Posted by Joan Bradley

Intelligence is at the heart of everything I do

2h

Do you ever stop to wonder what you’re doing and why?

I’ve lived a life driven by vanity. My goal now is to achieve sanity.

I know most of you won’t understand what I mean by this. At some point I might be able to make it clearer.

I can’t believe I spent my entire life to date chasing a goal they told me from childhood I should want to achieve, and with it almost in my grasp I finally realised that isn’t what I want.

The irony that I look back on my life now and realise I’d been brainwashed by society before all this is not lost on me, believe me.

(thumbsup) (heart) Carrie Carter and 62 others

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*

“I love having big fake pornstar tits.” The part of Joan that had once dominated those around her, hearing the dreamy, half-empty way her voice was emerging from her mouth, was aroused. How much Joan would have loved to have such a susceptible, obedient pet…

“Good girl. Again.”

“I love having big fake pornstar tits.”

Although she couldn’t do much more than touch them yet. Surgery had been a couple of days earlier; Joan was now seated in Dr Carter’s office for the first checkup, although Dr Carter was doing more checking out than checking up at the moment.

The surgeon was staring hungrily at Joan’s bare chest, her eyes as glassy as Joan’s own, but Miss Alice’s attention was all for Joan and she gloried in that. Dr Carter, it seemed, was nothing more than a means to an end; Joan was where Miss Alice had her interest.

Joan felt a shiver run down her spine. Something about the idea Miss Alice would usurp and overthrow not just Joan’s life and ideals but also those of another just to have Joan as her obedient jiggly hypnoslut was so ridiculously hot.

“You love it when people stare at your tits. Repeat.”

“I love it when people stare at my tits.” Although this barely qualified as programming, Joan thought; she’d always got a kick out of it. She understood the power differential involved in someone else staring at her body, how it gave her the power in the situation.

At least when the person staring wasn’t Miss Alice. She didn’t understand how Miss Alice did that, but then she knew she didn’t need to. Miss Alice could do anything she wanted as far as Joan was concerned.

“Good girl. Again.”

“I love it when people stare at my tits.”

“Your tits can never be completely covered. Repeat.”

“My tits can never be completely covered.”

“Good girl. Again.”

“My tits can never be completely covered.”

Joan had come to love these moments, the times when Miss Alice was actively programming her. It was its own special thrill to know she was changing, know she was being manipulated and remade, to the specifications of her Mistress, the woman whose control made Joan whole, the woman who first recognised Joan Jiggles being hidden in the contemptible shell that Joan Bradley had been.

“Everyone who sees you must know you’re a slut. Repeat.”

“Everyone who sees me must know I’m a slut.” Joan was conscious of a bead of drool, making its way further down from her lower lip every time she spoke. She could feel it sway as her lips shaped her words, spooling out further every time, and she knew soon it would splash onto her exposed, uncovered, big fake pornstar tits. She giggled.

At Joan’s giggle, Dr Carter moaned audibly, and at that Miss Alice gave voice to a throaty, full-bodied, satisfied chuckle. Joan felt soooo good to hear that; it wasn’t a sound Miss Alice made except in moments of delighted surprise or great triumph.

“Doctor Carter,” Miss Alice said, “Joan’s next surgery must take place as soon as possible. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Alice.”

“Do you agree, Little Miss Jiggles?”

Joan’s eyes crossed and Dr Carter’s helpless infatuation seemed doubleed. “Yes, Miss Alice,” she shuddered out, jiggling herself deeper.

“Good, then.” She rose, Joan’s old favourite white power suit perfectly retailored to her curves, and made her way to the parking lot. “Come along, Joan.”

“Yes, Miss Alice.” Still in trance, she walked out topless into the parking lot, only realising how fully she was on show when Miss Alice woke her before she could drive them home.

*

A number of her outfits no longer fitted, of course - Joan had the vague idea, for a while, that Miss Alice hadn’t originally intended for Joan to have big fake pornstar tits, and had decided on it for reasons unknown to Joan along the way. Then she said something that told Miss Alice she had this idea, and almost immediately, gazing into her old blue sapphire pendant, the idea was completely forgotten, the possibility scrubbed from her memory.

Joan therefore spent a couple of days confined to the apartment, wearing short skirts, aprons, heels, and nothing above the waist. During this time she jiggled far more than usual, and as such she spent the whole time half in trance, jiggling and giggling unless her mouth was filled with the worship of her Mistress.

In due course, though, her new tops began to come in, selected by Miss Alice; bras and bustiers designed for her new measurements, some underbust constructions that came up to just below the nipple, effectively becoming display platforms for her chest, and Miss Alice’s early favourite, a tight top which didn’t show cleavage or indeed any of her breasts’ upper slopes, but which held them proud and ended high enough to show the lower hemispheres.

She was delighted to be able to be sent on errands again. From time to time as she shopped for whatever trivial item Miss Alice had sent her out for, she’d glance across at someone who was staring at her and realise she’d known them, that perhaps she’d even done business with them or negotiated with them when doing so was her prerogative.

She was wearing black leather assless chaps and a black leather underbust corset one Friday - very much indoor only clothing - and was mopping Miss Alice’s kitchen floor, humming contentedly to herself, when Miss Alice walked in cheerfully.

This wasn’t typical; Miss Alice didn’t often visit the kitchen or the laundry, not now she had a live-in slave to take care of them. This time, though, she walked up to the kitchen counter and slapped down a sheet of paper and a pen.

“Come here, Jiggles,” she said briskly. There was authority all through her words, and amusement too, but there was none of the impatience she’d heard while Miss Alice dealt with Dr Carter. There was no need for that with Joan Jiggles, of course, and naturally Miss Alice knew that very well.

She tottered across on her heels, feeling the jiggle not just in her tits but in her buttocks and her thighs, floating in the bliss of submission.

“Sign this,” Miss Alice said. Joan took up the pen and did not bother to see what the paper actually said, but instead signed her name.

Well.

The Joan part went down really easily. Her attempt at her surname just seemed to come out wrong, somehow, as if her hand had turned partway through. Joan looked at it for a moment and tried again, this time signing herself as Joan Briggles, which was also not right. She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Miss Alice clucked her tongue thoughtfully. “Oh, now,” she said, “that’s interesting.”

By now Joan’s cheeks were burning in earnest. It was a simple instruction. It had been given to her by her Mistress. It should not be a problem. She’d signed her name hundreds of times, maybe even thousands, since coming to adulthood. But it wasn’t working properly and she couldn’t understand why.

Miss Alice’s hand crept down to Joan’s bare buttocks and squeezed, which told Joan that her Mistress wasn’t upset by this failure. It was all very confusing, and Joan wasn’t at all sure this was a time she should be using her full intellect to recover from that confusion.

“Who are you?” Miss Alice asked.

“I’m Joan Jiggles,” Joan answered promptly and then, just in case Miss Alice had wanted the other answer she commonly wanted in these moments, “I’m your obedient slut.”

“Joan Jiggles probably has a different signature to Joan Bradley,” Miss Alice mused. She took the sheet of paper and turned it over to the other side. “Practice signing Joan Jiggles until it looks natural,” she ordered.

“Yes, Miss Alice,” Joan answered enthusiastically, watching her Mistress’ departing back as the woman walked back to her preferred haunts.

She set to work signing her name with a will, and before too long she had something she was happy with. Miss Alice seemed to like it the more Joan smiled and giggled and the less Joan thought, so Joan experimented for a while with a smiley face over the I in Jiggles, but it never quite seemed right and she settled instead for a quick heart.

Then she went back to her mopping. Only afterwards did she turn the paper over and read what Miss Alice had wanted her to sign.

It wasn’t anything about business or property; the power of attorney had already been set up, months ago now, and Miss Alice could do what she wished with her property. Instead, Miss Alice had evidently been monitoring the email and mail that still trickled in for Joan.

Dean Stanhope,

I thank you for the invitation, and I do recognise it to be a great honour. I thoroughly enjoyed my time at SC Johnson and I’ve always been proud, as you know, to let people know I graduated from Cornell.

However, my past year has been one filled with self-discovery and, to a lesser extent, with scandal (I hasten to add that I was of course innocent). I have become aware that the woman I have learned to be is a woman who takes chances and cuts corners in a way that would not reflect well on the College.

As such, I consider myself an unfit person to carry out the commencement speech at this year’s graduation. I am embarking at present on a journey to learn more about my true self and to find in that truth a better way to live my life.

Please do not reach out in future as I will have to continue to decline this kind invitation. It was issued to the person I thought I should be, and not to the woman I truly am.

Sincerely,

Below was Joan’s failed attempt at a signature.

As she read the letter Miss Alice had written in her name, rejecting the opportunity to give a commencement address to her alma mater Joan remembered that two years previously she’d spent some time actively campaigning to get the honour, and had only stopped when the Dean had assured her that her efforts had been noted, but that there was something of a queue system in place and that she couldn’t be moved forwards yet.

That was a relationship - and still a powerful one, outside the business world though he was - broken, or it would be when Miss Alice sent the letter, with Joan’s signature.

Joan had the sense that she should be upset by this, but for all that she tried she couldn’t understand why. Miss Alice had every right to make decisions like this on Joan’s behalf.

The more she thought about it, the more the idea of giving the commencement address unsettled Joan. Miss Alice’s letter had clearly, she thought, been based on the truth; she imagined that her Mistress had greatly enjoyed coming up with turns of phrase that would suggest something else to the Dean but which confessed Joan’s ascent from Bradley to Jiggles.

Joan could remember the way she had analysed things, when she still believed her calling to be dominant; she could see that Miss Alice was taking this opportunity to burn a bridge Joan might, had she ever tried to resist, used as part of her escape route. It was something Joan had wondered occasionally if she’d have to deal with, though only with the ones she was effectively blackmailing.

Joan knew that was a completely different situation to her own. There was no good reason that she’d ever try to fight Miss Alice. Not when she could be knelt between her thighs, worshipping her heavenly pussy, instead, or when Miss Alice decided to wear her strap, or even when Joan was simply mopping the kitchen floor dutifully, awaiting her next order and wondering how she would be put to use next.

It neared 2:30pm, and Joan made Miss Alice’s afternoon coffee. She placed the mug reverently on a silver salver and added a pair of cupcakes from her baking the previous day.

She’d had so much work to do, the past few months, in learning how to cook and how to bake. It had been an area she’d had no interest in, something she’d even considered beneath her. It had taken Miss Alice to show Joan that nothing was beneath her; that instead her idea of her position in the world had been, quite simply, completely wrong.

She took up the salver and carried it through to the room Miss Alice had chosen for her office.

“Ah, good.” Miss Alice took the coffee mug and took a hearty swallow from it then set it down. Her other hand reached out, stroking up and down Joan’s inner thigh as Joan stood by her holding the salver.

Joan quivered at her touch, almost completely lost in how good and how right it felt when her Mistress groped her. The only part of her mind still operating at full capacity was the part that helped her keep her balance while Miss Alice pawed and stroked and squeezed and teased and toyed and…

“Do you have a signature ready?”

The question cut through Joan’s reverie, as delectable as it had been, bringing her back - or somewhat back - to reality. “Yes, Miss Alice.”

“Show me.” Miss Alice pulled a sheet of paper from the printer and set it on her desk. Joan took up her pen and signed a bold, confident Joan Jiggles with a heart over the i in place of a dot.

Miss Alice inspected it and gave another of the delighted laughs which always sent shivers of pride down Joan’s spine. It was so good, she knew, to have an opportunity to delight her Mistress that way. “Yes,” Miss Alice said after a few moments. “Perfect. Just wait here.”

“Yes, Miss Alice,” Joan agreed, though it hadn’t occurred to her to leave. She had no other pressing duties and her Mistress was groping her, so there was no reason she should be anywhere else.

Miss Alice set another copy of the letter to print and, while she waited, she moved one of Joan’s hands from the salver to her breast. Joan was well enough trained by now to know that if her Mistress arranged for Joan’s hands to be on Miss Alice’s body, she was to begin to please, and so in her turn she began to caress and tease. Her eyes had started to unfocus; on the other hand, the only tasks she had on hand at that moment were to pleasure her Mistress’ tits, to hold the salver, and to wait. Nothing else was required of her, and these tasks did not require clear vision.

Joan felt her mouth falling open into a foolish, vacant smile as she sank back down into the pleasure that was submission, the trance state that was now the truest expression of who she was, beyond anything she could muster while conscious and aware.

Miss Alice set the paper down on the desk. “Sign,” she ordered, and Joan set the salver down beside the paper, taking up the pen again, blinking vision back to her eyes. She lost herself so easily nowadays, and she loved it.

“Yes, Miss Alice.” She signed the letter to the Dean as Joan Jiggles with pride and even a certain glee.

“When I have you send this off, and once it arrives,” Miss Alice remarked, “your name will be mud in Cornell.”

“Yes, Miss Alice.”

“No objection?”

“No, Miss Alice.”

“And why not?”

“Because objections require free will, Miss Alice.”

“And what is free will?”

“Vanity, Miss Alice.”

“And what is sanity?”

“Submission is sanity, Miss Alice.” Drifting back into trance space, her fingers slackened just enough that the pen slipped from between them, clacking onto the desk, a loud sound that did not disturb her blank mind. “Free will is vanity. Submission is sanity. Free will is vanity. Submission is sanity. Free will is-“

“Put that mouth of yours to better use, Little Miss Jiggles,” Miss Alice’s voice cut across her.

Joan’s answer came in a vacant, needy drone. “Yes, Miss Alice.” She was already sinking to her knees.

Miss Alice’s pantsuit opened easily to the attentions of someone kneeling beneath her desk. This was one of the things Joan had liked about it before, when it had been her outfit; she had done just this with one of her toys on more than one occasion, and subsequently she had been delighted to learn what a pleasure it could be in the opposite direction.

She was already wet as Joan eased aside the silk panties that had concealed her, and the scent of her was as overpoweringly erotic as Joan had been conditioned to find it.

No; that simply wasn’t an honest way of putting it, she reminded herself. Joan hadn’t been conditioned to react that way to Miss Alice’s pussy juice. Her Mistress had seen no need to indoctrinate her with it; she already had her words, her logical loops and traps, the blue sapphire pendant, and Joan’s own jiggling, giggly, weak-willed tits.

The fact Joan found her eyes glazing and crossing, her lips and tongue moving with a graceful, mechanical, automatic motion once they touched the promised cunt, was entirely due to how deeply she had given in, how firmly she had sunk.

She heard Miss Alice sigh contentedly as her lips first kissed her Mistress’ labia, and she felt a glow of contentment. Her consciousness was already fading, her eyes glassy and empty, as she dimly heard Miss Alice murmur, “Oh, now that could be funny…”

Then Miss Alice’s hand took hold of Joan’s head by her bunches and held her to her work. Joan was at her best when held to high standards like that.

*

Joan was in the bathroom when her awareness returned. The bath was running, and she was in the process of adding the scented salts that Miss Alice swore by to it as she became conscious of what was happening around her and what she was doing (in that order).

She got it to exactly the depth Miss Alice preferred and shut off the taps, then hung the towel on the radiator so it would be warm by the time Miss Alice was done. She set a small stool beside the bath and placed Miss Alice’s current book on it, alongside a small plate of chocolates she must have brought up with her.

With that she rose back from her knees and made her way back to the office, where a part of her head that evidently had been hypnotically primed already knew Miss Alice would be waiting.

Miss Alice had her back to the door, of course, but she knew that Joan was coming in any case. “Is it ready?” she asked over her shoulder. Joan nodded, then realised she wouldn’t be seen.

“Yes, Miss Alice.”

“Good.” She rose, and as she turned to face Joan, she tapped a stack of papers by her side. “While I’m enjoying myself, you are to read this.”

“Yes, Miss Alice.”

Joan stood almost perfectly still just inside the doorway as her Mistress approached and passed her. She turned her head to watch until Miss Alice was completely out of sight, and then for a time she returned to complete stillness. She waited long enough that she could be fairly sure Miss Alice was in the bath and enjoying herself, at which time her Mistress’ commands meant she should begin reading the paperwork.

*

Non-Disobedience Agreement

Parties:

Joan Jiggles of Bradley House, Presidio Terrace (the Recipient)

and

Alice Weston of Bradley House, Presidio Terrace (the Superior)

1. The Superior intends to dispense instructions (the Commands Which Must be Obeyed) to the Recipient for the purpose of making the Recipient into a more useful and pleasant slave (the Purpose).

2. The Recipient undertakes to carry the Commands Which Must be Obeyed for the Purpose or for any other intent, so long as that intent is created by or with the agreement of the Superior.

3. The Recipient undertakes to keep the Commands Which Must be Obeyed close to their heart and not to attempt to resist them either for their own benefit or out of perceived debt or obligation to any third party, including but not limited to their former submissives, their family, and their professional contacts, with full recognition that such actions would oppose their Purpose. The Recipient acknowledges that they owe a duty of submission to the Superior and are bound by obligations and mantras beyond their capacity to resist or break.

4. The undertakings in clauses 2 and 3 above apply to all of the Commands and other programming imparted by the Superior to the Recipient, regardless of the way or form in which these Commands require them to act but they do not apply to:

a) any information which has not yet been provided to the Superior which the Recipient realises they have failed to provide in the proper time and which has relevance and utility to the Superior;

or

b) any service which may occur to the Recipient and which conforms to the Purpose but was not delivered to the Recipient by the Superior.

5. Nothing in this Agreement will prevent the Recipient from obeying the Commands Which Must be Obeyed through compulsion stronger than law by the authority of the Superior.

6. The Recipient will, on request from the Superior, recite all mantras and stray programming in support of the Commands Which Must be Obeyed to the Superior, and will not retain any shred or semblance of independent free will.

7. Neither this Agreement nor a period without new Commands or programming grants the Recipient any licence, interest or right to act on their own behalf against the best interests of the Superior except the right to copy the Confidential Information solely for the Purpose.

8. The undertakings in clauses 2 and 3 will continue in force indefinitely.

9. This Agreement is governed by, and is to be construed in accordance with, the laws of Miss Alice Weston. Miss Alice will have exclusive jurisdiction to deal with any dispute which has arisen or may arise out of, or in connection with, this Agreement.

Signed and Delivered as a Deed by: Joan Jiggles

in the presence of:

Alice Weston

And witnessed by:

Dr. Carrie Carter

*

Standing bent over the desk, Joan finished reading the NDA. She thought about it, quietly, for a short period of time. It was certainly an interesting document.

It could never be produced in a court of law, of course. Never litigated over in any real way. But it stood as a commitment, a kind of pledge. Like a one-sided wedding vow, she thought fleetingly.

Then she walked off to the bathroom to see if there was any service she could provide for Miss Alice.

Miss Alice was still in the tub when she arrived in the bathroom. Joan settled to her knees beside the tub; Miss Alice set her mug down and sat up and forward, still reading, while Joan silently scrubbed her back.

There was no need to tell her what to do in this situation. It was as if the contract she’d seen, the non-disobedience agreement, was already in effect, because of course that would not compel her any more deeply than her existing conditioning already did. If Miss Alice made a part of her body available while in the bath, Joan would clean it or worship it, as appropriate.

She could feel the excitement in her Mistress, feel her positively vibrating with it, but Miss Alice didn’t ask Joan about the document. She didn’t hint at it. Didn’t even say anything; just enjoyed her book, the scent of her bath, and the attentions of her obedient, hypnotised slave.

After all, what could Joan possibly say or do in objection, and even if she thought of something, how could she dare to do so?

In due course, Miss Alice closed her book and set it on the stool beside the bath. Joan set aside the sponge and soap and rose from her knees, stepping across to the radiator and collecting the towel.

As Miss Alice stood in the bath Joan was there with the towel out and open, ready to welcome her. Her Mistress stepped into its warm embrace and simply stood, watching with a faint smile on her lips, as Joan wrapped her in the towel and set about drying her, finding herself back on her knees before too long.

In a matter of minutes, Miss Alice had the towel wrapped around hr and had turned her hip slightly, showing Joan her inner thigh, which had caused the slave to lose track of other duties and begin to plant needy, desperate kisses on her Mistress’ inner thigh.

It was while her mind was entirely taken up by this pleasurable duty that Miss Alice finally said “You read the contract?”

It took Joan a few moments to remember what her Mistress was talking about. Her attention had been sucked into other duties to the point that any prepared opinions she might have had were no longer right at her mental fingertips.

Doubtless, Joan thought, that was part of Miss Alice’s intent in delaying her questions. “Yes, Miss Alice.”

"Did you think about it?” Miss Alice asked.

Left to her own devices, Joan might have hesitated. But she could never willingly leave her Mistress waiting. “Yes, Miss Alice.”

Her Mistress’ hand stroked her hair, her cheek, and then found her chin, which she cupped to tilt Joan’s head back. As always when their eyes met, the jolt Joan felt all the way up and down her spine was intense, seeming almost to shock her into near-trance subspace.

Joan was almost certain that this hadn’t been deliberately programmed into her, was instead simply something that had come to exist over time as Miss Alice turned imperious Joan Bradley into improved Joan Jiggles. It didn’t matter, of course; whatever the case, it was something that happened now, an instinct she could not avoid or refuse.

Not even if she had wanted to.

“Do you have an opinion on the contract?” Miss Alice asked.

“Yes, Miss Alice.”

Miss Alice’s smirk grew into a fierce smile. “Does your opinion matter?”

“No, Miss Alice.” Joan paused fractionally, but she felt she knew what her Mistress wanted, and she could never deny her that. “Miss Alice?”

“Yes, Little Miss Jiggles?”

Joan giggled involuntarily. Her eyes half-crossed, her vision swam. She was floating suddenly on the warm, welcoming currents of trance, not quite dropped but no longer steering herself consciously. She would go where the currents led her, which couldn’t help but be where her Mistress wanted. “Would you like to hear it anyway?”

“I would indeed,” Miss Alice purred, and as she did so she lifted her hand - the hand holding Joan’s chin trapped - and Joan rose hastily from kneeling to her full height without ever emerging from her half-trance. “Tell me,” Miss Alice commanded.

“I want to sign it, Miss Alice. I want to bind myself closer to you.” She smiled dazedly. “I love that the porn surgeon is the witness. I love that her fixation is just going to grow. I love imagining what she’ll do to her other clients. But I want to be yours, and that’s all.”

Miss Alice smiled. “That’s my good girl, Jiggles,” she said, and chuckled. “I think that’s going to be you, you know, once the ass implants are in place. We’ll get you a set of maid uniforms in your new size and you can be my Jeeves.”

Joan was dripping, she knew. “Yes, Miss Alice.”

“Then come along, Jiggles. Let’s get dressed and then call the doctor over.”

“Yes, Miss Alice.”

*

“Why, Dr Carter,” Miss Alice purred, “Of course you’re going to sign this for us. If you do, I will permit you to motorboat your handiwork.”

The porn surgeon, as Jiggles thought of her, had been mostly in trance since Miss Alice phoned her; dressed in her chauffeuse cap, a short black miniskirt, and what had been a loose silk black blouse before the implants but was now a taut display model, Jiggles had picked her up from the kerbside of her building.

Dr Carter had evidently been primed; she wore a long black overcoat, but when Jiggles took it from her on revival, underneath she wore a Wonderbra with heavy padding, a thong, and sheer black tights with nothing else.

Miss Alice had promptly ripped the tights from her body, partly as a souvenir and partly to prove a point.

Her eyes were fully glassy by the time Miss Alice had started speaking to her, but just as for Jiggles herself, Miss Alice had not permitted them to fall completely into trance. They had consciousness but only under compulsion.

For herself, Jiggles pictured herself being molested by someone her Mistress controlled, recognised the sheer submission involved, and shivered. Her skirt concealed her wetness for now, but as it was starting to trickle down her inner thigh, revelation could not be far away.

“You’ll sign, won’t you, doctor?” Miss Alice asked in a sing-song voice, and Dr Carter dreamily responded “Of course I’m going to sign this for you,” and Miss Alice simply laughed.

She made her mark first, hooking a finger into the waistband of Jiggles’ skirt to pull her across to the document, and pressed the pen into her hand. “Now you,” she instructed.

“Yes, Miss Alice,” Joan said, and signed. She watched Dr Carter pulled closer by her panties, watched the signature of the witness, and knew this was legal now and binding, and she was proud of herself that she didn’t simply cum on the spot.

That came moments later, when Dr Carter gave her handiwork an inspection she had never thought to try before and would dream about and fantasise over ever afterward.