe.
They were looking down on her with various expressions of lust and pride as she gasped and moaned at them, so much louder than she needed to, slowly writhing on the floor like a shameless whore. Slave Sophie was glad that they had seen her be enslaved. It must have been so fucking hot to watch.
Slave Sophie remembered the last moments of her old self, and this time she imagined herself as slave Sarah, bearing down on her, overpowering her, watching as little Sophie turned into a slave. It almost set her off. No longer Sophie Shaw. Slave Sophie. Oh God, yes!
Florence Moreau stepped forward from behind the other slaves and it was a cosmic sunrise. She hadn’t noticed it before -- that Need. Like the curvature of the earth, her obedience was too big, too absolute. Noticing it was like noticing the substance of the air around her. But now she saw her Mistress, and the planet shrunk away, and the sunrise turned into an eclipse, and the still air turned into a hurricane of fire.
“Mistress,” slave Sophie blurted, crawling and kneeling before her. In her mind, the need to submit pulled her like gravity, and her Mistress was the inescapable singularity at the center of the galaxy.
Mistress took her by the chin, raising her up until they both stood, slave Sophie looking up at her. She was tall and beautiful and perfect and for a moment the need to fuck her eclipsed slave Sophie’s mind.
“Slave,” said Moreau. The word was sugar and honey and sour drops.
“Slave Sophie,” she affirmed, eyes bright and still glistening with long forgotten tears. She remembered seeing slave Sarah answering to Mistress for the first time -- and the memory was beautiful.
Mistress bowed down to kiss her and slave Sophie met her hungrily, feeling the lips of her owner on her own with a feeling of coming home. She took half a step closer, her body aching with the need to be touched, but Mistress merely put her hand around slave Sophie’s neck. Slave Sophie lost herself in the kiss, giving herself up.
“Slave Sophie,” Moreau said, breaking the kiss, then considered slave Sophie for a moment as the slave shivered with the pleasure of her recognition.
“Kill the male.”
There was a small pause. Slave Sophie blinked. Then she smiled. She calmly knelt down and picked up the scalpel she had dropped before.
It felt so good to obey.