Driving home that night, Chantal’s mind was on a cosplay. Wayne had said something, a month or two ago, about Sailor Mercury, and Chantal was wondering if she could be wearing something like that next time she knocked on his door.

It would be a lot easier, of course, if she wore things that were even close to the same look when not working. She might have been able to cobble something together just by looking for the grace details.

It had felt right to do what Wayne said that evening. Like it was the only logical thing to do. Therefore, she thought, it followed that it would feel good to model for him.

There was no real connection between the two ideas, but every time she thought it through her mind managed to move from one to the other without noticing.

She was parked up and inside her house before she stopped to consider the entertainment choices Wayne had made. Watching Starship Troopers had been a bit of a surprise. Many of the films they’d watched as youths had included casual nudity, always female, and Chantal had marked every single one of them down mentally for it.

Of course, quite a few of them had been genuine classics, so she’d accepted it tolerantly enough. Troopers, at least for her, didn’t include that same weight of quality.

And then, of course, there’d been the porn.

Chantal hadn’t known brainwashing fetish porn even existed. Although she’d never have let Wayne know, that fact had rattled her a little. She’d had a brainwashing fetish all her life, and she knew about plenty of kinds of porn she wasn’t into. Having somehow missed a whole genre of fetish entertainment crafted to her interest was confusing. How had she never googled anything for which they’d have come up?

She got ready for bed still feeling troubled by the idea, and once again tucked her phone under her pillow without really thinking about it.

An hour and a half later she felt the buzzing through her pillow and her eyes opened. She reached under her pillow, silenced the phone alarm and set it aside. As she did so she rolled onto her back, staring glassily up at the ceiling, all unknowing. “I am ready to be programmed, Master,” she droned.

Her fingers found her waiting pussy and her thoughts turned back to the doll she’d seen made earlier.

She wanted to be a doll. A beautiful, unthinking object, who brought pleasure to all around her. Who did not have to make decisions or weigh up whether or not to trust her instincts. Who did not have to balance budgets or figure out what to make for dinner or whether she could justify ordering out.

The very idea turned her on, and as her voice started speaking aloud, her empty head filled back up with Wayne’s voice, not even recognising his tones, just knowing it was not her own voice but one that was more important. His words spilled from her lips in a featureless monotone she was completely unaware of.

“I am powerless. I am mindless.

“I will dress how you choose for me to dress. I will look how you choose for me to look. I will speak how you choose for me to speak.

“Your programming replaces my thoughts. I am in your power. I am under your control. I am your doll. My mind belongs to you.

“My mouth belongs to you. My tits belong to you. My ass belongs to you. My cunt belongs to you. My body belongs to you. My sensuality belongs to you. My full erotic potential belongs to you.

“My body is yours to use. I am yours.” She cried out as the orgasm rocked through her, the last of her recitation erupting in her cries. “Program me as you wish!”

*

Wayne’s phone chimed with a message alert and he picked it up eagerly, excited for its contents.

It was from Chantal, as he’d hoped. But it wasn’t the answer to the question he’d sent her.

What are your clothing sizes? he’d asked.

The reply that had come back, a good fifteen minutes later, was Get a life, Wayne.

He frowned, displeased. She should be very willing to give him what he wanted by now.

And then it occurred to him that maybe she would be, if he approached her about it in the right way. So he sent back the message Tell me your clothing sizes.

The reply he received was longer than he’d expected, as Chantal detailed how her size fluctuated according to the manufacturer of her clothing, but it was forthright, it was detailed, he had no doubts that it was true, and it had arrived less than two minutes after he sent his. Allowing for her time typing it out, there didn’t seem to have been time for her to question or dislike this given he’d phrased it as an instruction.

Chantal didn’t want to be asked if she wanted to do something, he concluded. She wanted to be told. He smiled, and turned back to the website he’d been perusing.

His doll was coming along pretty well, all things considered, he thought. He’d have to be sure to stop her dating with the next movie night. The way she was now, she’d be primed for manipulation by some asshole of a new boyfriend who tried telling her what to do, and Wayne wasn’t willing to risk that.

It’d be infuriating to get this far and lose out to some tiny, stupid screwup.

At that, it occurred to him that he could take care of a different problem without needing a cycle to do it. He picked his phone back up and sent Come to mine for the next movie night.

Telling her what to do, he reflected, was always going to be fun.

*

When he opened his door to her the following movie night, he had the pleasure of seeing her eyes glaze over as she passed over the threshold into his house. Her cheerful greeting died unspoken in her throat.

He stepped back and let her make her way deeper into the apartment.

Chantal didn’t break stride; she headed straight for the door to Wayne’s bathroom, slipping in and closing it behind her. He shut the front door after a quick glance outside, then returned to the living room, where he settled in his favourite end of the comfortable sofa and waited.

After a few moments Chantal emerged wearing only her plain white bra and panties, her eyes glassy. “I am ready to be programmed, Master,” she intoned. Almost immediately afterwards, her eyelids began to flutter again.

Wayne grinned, and made no effort to hide the tent of the erection in his jeans. Chantal would not allow herself to register it.

He’d toyed at one point, early on, with making her want him in that way, but he had decided that he didn’t want a playmate. To Wayne a playmate might submit to him, but was still in some indefinable other way his equal. Playmates had opinions and preferences and wishes which you had to respect. Dolls were not playmates, they were playthings.

It was enough that pleasure conditioning had settled heavily on her and that she believed in her own fetish. Those would accelerate the process.

Chantal’s eyelid flickers died down and her gaze cleared. “Hey,” she said, smiling. “How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good.” Wayne couldn’t help how widely he was grinning at this point.

“Yeah, it looks like it.” She smiled, settling down on the sofa, and Wayne was completely sure that her nudity was either hidden from her or felt irrelevant to her. “Is this a girl, or is your work stuff just getting better?”

“Oh, it’s just my project,” Wayne returned. “Girls take too much admin. Dolls are much better.”

He watched her eyes fog over into glassiness. “I am your doll,” she droned. After slowly coming back to herself - he was sure it was taking longer each time - she shook her head. “Don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” she said. “Do you just not want to talk about it?”

For a mad moment he was actually tempted. He could explain to her exactly what he was doing. How far he’d already got. He could tell her that she’d even adjusted her memories so that she’d believe she’d always had these fetishes.

He could ask her if she really believed she’d have stripped down to bra and panties around him without prompting.

He didn’t quite believe that she wouldn’t push back if he did, so he bit his tongue and said nothing, but he would be wondering on and off all night whether he could have got away with it. Part of him really enjoyed the idea of her knowing what was happening to her.

“I’ll pass for now,” he said. “But I promise you, when you know, it’ll change your life.”

Chantal squinted curiously at him. “I can’t say I’m not curious,” she said, “but you’ve got to admit, that’s a huge claim to make out of nowhere.”

Wayne just winked. “Just trust me.”

“Hm.” She picked up her wineglass. Wayne had filled it with water this time - she wasn’t going to notice the difference, after all.

She wasn’t permitted to. Besides, who would spend money on good drinks for a doll? The idea was ridiculous.

“So, what are we watching?” she asked.

“I thought since you enjoyed the porn so much last time, we’d try some more of that,” he said. Chantal gave him an even more intense sideeye than before.

“Who said I enjoyed it?” she asked cagily, and Wayne grinned.

“Are you going to tell me you didn’t?” he asked. “I know you pretty well, you know, Chantal. How long have we been friends?”

“Basically forever.”

“You think I never noticed the way you react when hypnosis or brainwashing comes up in a movie or a show?”

She blushed crimson, and Wayne bit back a laugh. “You even picked out the two Incredibles movies not so long ago,” he said. “I have to assume just so we’d get to see Screenslaver.”

Chantal’s answer was mumbled to the point he couldn’t make it out. He decided to just slip by it, especially as that wouldn’t really have been her reason. “You wanted to see Elastigirl get programmed,” he said.

Again the light flickered out in her eyes. “I love to be programmed,” she recited, and started the process of blinking her way back to consciousness again.

Her cheeks, which had paled surprisingly quickly, flushed again almost immediately that awareness returned, as if her emotional reaction had been put in abeyance while her mind had… well, if he considered it to be her mind going offline, that would fit the model that they were developing.

“So I figured you’d enjoy this as well,” Wayne continued. “You can’t tell me I’m wrong.”

He’d chosen his words carefully to be an instruction. Now he waited, holding his breath, to see if she’d notice she was being instructed.

She didn’t, if only because her mind had drifted onto a different topic. “Wait a minute,” Chantal said. “How come you’ve got all of this brainwashing fetish stuff?”

He hadn’t expected that, and his response was to splutter audibly, even though it should have been a very simple matter; just tell her he enjoyed it too.

Chantal laughed, grinning warmly. “Oooh,” she said. “I found something, didn’t I? You were trying to hide it and I found it!”

Wayne decided the most dignified response was to cut that topic off before it went any further, but Chantal of course wouldn’t agree to that unless he nudged her.

Accordingly, he said “‘A little entertainment, please.’”

Chantal sat upright immediately, her posture completely changing, her feet coming together, her hands resting on the tops of her thighs.

She stood upright in one fluid motion, knees and hips unbending as one, hands sliding from the tops of her thighs to their sides. Then, long-legged grace exuding from every pore, she stepped out from behind the coffee table, coming to a halt standing tall just in front of it, her back to Wayne.

This time he took his phone out and began to record, giving her a real camera to add to the bank of imaginary cameras she was programmed to imagine as she catwalked to the door before posing again, then turned and walked back, her eyes focused on Wayne’s camera.

He hadn’t really realised until he saw her modelling live what a talent Chantal really had for it. This wasn’t mindless behaviour, this was a living mind within programmed parameters. This would be, he had already decided, the first of her doll personas, but as she strutted back toward him, an intensity in her eyes that translated into easy lust on his behalf, one hand a fist resting against her hip, he knew he was going to have to change it at least slightly.

Chantal believed that her purpose as a model was to look pretty and do as she was told, but it hadn’t been doing as she was told that had built her reputation and helped her to command a good fee for the work she booked. She’d remarked to him once - years ago, it must have been - that when you worked the way she did, breaking past the standard rate was harder than becoming a top name was supposed to be. At the time, he’d quietly dismissed that was being almost certainly untrue, just harmless puffery. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Whatever the case, the intensity of her expression also made her look like a woman in complete control of the situation. Perhaps that was even her natural inclination - they’d often talked about relationships, but had never gone into enough detail while discussing it for him to know what kinks she’d had aside from the two he’d given her.

He wanted her modelsona naive, a wide-eyed innocent he could corrupt again and again, playing out slightly different scenarios with his toy for his own satisfaction.

Still, this was a correction he would be able to put into place sooner rather than later. For now, as Chantal came to the end of her catwalk, he smiled and put away his phone. She smiled back at him.

“I’m sure I told you once I’d never do that,” she said. Wayne shrugged. “Dream big,” he said, “and you get a lot more out of it.”

“If you say so…”

She sat down again, picking her wineglass full of water back up. With her other hand she reached out to the bowl of chips, her hand closing above it and coming away as if she’d scooped up a handful, even though it was empty.

Wayne watched as she started to feed herself imaginary chips, looking thoughtfully about the room. She clearly had no idea that he’d limited her consumption but, again, why would he feed a doll? Maybe when she was inhabiting a persona where it made sense, he conceded. Not at a moment like this, though.

He turned the screen on. His file was already queued up, so he hit Play.

This was from a different company, and the cheesy music that filled the room played not over a professionally designed logo but over close-cut headshots of the actress smiling, as her name scrolled up from the bottom to the top of the screen.

Chantal rolled her eyes, but she had all the same transferred her attention to the screen and was watching closely. Wayne, meanwhile, was watching her as much as he was the show. He’d seen it before, in any case; several times in the past week, in fact, as he edited for optimal impact.

From what he’d seen so far, the activity underlying the suggestions seemed to have an impact. He didn’t know if that was because of her fledgling fetishes or whether it would have been the case anyway, but as it was working, he didn’t feel the need to investigate any further.

“I think you’ll enjoy this one,” Wayne said softly. “And it’s all about you, besides, isn’t it?”

She shook her head, and Wayne could tell the first cycle began while she was in the middle of doing so because her head suddenly locked into place, ceasing to move as abruptly as if power had been cut to a machine.

After a few moments, his voice spoke from the screen. “Are you ready to be programmed?”

“I am ready to be programmed, Master,” she answered in her dutiful monotone. On the screen, the actress was settled into a comfortable chair in front of two big screens, one of which displayed a spiral in green, the other showing the same spiral in a bright purple. She was holding in her hands what looked like quite an expensive gamer headset, which she settled onto her head as she watched the screen.

His voice had overwritten the line of dialogue the actress had used to explain this away. Wayne had learned that some videos really didn’t bother to include much justification. They weren’t his favourites but they were the most convenient to edit, because all of the content was oriented around the brainwashing or its results.

With this one he’d actually looped minutes at a time of the actress’ conditioning so that the video would be long enough for everything he wanted to put in there.

“Doll brains are hardware,” his recorded voice said. “Doll minds are software.”

“Doll brains are hardware. Doll minds are software, Master.”

“Doll minds are programming.”

“Doll minds are programming, Master.”

“Doll thoughts are programmed.”

“Doll thoughts are programmed, Master.”

“Your brain can store multiple mind programs.”

“My brain can store multiple mind programs, Master.”

On the screen, the actress had slowly worked her top down over her chest, exposing her breasts, which she was steadily groping, her eyes staring at the screen. Chantal’s own programming had her doing something very similar as she watched.

“Doll minds match their outfits.”

“Doll minds match their outfits, Master.”

“Whatever I dress you in will load a new program.”

“Whatever you dress me in will load a new program, Master.”

“When you’re first given a new outfit, you will enter programming mode.”

“When I am first given a new outfit, I will enter programming mode, Master.”

“Any programming given during that session will apply exclusively to your new doll mind.”

“Any programming given during that session will apply exclusively to my new doll mind, Master.”

The porn had cut to another shot, with the spirals on the screens still visible, but in the background, the chair empty between them. The actress walked stiffly into shot carrying a tray balanced on one hand, her arm bent back to hold the tray at shoulder level, her body clad now in a tight-fitting black and white maid’s costume with a sheen that suggested it was latex.

“You will go completely into the doll mind whenever you wear that outfit.”

“I will go completely into the doll mind whenever I wear that outfit, Master.”

“You will wear any outfit I give you.”

“I will wear any outfit you give me, Master.”

By this time the actress had taken up a stance facing the camera, her feet a little more than shoulder width apart, her thighs forming an inviting triangle. Slowly, she bent at the waist, keeping her legs straight, her eyes locked on the camera as if she was looking directly at the viewer. Her lips were parted, her expression as vacant as the performer could conjure, and if Wayne hadn’t seen what it really looked like, he could easily have believed her deeply hypnotised.

She offered the tray to the viewer, and the cocktail glass and small bowl of snacks it contained could finally be seen.

“Your own outfits also belong to a mind program.”

“My own outfits also belong to a mind program, Master.”

“This doll mind’s name is Moneymaker Doll.”

“This doll mind’s name is Moneymaker Doll, Master.”

“These outfits and the mind that go with them are identical to the original Chantal program.”

“These outfits and the mind that go with them are identical to the original Chantal program, Master.”

“Any new programming I give you outside of new outfit sessions applies to Moneymaker Doll.”

“Any new programming you give me outside of new outfit sessions applies to Moneymaker Doll, Master.”

“Moneymaker Doll will still answer to Chantal.”

“Moneymaker Doll will still answer to Chantal, Master.”

“Moneymaker Doll is the only doll mind that can make complex decisions.”

“Moneymaker Doll is the only doll mind that can make complex decisions, Master.”

“Moneymaker Doll cannot decide anything that contradicts my orders or known desires.”

“Moneymaker Doll cannot decide anything that contradicts your orders or known desires, Master.”

The programming cycle ended. Beside him on the sofa, Chantal’s eyelids fluttered and her hands drifted away from herself, three fingers on one hand glistening with her own juices.

Onscreen, the actress was fellating a dildo while looking upward into the camera. “Man,” Wayne said, “I didn’t realise how into it you were going to get. Do you realise you didn’t move for the first ten minutes?”

Chantal flushed. “Didn’t I?” she asked, then reflectively continued, “are you sure? Because I don’t know that I took anything in. Has it been ten minutes?”

Wayne smiled and got up. “Hold that thought,” he said. “I have a surprise for you.” He headed into his own room, knowing without even checking that Chantal’s attention would have drifted back to the screen in unconscious hopes of another programming cycle.

Wayne made his way back into the room as the clip was ending. He was carrying a cloth tote bag which he’d filled with the purchases made over the past two weeks, relieved as always that online shopping was as effective as it was.

Chantal watched him with a bemused smile. “You missed the ending,” she said.

“I guessed how it was going to finish,” he said cheerfully. It was odd, but he felt like their banter was returning to the way it had once been. Perhaps it was just that he felt happier around her again now that he had the upper hand, he thought, and then paused for a moment. Maybe that had been the issue the whole way around, and his nervousness about the state of their friendship entirely imagined?

He shook his head to clear it. Sure, it was possible, but it wasn’t relevant. He knew what he wanted from Chantal, and even if she had no idea, he was very close to having it. “Here,” he said, holding out the tote bag over the coffee table. “Your surprise.”

“What’s this for?” she asked as she took the bag, smiling easily. Wayne didn’t answer, just waiting as she opened the bag, dipped a hand in, pulled out a handful of cloth…

The moment she realised she was holding part of an outfit that he’d handed her, she froze in place. Her eyes, fixed on the black fabric of the tank top he’d picked out for her, glazed, or Wayne was sure they did; he couldn’t actually see from that angle, but he saw the strand of hair that had escaped from being tucked behind her ear hang down in front of her eye.

Chantal hated that, Wayne knew for a fact. He’d sat through her venting about a photographer who wanted that doe-eyes-through-the-loose-hair look on many occasions, and once had timed the vent at five minutes. Even with her hands full, he’d seen for himself that she was expert at juggling what she was holding while she tucked any loose hair back behind her ear, if she didn’t think a toss of her head was going to be effective.

There simply was no way that she would have let her hair hang there for that long without moving if she was in control of her muscles. Actually, Wayne thought it might be a completely reflex action at this point.

God, if he’d primed her so well her reflexes could be overridden…

He reached forward, cupping her chin, and lifted her head to meet his. Her eyes were glassy and the light of life and intelligence behind them was gone utterly.

“Are you in programming mode?”

“I am in programming mode, Master.”

It was possible that at some point he’d tire of her compulsion to repeat her programming. He doubted it, and anyway, there was useful diagnostic value in her repeating his words back to him. He could easily learn if she’d misheard him and correct it.

“Do not exit programming mode, but change into this outfit. Your current underwear is not required.”

“My current underwear is not required, Master.”

She set the tote down beside the coffee table and stood up, her movements jerky, mechanical, utterly devoid of her usual grace. Moving quickly despite this she took an efficient inventory of the items in the outfit, then stripped off her bra and dropped it to one side.

On went the tank top. Wayne saw with satisfaction that he’d got the size right; the top was tight around her figure and ended half an inch below her breasts, leaving most of her midriff bare. Next came two white lace cylinders; these went over her forearms, a triangle of material extending from each to a loop around her middle finger that kept them in place. Lastly she clipped a thin white lace choker around her neck, the black bow decoration in the hollow of her throat.

Chantal stepped clear of her panties and put them aside, producing a pair of sheer black tights which she donned efficiently, smoothing them out by running her hands over her shapely legs. She moved as if unaware of her body and in fact might have been, but her looks and her obedient actions still had full impact for Wayne, who grunted his satisfaction.

He saw her head twitch at that. She was listening, her ears keyed for his voice, clearly. What she thought of what he’d ‘said’ he couldn’t say, but he was sure the part of her that had embraced her brainwashing fetish must be delighted.

Over the tights she wrapped a white cotton apron that was barely more than a semi-circle of fabric and the belt to tie it, the semi-circle just large enough to give her modesty from the front in her sheer tights. And last, she took out a pair of black maryjanes which she stepped into.

She straightened back up, holding herself not quite at attention, not quite in her own habitual conscious stance. And yet it was so familiar that Wayne stared at her for a long moment trying to place it before he realised.

She was standing like a doll in the packaging.

A shiver ran down his spine and he smiled slowly. For a moment he almost congratulated her, but he stopped himself. Who congratulated a doll? He didn’t need to confuse things here.

“This outfit is called ‘Waitress’.”

“This outfit is called Waitress, Master.”

“The doll mind for this outfit is Waitress Chantal.”

“The doll mind for this outfit is Waitress Chantal, Master.”

“Waitress Chantal is devoted to the happiness of her Master.”

“Waitress Chantal is devoted to your happiness, Master.”

“Waitress Chantal watches her Master closely to ensure he’s happy.”

“Waitress Chantal watches you closely to ensure you are happy, Master.”

“If her Master isn’t happy, Waitress Chantal will do whatever she thinks will make him happy.”

“If you are not happy, Waitress Chantal will do whatever she thinks will make you happy, Master.”

Interesting, Wayne thought, that the doll mind remained in the third person while he didn’t. Probably it was simply that Waitress Chantal wasn’t Chantal’s only self now.

“Waitress Chantal watches her Master’s glass closely to ensure he always has a drink.”

“Waitress Chantal watches your glass closely to ensure you always have a drink, Master.”

“Waitress Chantal will learn from what made her Master happy each time to offer better service the more she is active.”

“Waitress Chantall will learn from what made you happy each time to offer you better service the more she is active, Master.”

Wayne ran through it all in his mind; he was fairly sure he had everything, but if he didn’t, he could always activate programming later and fine-tune her. “End programming mode.”

Waitress Chantal blinked once and still-glassy eyes turned to regard him. Her lips quirked into a smile. “Good evening, Master,” she said. Her voice was still on one tone, still conformed to an almost mechanical cadence, but she didn’t sound like entranced Chantal. Something in the tone Waitress Chantal had adopted had a perkiness and enthusiasm to it.

“Good evening,” he said. “Isn’t that a great outfit I surprised you with?”

Her smile widened, lips pulling back to show her perfect teeth in a wide beam. “Anything you dress me in is a great outfit, Master,” she said, and she spread her arms horizontally, pirouetting on the spot. “Does the way I look please you?”

Wayne grinned. “What do you think?”

She looked down at him from her standing perspective and he felt, again, the intensity of her gaze. It felt very different when it was Waitress Chantal looking at him, though; he could definitely tell the difference. “I think Master enjoys his doll, Master.”

“Well that’s definitely true.”

This was going even better than he’d expected, Wayne thought. He lifted his wine glass to her in a silent salute - flirting with your doll was fun, he was discovering - and then drained its contents, sitting back on the sofa holding an empty glass.

Waitress Chantal’s lips pursed delightfully. She bent at knees and hips, maintaining eye contact as she lowered herself to the coffee table level, where she picked up the wine bottle before straightening up fully. She held that pose for a moment before stepping around the coffee table and to the side of the sofa.

Then she bent at the waist to refill his glass, having contrived to position herself such that her breast rested on his shoulder as she did, her breath warm and teasing against his ear.

“Can I offer you anything else, Master?” she asked.