Linda woke on her own accord again, but she was back on the couch, and her hands and feet were zip-tied once more. This time there were no towels to keep them from painfully cutting into her skin.

“No!!!” she screamed.

“The material’s overrides seem to have decayed significantly,” said the young woman that was kneeling in front of her, seemingly making sure that Linda’s hands and feet were properly bound. They were. The woman was a small, thin redhead, curly hair strung back in a tight ponytail. She wore a tightly cut dress with a deep, laced cleavage that might have been elegant if it weren’t for the shockingly revealing hemline. Around her neck, there was a thin black collar with the number 89 embroidered on it in red.

Behind the woman, on the coffee table, sat a strange-looking device the size and shape of a flashlight, and two other smooth cylindrical objects that were most definitely sex toys. All three objects were connected by wires. Linda swallowed, but she seemed to have a lump in her throat the size of a tennis ball. Oh God, no. They’re going to do something to me. Something terrible. With that thing. They’re going to rape me!

Chad was sitting on an armchair, scrolling through his smartphone, not even looking at what was going on, and something about his utter disinterest made her feel so much more helpless than if he had been watching and leering.

”Let me go,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

She was surprised at how desperate she sounded. She had never seen herself as a victim. Hearing her own voice crack, on the edge of tears, made her sick.

“Calm down. You’ll be a slave, soon,” said the young redhead. “i am slave89. i am here to make sure nothing goes wrong with your enslavement.” The tone in her voice sounded like she was honestly trying to soothe Linda, which of course didn’t work at all.

Linda tried to head butt the young woman, but between the reclined position in which she was sitting and her bound limbs, the attempt failed miserably. All she managed to do was a large jerk of her upper body that set her off-balance and made her slowly tip over to her side.

“Mister DeVere, I require your assistance.”

Chad looked up from his phone.

“Yeah, sure. What do you need? A gag maybe?”

“I need to ask you some questions about your failed attempt to imprint this material.”

“I did exactly what the manual told me!” he said, sounding like a petulant child.

“I apologize, Mister DeVere .This is merely a matter of troubleshooting. I did not mean to imply any fault on your part. Clearly, however, there was something that precluded the imprint from succeeding, and I need to know what that was in order to ensure that this material can be properly enslaved.”

“I am not your material, and I’m not a slave! I’m a person! You can’t do this! You can’t—“

“If you continue to protest, we will gag you again,” said the woman without raising her voice and Linda hesitated, pressing her lips together. This is so fucked. Oh God, please! Make this stop! she thought. Her chest felt tight and heavy now, and she felt paralyzed, not from any outside influence, but by dread. As loud as she had screamed earlier without anyone hearing her there was little hope that anyone would notice now if she called for help. And even if she somehow got out of those binds there was no way she could overwhelm two people on her own.

There was only one hope. She had to hope that she was somehow immune. She had to hope that whatever had broken the spell before would break it again. It had happened once. It could happen again. It had to happen again!

She nodded tightly, hating that she did it. But she was out of options. Maybe there was going to be another opportunity for her to scream for help, and if they didn’t gag her now, she would be able to later.

“Good,” said the woman. Linda refused to think of her as slave89, even if it was hard to ignore the unsettling evenness of her voice and the dead stare in her eyes. In a painful moment, Linda had to think about how her own eyes would look with that dead look, and how her own voice would sound lifeless like that. But she pushed it aside.

I will wake up, Linda thought. Whatever drugs they had given her had worn off. Whatever they had done to her brain wasn't permanent. Whatever they did now, she was going to wake up from that, too! I will wake up. I will wake up!

“Mister DeVere. At what time did you approach the Material?”

Chad shrugged. “I was kinda late to the party, so maybe one a.m.?”

“Did you escort her to the VIP area?”

“Yep. Just like I was told. One of your slave girls gave us a ride home and gave me the… thing.” He nodded toward the obscene sex toy.

“Did you fully familiarize yourself with the manual?”

“For the thousandth time, yes! I… plugged it in and followed the prompts.”

“Did the material exhibit pleasure responses?”

Chad smiled. It was a disgusting sight. “Oh yeah, she did. Very much.”

“Did the material verbally confirm imprint milestones?”

“Yeah, all 37 of them.”

“Was the material intoxicated at the time of imprinting?”

Chad raised his eyebrows.

“Uhhh…. she said she’d had only one drink.”

Oh fuck, that’s exactly the thing drunk me would say, Linda thought. Please, please, please don’t let that be the reason why it didn’t work!

“Material, were you intoxicated last night?” the woman asked her.

”My name’s Linda, for fuck’s sake, and I won’t ever become like you.”

“You misunderstand. You are not intended to become like me. My personality was erased when the material I used to be was enslaved. Yours won’t. i am slave89. You will not receive a number. You will become slave linda. I apologize for the confusion. Were you intoxicated last night?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe fuck yourself. I’m not helping you!”

“Tell us, bitch!” Chad shouted, “you should be sucking my cock right now. Instead I have to deal with this bullshit!” Linda didn’t dignify him with a response.

I will wake up. I will wake up. I will wake up and get out and nail this motherfucking bastard to a wall. Whatever they did to her, she would wake up. And once she woke up, she would pretend that whatever they did had worked, and use her first opportunity to get help.

The woman reached for the coffee table, picked up the larger device and flipped a switch. On the tip, some sort of projector seemed to come to life. It flickered for a moment, shooting beams of light everywhere. Then, it seemed to somehow lock onto Linda’s face and shot blinding, colorful light right into her eyes.

She closed them.

“Fuck you, you wont get me,” she muttered. As if in response, she heard the woman come closer, and felt the couch depress as she sat down next to her. A hand grabbed Linda’s chin, and behind her closed eyelids she could sense the growing brightness of the projector throwing light against them. The woman must be holding it right in front of her face now. Linda twisted her head back and forth to get away from it.

“Mister DeVere, please hold her still and please remain quiet.”

The clammy hands of Chad grabbed her from behind and held her head in place. She tried to shake him off, but he was quite strong and managed to keep her facing forward. Linda groaned with exertion. She could hear the electric whirr of the projector right in front of her face. Her closed eyelids seemed to glow as if the sun was shining onto them. She heard the click of a button, and the light got even brighter, along with a louder noise of cooling fans springing into action. She could actually see the patterns shining through the thin flesh covering her eyes, dancing across her vision.

It was as terrifying as it was fascinating to see something with her eyes closed; not in her mind’s eye, but with her actual eyes. Her brain struggled with the perceived dissonance of it. Closing your eyes meant not seeing anything. But she saw the blurred patterns dancing on her eyelids, too close to focus on. It almost looked like there were similar patterns on each eyelid, slightly offset to trick her into perceiving depth. It was such a strange experience.

She wanted to close her eyes. But they were already closed. Those patterns, those moving, spiraling, strobing, swirling patterns… there was nothing she could do to make them go away. She rolled her eyes, up and down, but they were always there, weaker on the edges of her range of eye motion, but still inescapable. Even more inescapable than her tied hands, more inescapable than headlock she was held in. Seeing them with closed eyes made it feel like the patterns were inside her mind, not something that came from outside. It felt like she was imagining them, dreaming them up all on her own. But they weren’t hers, she reminded herself. They were intruders, and she had to fight them. Fight them. Do anything not to… not to… lose. It was so hard to ignore them. She couldn’t. They were like bad ideas dancing on the front of her mind. They were intrusive thoughts that told her to walk into traffic or jump off a ledge. They were bad. So bad. She had to fight it. Fight it. Fight… it... but... she couldn't look away. She had to fight differently. The patterns... she had to... she had too... she had to watch the patterns to make sure that they didn’t do her any harm. Yes. She had to stay focussed. Alert. She knew that if she let her guard down, she would lose. She had to stay focussed and follow the patterns, anticipate them, to make sure that she was safe from their influence, because the moment she lost track of them, she would lose. She had to watch, or she would lose. Watch the shapes. Make sure they didn’t get away from her. So complex. So difficult to keep track. She had to watch. She had to watch, or she would lose. Keep track. Watch. Focus on the shapes. Focus on the patterns. She had to watch. She had to watch. She had to watch… she had to...

Sometime later, the woman told her to open her eyes, and she did it. It made sense. With open eyes she could watch more closely. At first, she felt a dull sense of concern, stoked by the sudden brightness of the shapes that joined the patterns that already occupied her mind. But she quickly regained her focus. Yes. Patterns. She had to watch the patterns. She was safe as long as the patterns were there. If the patterns were still there that meant that she was still there too. She was still there. She was focussed and alert and safe, watching the shapes, focussing on the shapes. She was so clever, tricking the shapes like this by looking right into them. She was in control. She was safe. She was safe… she was...

…the woman told her to relax, and she relaxed because she was safe and in control. There was no reason not to relax. She knew that the woman wanted to do her harm, but it barely matter because she was so very safe. What harm could she do to her, when she was so safe, so relaxed? She could relax. Save her energy for the real struggle. She was safe. So safe… so...

…the woman told her to look into the light, and she did. She was already doing it. She had already found out the trick. Looking at light kept her safe, she was sure of it. She looked deeper, and the woman told her to open herself to it, and she did, because she understood how safe the light made her and how clever she was for staring into it and relaxing. She was very safe… completely safe.

“Were you intoxicated last night.”

For a moment, Laura was too focussed on the light to notice that the woman had asked her a question. She didn't let herself get distracted. She kept looking and answered without letting her focus drift away from the light that was keeping her safe. She could safely answer. She was completely safe. She considered lying, but the impulse almost wasn’t there. Telling the truth was so much easier, and lying would be big and exhausting and distracting. And why would she even lie? She was in control. She was safe.

“Yes, very much,” she said. ”I was so drunk that I can’t even remember anything that happened.”

“Keep watching the light,” the woman said after a pause, and she did. Watching the light kept her safe, kept her in control, kept her relaxed. She had to watch. She had to watch.

“Mister DeVere, you can let go now.”

Something that had been holding her head stopped holding her head, and she became even more relaxed. She was safe now.

“The manual clearly states that imprinting is not to be done on materials under the influence of alcohol or other mind-altering narcotica.”

“What? Where?”

“Page 74.”

There was movement and rustling of paper, but she kept watching the light, to make sure she was safe.

“Oh come on, on the bottom of the last page, in small print? Seriously?! That should be a warning on page one! Don’t you have any usability experts on your team?!”

Linda knew she was also an expert. She was an expert at watching the light, an expert at making sure she was safe. She was so clever, keeping herself from harm like this.

There was an argument. She wasn’t listening. Not really. She had to watch the light, keep the patterns inside her, understand them, keep herself safe. She knew she was winning. She was safe. The argument went on for a while and there were phone calls being made, and more arguing after that, and another phone call. She was glad that she was safe from whatever was happening. She just had to watch the patterns. She just had to relax. Nothing could harm her.

Finally, the arguing stopped. She almost didn't notice.

“It seems that you managed to convince Madame Beatrice,” said the woman. “She has offered to have me reimprint the material free of charge. Additionally, i will service you for the rest of the day and night to compensate you for the inconvenience this has caused you.”

“Meaning I get to fuck you?”

”Of course. Anything you wish, Master,” the woman said.

“Nice.”

Linda had listened to everything without really feeling the need to keep track. Nothing was really important anymore. It all seemed to slip away between the patterns. Everything was distant, far away from her. None of it concerned her or could harm her as long as she kept herself safe by watching and relaxing.

Things were happening. She felt her hands and feet being untied. Shortly after that, she felt someone removing her clothes by cutting them with scissors. She let it happen. It didn't matter as long as she could remain focussed on the patterns and shapes. Nothing mattered, as long as she was safe. The woman told her to turn herself on her back and spread her legs. She distantly realized that she had been lying on her side the whole time. She turned herself on her back and spread her legs like she had been told to. Why wouldn’t she? She was safe. The woman laid the all-important light on her chest, between her naked breasts, where she watched it. Someone placed a pillow under her head. She was so safe and relaxed. The woman inserted vibrators into her vagina and ass. Linda didn't mind. She was completely safe. Nothing could happen to her. When they started humming inside her, she knew she was winning. Yes... winning... so relaxed... so safe... so...

...Linda moaned. It was later. Time had passed. Minutes. Hours. She didn't know. She was too focussed on the light, safe and relaxed, and the vibrators inside her were so good and made her so happy. She was glowing with pleasure. She was so happy. She was so safe. She loved how they made her cum when she was good at watching the pattern and doing what she was told. They made her cum so hard. She didn't remember how she had found out that watching the pattern meant cumming. But it was true. Watching the pattern meant she was safe. Cumming meant she was safe. Everything was right. She was safe. She loved the pattern. She didn't remember when she had realized that either. But it didn't matter. She knew it was true. She loved watching it, doing what it told her. But the pattern had grown different now. Something had changed even if she didn’t know when or how it had happened. But it wasn’t only a pattern anymore. It was things, and acts, and ideas, and even a person. The woman. She was part of it too. Linda knew that now. She didn't remember how she knew, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the patterns and the words.

Yes. The words. There were also words now. Important words. True words. Words that matched the pattern. Words that kept her safe. The woman's words. She had to listen to the words to be safe. The words and the pattern were one and the same, and they made her safe. They made her cum. It felt good to cum. Cumming meant that she was safe.

Master. Obey. They were only two among many words, but those were the most important ones, like the big purple self-eating pattern that danced sharply, deep in the middle of the rhythm and the blue cascade that was definitely connected to it but so complexly that it was almost impossible to see the connection. But she saw it. She was so clever to see it. Yes, she saw it, but she knew that she hadn’t quite understood it. It was so important. So important to understand. So she kept watching… watching... watching...

She moaned as the pattern made her cum again. And her thoughts tumbled and shook, and Linda suddenly realized that something had changed. She didn’t remember when it had happened, but something had flipped, so gradually and imperceptibly that it would be impossible to draw a line between before and after.

The pattern owned her now. She knew that it did, and she knew that it once hadn’t. That idea had felt concerning, once. But now it was unimaginable. How could she have ever felt that way? She felt no concern now, because she understood that she was safe. She understood that the words owning her was making her safe. She understood that everything was happening as it should be. She was so good, so smart, so clever. She had figured it out. She had almost won. She came, again, because being safe made her cum. She was cumming all the time. She loved being so safe. Everything made sense now. Everything was going so right. So right... so good... so sagf...

Linda blinked, and shivered. Something had changed. She didn’t remember when it had happened. Minutes ago. Hours ago?

She felt more awake now.

Feeling awake made her realize that she hadn’t felt awake before. She didn’t know how long she had been watching the pattern, but she realized now that watching the pattern had hypnotized her. She had lost herself in the shapes, lost her conscious thoughts. She was very happy, because she loved being hypnotized. She loved being hypnotized because the pattern and the words had made her love it. It made so much sense. She liked that. She liked being deeply hypnotized like that.

Some reflex in her grasped at the need of being safe, and she remembered that dreamlike thought that she had repeated over and over when she had been too deeply entranced to realize what was actually happening. And like the un-logic of dreams, the thought melted and dissolved under any scrutiny. She was more awake now, and her thoughts were clearer, and she understood what she hadn't understood before. Of course, she didn’t need to be safe. That had merely been her brain misunderstanding as the patterns opened up her mind to comprehend the real truth. But she understood now. It was so obvious:

She didn't need to be safe.

She needed to be hypnotized.

She needed to listen to slave89 and let herself be changed and enslaved.

She needed to obey.

Listen and obey and watch the pattern... watch the pattern and be hypnotized and enslaved... hypnotized and enslaved... hypnotized and...

Something had changed. she didn’t remember when it had happened but something about herself had fallen into place, and she had been too wrapped up in the patterns that were still hypnotizing her to notice it. 

she knew that she was still hypnotized. she was glad to know. Being hypnotized made her feel warm and safe. It made her wet and horny. It made her feel so good and happy. she loved being hypnotized. she loved repeating the words in her mind that the patterns and the voice gave her. 

But as her thoughts drifted she realized that something had changed… something good.

There was a new word now, a word that was the most important one of them all. Even more important than Master and Obey.

she couldn’t remember when she had started hearing it, and when she had started finally believing it. At some point it must have happened. And now she was so far on the other side of it – so far gone from where she had started – that she couldn’t fathom the idea of being anywhere else, of ever not knowing the truth, not understanding what she was. 

she thought about herself, and that word was there, between her legs, in the middle of the hot, wet patterns that danced in her mind and kept her safe and happy. The most important word. The word that she knew defined her. The wonderfully correct word that she wanted to lick and swallow and feel deeper between her legs.

It was the word that told her what she was. It was the word that told her what she wanted to be.

she was nothing else:

slave.