Posted by Alice Weston

I bring people and their dreams together

1d

I just had to draw up one heck of an NDA.

That’s about as much as I can openly say about it.

#success #smellslikevictory #champagneallround

(thumbsup) (heart) (applaud) Joan Bradley and 187 others

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*

In all fairness, Joan hadn’t known she had anything to say until she had lifted her head from between Miss Alice’s thighs and opened her mouth again to speak.

She hadn’t even been listening to the conversation, or at least not consciously. Her attention had been on the soft, wet pussy of her Mistress and the duty to please it that had been placed upon her. But it turned out that, as her conscious mind sifted through the subtle shifts in Miss Alice’s voice control and the hitches and catches in her breath when Joan had done particularly well, the rest of her had taken in what Miss Alice’s phone conversation had been about.

What she found herself saying was “Pardon me, Miss Alice, but if that’s Jennifer Verheul, you can get her to make almost any concession if you make out you know what she did in Cabo four years ago.”

Miss Alice flapped a hand at her twice, her jaw taut with irritation, silencing her, and Joan fell silent. After a moment of quiet, though, Miss Alice spoke into the phone.

“Honestly, I’m a little surprised to hear you take that approach,” she said quietly. “I’m pretty sure you were much more willing to be active in Cabo.”

There was a moment of quiet. Joan watched Miss Alice’s face from below, trying to read her reactions to the other woman’s speech on the phone, trying to tell if her suggestion had worked.

She read a shift in her Mistress’ shoulders and a change in her posture a heartbeat before the fractional relaxation could be seen in her face also. “Yes,” Miss Alice said, and with her free hand, rather than shushing Joan, she reached out to her, taking her by the hair and guiding Joan’s head back toward her thighs, which parted again.

Joan giggled quietly and buried her face back in her Mistress’ pussy while negotiation carried on over her head. It was, for her, enough to know she had properly served her Mistress, even if her Mistress had been surprised by it.

*

“Explain yourself,” Alice said. She had considered putting on a stern expression, but before she’d composed herself after her call for long enough to start this conversation, she’d realised that she genuinely didn’t need to.

In business, she’d learned early on to keep a poker face in place as much as possible.

As she’d found herself in positions of power more often, she had discovered she could replace that poker face with a low-level aggression, but one thing that remained the same no matter what was that you couldn’t show curiosity.

Curiosity meant you didn’t know everything, and if you didn’t know everything, you were seen as easy to manipulate.

But Joan wouldn’t think that. Alice could let her curiosity show as much as she wanted, could in fact show vulnerability if she wanted, because Joan wouldn’t think anything of it, or of anything, and nor would she remember it.

Instead, Joan’s eyes were fixed on the blue sapphire pendant she had once worn so proudly, her eyes glassy and vacant, completely unthinking.

Her chest was bare, her modesty protected solely by a pair of black cotton panties and by her own hands cupping her breasts. Every five seconds, her hands would squeeze and jiggle, because Alice saw no reason not to use every hypnotic tool available to her.

“I know Jennifer Verheul well, Miss Alice,” Joan droned. “I know how to get the better of her.”

“How did you know who I was speaking to?”

“I don’t know, Miss Alice.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t remember, Miss Alice. My attention was elsewhere.”

Alice moved the hand from which she was dangling the blue sapphire pendant and watches Joan’s head swivel slightly to track it, her eyes still following its arc as it bounced in its swing from the sudden movement of her hand.

There was nothing about the way Joan moved that seemed manual, for want of a better word. Her gaze was locked onto the sapphire; her hands were locked to her breasts; the rest of her remained unmoving. The answers Alice was getting, she concluded, were sound; there would be no attempt to deceive her from a mind so deeply sunk into hypnotic bliss.

“You didn’t hear my call?”

“No, Miss Alice.”

“But you understood who I was calling?”

“Yes, Miss Alice.”

“Do you remember any details?”

“No, Miss Alice.”

Alice looked at her thoughtfully. Memory was a different thing, when accessed from within trance.

“Repeat the conversation I had,” she instructed.

“Yes, Miss Alice,” Joan responded, jiggling her breasts, and she began to recite everything Alice had said in her hypnotised monotone, the cadence of her speech never varying, speaking with no sign of understanding what she said.

Alice sat back and considered, while Joan continued to jiggle her tits at precise and regular intervals. With no other prompts, the hypnotised woman began to giggle softly at each rep, while Alice pondered.

Infuriating that even now, reduced as she was, Joan Jiggles had access to connections that Alice did not.

She decided that when she and Jennifer Verheul met to sign their agreement, Jennifer would learn that Joan had told Alice about Cabo. Leave the woman wondering how Alice had gained the information and what else she might know.

Joan was hers to use, after all. That included her reputation and her knowledge, not just that honeyed tongue of hers.

*

“Joan Jiggles is better than Joan Bradley,” Miss Alice began. “Repeat.”

“Joan Jiggles,” Joan answered promptly, “is better than Joan Bradley.”

“Good girl. Again.”

“Joan Jiggles is better than Joan Bradley.”

“You’re proud of Joan Jiggles. Repeat.”

“I’m proud of Joan Jiggles.”

“Again.”

“I’m proud of Joan Jiggles.”

“You’re proud to be Joan Jiggles. Repeat.”

Joan felt a shiver run down her spine, though nothing showed in her unmoving, staring form. Joan loved her mantra. Joan loved the mantra game. Any time Miss Alice decided to enforce Joan’s mantra was a good time in Joan’s book.

“I’m proud to be Joan Jiggles.”

“Good girl. Again.”

“I’m proud to be Joan Jiggles.” Joan’s eyes crossed and she lost track of the pendant completely.

“Joan Jiggles serves and giggles. Repeat.”

“Joan Jiggles serves and giggles.” She felt herself start to smile lazily, her lips parting.

“Good girl. Again.”

“Joan Jiggles serves and giggles.”

Miss Alice ran the hand not holding her beautiful blue sapphire pendant down Joan’s middle, from the base of her neck down between her jiggling breasts across a belly kept flat by an executive workout regimen, past her belly button, and down to where her thighs spread in instinctive, obedient, needy opening.

Joan felt her Mistress’ fingers slip inside her and her eyes rolled back entirely in her head, her vacant smile becoming a moaning, slackjawed expression where drool began to pool behind her lower lip, beneath her tongue.

“Joan Jiggles belongs to Miss Alice. Repeat.”

“Joan Jiggles belongs to Miss Alice,” Joan answered. Her body did not move, but her Mistress’ fingers had found her, were coaxing and teasing, and her mind, such as remained, was coming apart like so much sopping, drenched paper at the soft, steady stroking.

“Good girl. Again.”

“Joan Jiggles belongs to Miss Alice.” She had already known this, but it was more true than ever in that moment.

“Everything you are is mine. Repeat.”

“Everything I am is yours.”

“Good girl. Again.”

“Everything I am is yours.”

“Everything you own is mine. Repeat.”

“Everything I own is yours.”

“Good girl. Again.”

“Everything I own is yours.”

Joan heard Miss Alice’s words coming in faster bursts, her Mistress’ breathing heavier with each of them, and knew that this was exciting her Mistress. This made Joan happy; she liked to please her Mistress, no matter how she was called upon to do so. If it turned her Mistress on to delve into the very centre of who Joan was and to twist and manipulate it, Joan Jiggles would serve and giggle as she did so.

Her lips twitched, as if trying to giggle while so deep in trance, and the drool which had been collecting for some time now started to spool out from her lower lip. With the fingers toying with her deep inside, Joan could feel her Mistress’ excitement in another way too, and the whole thing was too wonderful. She gloried in what she had been made.

“Everything you know is mine. Repeat.”

“Everything I know is yours.”

“Good girl. Again.”

“Everything I know is yours.”

She felt Miss Alice take hold of her cheeks with the hand not deep inside her, tilting her head up. “Look at me,” her Mistress commanded.

Joan’s vision swam as her eyes rolled back into view. It took a moment to focus on her Mistress’ face, and she found herself staring, enthralled, at the vibrant scarlet of her lips, the lipstick that she remembered scorning as the old Joan.

But the way Miss Alice’s lips moved as she said…

“You will tell me anything when prompted. Repeat.”

…the way the brash scarlet lips moved was as exciting to Joan as her attempts in an entranced, near-unmoving body to squirm on her Mistress’ fingers.

“I will tell you anything when prompted,” she echoed.

“Good girl. Again.”

“I will tell you anything when prompted.”

“You are an advisor. You are a flunky. You are an assistant. Repeat.”

“I am an advisor. I am a flunky. I am an assistant.”

“Good girl. Again.”

“I am an advisor. I am a flunky. I am an assistant.”

“Miss Alice makes decisions. Repeat.”

“Miss Alice makes decisions.” She was so close to cumming, she could feel it, but she hadn’t the right to cum for her own sake, she had to wait and see if she was allowed…

“Good girl. Again.”

“Miss Alice makes decisions.”

There was nothing in Joan’s head but Miss Alice’s lips and her words, nothing in her world but Miss Alice’s fingers against her clit.

“Joan Jiggles carries decisions out. Repeat.”

“Joan Jiggles carries decisions out.”

“What is vanity?”

“Free will is vanity,” she answered.

“What is sanity?”

“Submission is sanity,” Joan said, and the completion of one of her mantras set her onto a cycle. “Free will is vanity. Submission is sanity. Free will is vanity. Submission is-“

“Good girl. Cum.”

Joan lost track of everything in the bliss that overwhelmed her back into consciousness.

*

“What do we say, hmm?” Miss Alice asked over her shoulder as they made their way down the street.

“Joan Jiggles serves and giggles,” Joan answered giddily, tottering along behind her on high heels she was barely in control of, something that made her jiggle more and more. Her vision swam for a moment, as it always did when one of her mantras surfaced from the bubbling mess that was her mind.

Joan was recognisable to anyone who had known her before her resignation, but it would take most of them some time and perhaps even some effort to recognise her. Her hair had been allowed to grow out somewhat, and she was wearing it that day up in two bunches, each one kept in place by a hot pink scrunchie. If her long-term hairdresser had seen it, she would have been lost for words.

The power suit was gone, too; Miss Alice still wore hers - in fact, Miss Alice had taken one of Joan’s and had it tailored to her, with Joan watching silently - but Miss Alice decided how Joan dressed now. And Miss Alice, that day, had put Joan in a gold thong under a pair of dark blue hotpants, a pair of black and white striped calf-length socks, a pair of high heels, and a white halter top with no bra underneath.

As a whole, the outfit kept Joan jiggling constantly now they were on the move. She wasn’t completely sure where they even were, but it didn’t matter; Miss Alice gave the orders, and Joan Jiggles then served and giggled.

Their destination turned out to be a tattoo parlour. The woman behind the counter looked at Joan for a long moment with an unreadable expression, then turned and looked at Miss Alice for a moment. “This the one, then?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” Miss Alice told her. “Joan wanted the tattoo, she just asked me to reach out since I already know you. Didn’t you, Joanie?”

“Yes, Miss Alice,” Joan responded urgently. She had no idea what was being talked about - well, she could guess, but she’d had no idea what was coming - but what Miss Alice wanted, Joan wanted too. She’d happily lie for her Mistress.

“Is that right?” The tattooist looked at Joan with a sly grin, as if sure she knew something Joan didn’t.

A couple of months earlier, Joan would have taken some pleasure dreaming up ways to make the woman’s life hell for that, but now she knew this wasn’t something she got to decide. So instead she simply smiled back at the woman, who shrugged. “Well,” she said, “if the money clears…” She winked. “This way, then.”

Miss Alice slapped Joan on the ass, which meant Joan should follow. She glanced over her shoulder as she tottered after the woman, seeing Alice settle into one of the chairs in the reception area and pick up a gossip magazine with every appearance of relish.

Shown to a seat beside the tattooist’s equipment, Joan sat and looked around with a smile. Someone else was getting a tattoo at the same time, a complex, detailed design around her shoulder, and she looked dubiously at Joan’s outfit. “Aren’t you a bit grown up for something like that, sweetheart?” the other woman asked, and Joan considered for a moment.

Miss Alice had chosen the outfit, so she decided it couldn’t be wrong in any way. “No,” she said, and smiled sunnily.

The tattooist looked at her again, silent for a few moments. She tattooist held out her hand, and Joan put hers into it. A shift in the other woman’s grip held Joan’s hand closer, steadier. With her free hand she picked up the tattoo needle and began to work, picking away a design on the back of Joan’s hand.

Joan watched with interest, eager to discover how Miss Alice had chosen to mark her. It quickly proved to be words, in a flowing, easy-to-read handwritten style:

If found unaccompanied

Please return to

Miss Alice

Joan’s face split into a wide grin. How thoughtful Miss Alice was!

Once the tattooist was done, she was more than ready to bound up out of her chair and scurry back to Miss Alice, but she had to sit and listen to a dull lecture on how to take care of her tattoo first.

She was impatient and uninterested, but she sat and smiled throughout because she was sure that was what Miss Alice would have wanted her to do.

When that was done, though, she did shoot out of her chair with the excess of energy she seemed to have inherited the moment it was no longer her who had to make all the decisions; what she would wear, where she would go, who she would talk to, how she would act.

She hugged her tattooist, giving her a broad, eager grin that the woman seemed completely unprepared for, and then she skipped back to meet Miss Alice where she had been waiting.

Joan bobbed a curtsey, and in the movement she felt herself jiggle and her vision swam and she giggled.

Miss Alice closed the magazine she’d been reading and set it back down on the table and uncrossed her legs and stood. She flashed the tattooist a smile and walked over to Joan.

“Show,” she instructed briskly, and Joan extended her arm, palm down, wrist angled to show off the inscription on her hand most clearly.

Miss Alice made great play of studying it carefully, then looked up to the professional. “Fabulous work,” she said, “as always.”

The tattooist just nodded. “You know me, I’ll make sure the customer gets what she wants. I’m just surprised either of you want this.”

Miss Alice’s smile flashed again and she chuckled throatily. “In all the time we’ve known each other I’m sure I’ve surprised you several times.”

“Well, that’s certainly true…”

Joan had been looking between the two like a spectator at a tennis match. She wasn’t sure she liked the tone being taken, but she didn’t want to upset Miss Alice by speaking up about it.

She would have, once, she knew that. But that wasn’t the Joan Jiggles way; Joan Jiggles smiled and giggled, and that was much more fun and, besides, even if it wasn’t more fun it was what she was better at. Miss Alice told her so often, and Miss Alice would certainly know.

“Will I be seeing you back for more?”

“Yes,” Miss Alice said, still admiring the handwriting on the back of Joan’s hand. “Once I’ve made some decisions, Joan will be along again.”

Joan smiled back at the tattooist. This was much more positive, so it was easier for her to think what she should do and how she should behave.

The tattooist smiled back thinly. “You’re thinking tramp stamp, aren’t you?”

“Not exactly,” Miss Alice said. “Anything Joanie gets should be visible even in a business suit.”

That provoked a snort of laughter from the other woman. Joan blinked in surprise, bewildered by her amusement. She’d been a businesswoman. She’d owned dozens of suits, before everything she owned became the property of Miss Alice of course. Obviously she would suit them; why not?

Miss Alice just chuckled though, and said “But I was thinking about ways that Joanie could be marked out more than she is. I’ll get back to you when I’ve decided.”

“I could do you something facial.”

“No,” Miss Alice said. “I still enjoy her face just as it is.”

“Maybe later, then.”

Miss Alice considered for a moment. “No,” she said again. “No. It’ll be something else.”

The tattooist shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll be interesting.”

“Of course.” Miss Alice swept out, and Joan followed.

*

Joan had picked up that Jennifer Verheul had given Miss Alice a very favourable deal over the past few days, but she was left at home when Miss Alice went off to sign the documents.

Specifically, she had been left at her own old apartment, where she had three large cardboard boxes.

Wearing a blue denim microskirt Miss Alice had found for her, the usual pair of high heels she was now more comfortable walking with than without, and a blue sports bra, her hair still up bunches with, this time, neon blue hair bobbles, she was steadily sorting through her old wardrobe.

All the suits, the blouses, the occasional vest, the underwear, her casual clothing and, of course, all her dominant fetishwear except for the white leather catsuit that Miss Alice had already had modified, was being sorted through, piece by piece.

Joan had three questions to answer. Would it suit Miss Alice? Could it be tailored to fit Miss Alice? Would Miss Alice enjoy wearing it?

Only if the answers to all three questions were ‘yes’ would the item go into one of the boxes. Any others were being piled on the bed, to be bagged for trash later. Miss Alice had told Joan this was a job she was perfectly suited for.

She moved around her apartment, humming cheerfully to herself as she did so, sorting through the detritus of her life as the woman who knew how to manipulate a Jennifer Verheul or to broker a deal between two companies, or even simply knew the gossip closely enough to trade stocks on the inside track.

Once all of the clothing had been sorted, she taped the boxes closed, stacked them neatly, and carried them out to the elevator, still humming contentedly to herself. The phrase ‘honest work’ floated across her mind, and she wasn’t sure where it had come from but she was inclined to agree with it; she didn’t scheme any longer, didn’t seethe at criticism or because someone had judged her by her gender or by the way she looked, didn’t jockey for position.

She simply served and giggled, and the work she did wasn’t complex, it was straightforward, and she knew immediately whether or not she had satisfied Miss Alice.

When she thought back to the worry and stress she’d had trying to identify the leak in her department, the fear she’d felt about what it would do to her career, it was obvious that the current state of her life was far better.

The fact she had been the leak went almost forgotten. It wasn’t relevant anymore. Not now Joan Bradley was gone and Joan Jiggles was where she should be.

Waiting for the elevator, she heard a door open further down the corridor and saw Benton Ryan emerge. Benton was about ten years her senior and had jumped around from company to company several times in his career, climbing the corporate ladder aggressively. She and he had been on good terms before her fall from grace.

He was gawping at her, mouth wide open, staring. He hasn’t seen my body properly before, she thought, and as the elevator door opened she blew him a kiss before bending at the waist to pick up her cardboard boxes and carry them down to the underground parking lot, where she would wait for Miss Alice to collect her.

Benton’s expression stayed in her memory as she travelled down the floors. It seemed strange to her that he’d be shocked, even if he’d never seen her like that before. She was what she was; Miss Alice appreciated it and liked to compel her to show it off. Surely he should have…

She wasn’t sure, but she was obscurely hurt that he hadn’t intuited she could be like this.

Benton had divorced sometime in the last few months, she vaguely recalled; his wife had often been in LA anyway, but it had broken down entirely. Joan Bradley had simply thought that if he’d wanted better, he should have put in the effort to be a better man; Joan Jiggles rather hoped that when he felt lonely later that night he would remember how she’d dressed and how she’d looked, remember the kiss, and find some pleasure in that memory.

Which she told Miss Alice when Miss Alice pulled up in what had been Joan’s Aston Martin Valhalla, while Joan was loading the boxes into the back.

Miss Alice laughed. “Good girl, Joan Jiggles.”

Joan giggled.

*

Weeks passed. Joan was steadily accumulating a new wardrobe of her own, with items of clothing being delivered steadily. As Joan understood it, each one was being bought with some of Joan’s money, which was now Miss Alice’s to do with as she wished; whatever caught her eye she would buy and would have delivered to the house.

A lot of it was fetishwear, but some was just whatever Miss Alice thought would be, in her own words, “trashy but slutty.” Joan had spent the morning that day in a figure-hugging latex catsuit decorated as if it were a maid’s outfit, doing chores around Miss Alice’s home while Miss Alice continued to take meetings online.

Loitering near her Mistress, mostly out of shot of any camera, Joan had realised only slowly that she no longer had any interest in taking meetings herself. There was so much to navigate, egos to juggle, goals to achieve, sometimes concessions to make. From time to time a perfectly reasonable strategy turned out to be illegal once someone had actually consulted the lawyers.

Instead she finished dusting the bookshelf, went to make Miss Alice her coffee, and accidentally showed off her cleavage on-screen as she bent down by the desk to put the coffee in place.

After lunch Miss Alice had blocked off her afternoon in order to take Joan for her appointment, and so Joan had changed - Miss Alice didn’t tell her she couldn’t wear fetish gear outside the house, but did say she could only wear it outside the house with prior permission - and was instead wearing a matching set of spandex leopard-print leggings and halter top above a bright yellow pair of high heels.

Her hair continuing to grow out, she now wore it down, a mane of hair spilling over her back, and while there was no bra under the tight halter top, a thong went under the leggings “so anyone who looks can see the outline and know you’re just as slutty as you are.”

Miss Alice had leased a luxury SUV to go with the sports car, and she had decided that she preferred to be driven when in the SUV, so Joan Jiggles got to wear a chauffeuse’s cap whenever they took it. Joan knew she had been programmed with the destination, but she had no idea where they were going or what the appointment was until she found herself parking in the small lot outside an office with the sign:

Dr C. Carter

Cosmetic Surgeries & Augmentations

Needless to say, Joan was very excited at the implications. She would have hugged Miss Alice before they went inside for Joan’s consultation, except that Miss Alice hadn’t told her to, and it might have been the wrong thing to do. Joan Jiggles didn’t make decisions.

Miss Alice was wearing what had been Joan’s favourite power suit, now retailored to suit Miss Alice’s wider posterior and to hide her slightly chubbier belly but accentuate her bust. Even with Joan leaving the peaked chauffeuse’s cap in the SUV, they made an odd pair, but the receptionist made no comment and simply buzzed through to tell Dr Carter they were there.

Dr Carter looked directly to Joan. “Can you tell me, please,” she asked immediately, “what you are here to consult about?”

Joan hadn’t been ready to be asked a question, and she was sure her expression showed that. She looked across to Miss Alice, who opened her mouth, but Dr Carter raised her hand for silence.

“Ladies,” she said, “please. I have had my consultancy in this city for long enough now to make tests when two people come in to consult on cosmetic augmentations.

“Members of the Twisting Chambers stop by fairly regularly. Your money spends as well as anyone else’s, but I like having an easy conscience, so my answer is no.” She turned away slightly to her computer. “I can refer you to some colleagues who’ve-“

“Nobody else has your reputation,” Miss Alice said, and Joan could hear in her flat delivery how unhappy with this she was.

“And this is one way I keep it,” Dr Carter said.

Miss Alice nodded to Joan. “At least let us show you the project.” Joan’s hands floated up beyond her own control to take hold of the tight leopardprint and lift it up, letting her tits fall free. They jiggled as they settled, and so she giggled.

Dr Carter glanced up with disbelief. “I’m afraid I can’t-“

“Oh, but you can,” Miss Alice purred, rising to stand behind Joan. She took Joan’s breasts in her hand, tracing spirals on her skin, and her obedient slavegirl moaned happily. Dr Carter seemed to wince. “You can do anything. The only question is what you want.

“Do you know what you want, Dr Carter?”

“I want you both to-“

“You want peace,” Miss Alice talked over her, and as she did her thumbs and forefingers reached the centres of their spirals on Joan’s nipples and she pinched and tugged, and Joan’s vision swam and she moaned, and she was only vaguely aware of Dr Carter’s eyes widening, focusing in on her breasts, because Miss Alice was using the voice and even without the pretty blue sapphire pendant, even without her tits jiggling (because Miss Alice’s grip was tight enough to prevent it) Joan was only vaguely aware of what was happening, except that Dr Carter would try to speak and Miss Alice would talk over her and every time it repeated, Dr Carter seemed less and less forthright in her attempts to speak.

Joan knew well what it looked like when someone was slipping into trance, and she recognised in Dr Carter’s face several of the tell-tale signs, with her facial expression becoming vaguer as the muscles in her cheeks and jaw drew slack. She knew the same thing was happening to herself, her mind emptying as it always did when her Mistress exerted herself hypnotically -

*

“Nothing would stop you giving her bigger tits. Repeat.”

“Nothing would stop me giving her bigger tits.”

“Good surgeon. Again.”

“Nothing would stop me giving her bigger tits.”

“You want her to have big fake pornstar tits. Repeat.”

“I want her to have big fake pornstar tits.”

“Good surgeon. Again.”

“I want her to have big fake pornstar tits.”

“You’re going to have her back in a month or two for butt implants. Repeat.”

“I’m going to have her back in a month or two for butt implants.”

“Good surgeon. Again.”

“I’m going to have her back in a month or two for butt implants.”

“Nothing will stop you giving her butt implants. Repeat.”

“Nothing will stop me giving her butt implants.”

“Good surgeon. Again.”

“Nothing will stop me giving her butt implants.”

Joan wasn’t exactly listening to Dr Carter being programmed, nor was she exactly watching Dr Carter be programmed. But Dr Carter was being programmed in front of her, in her line of sight, in earshot, and so everything about it soaked into Joan’s awareness. Her sopping, needy awareness.

“Her transformation will become your fetish. Repeat.”

“Her transformation will become my fetish.”

“Good slut. Again.”

“Her transformation will become my fetish.”

“You’re going to fantasise about her body once you’re done. Repeat.”

“I’m going to fantasise about her body once I’m done.”

“Good slut. Again.”

“I’m going to fantasise about her body once I’m done.”

It was nice, Joan thought, to know what was going to be done to her on the surgical table; she also really liked the extra effort Miss Alice was going to so that Dr Carter would be happy with her work. It seemed especially generous when you remembered that Dr Carter had tried to reject the work in the first place.

Silly Dr Carter, she thought. Miss Alice made decisions. Everyone else just carried them out. She giggled at the thought, and Miss Alice pinched the nipples she was still holding as half chastener, half reward.

“In a month or two after she’s done, you’re going to get the same operations for yourself. Repeat.”

“In a month or two after she’s done, I’m going to get the same operations for myself.”

“Good slut. Again.”

“In a month or two after she’s done, I’m going to get the same operations for myself.”

“You won’t remember this discussion. Repeat.”

“I won’t remember this discussion. Repeat.”

“Good slut. Again.”

“I won’t remember this discussion.”

“You’ve never been hypnotised. Repeat.”

“I’ve never been hypnotised.”

“Good slut. Again.”

“I’ve never been hypnotised.”

“You’ll market yourself as the pornstar porn surgeon. Repeat.”

“I’ll market myself as the pornstar porn surgeon.”

“Good slut. Again.”

“I’ll market myself as the pornstar porn surgeon.”

“Good.” Miss Alice rose. “Once we’re gone you’ll make sure you have the supplies and send us an appointment. And then you can wake back up, and until we come back for the surgery you’ll think this went exactly how you planned. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Dr Carter intoned blankly, staring straight ahead.

“That’s sorted, then. Put your top on properly, Joan, and come along.”

“Yes, Miss Alice,” Joan smiled, and hurried to obey.