The realisation she was claiming another mind had shocked Lisa. It hadn’t stopped her – she’d plunged on, gleeful, deeply aroused at the very prospect – but after the evening wound down, lying in bed, Lisa’s head span with the possibilities.

There had been so many points on this journey where she’d felt like she knew now exactly how deeply in she was. But every time, she found herself taking another step. No, that wasn’t it. Every time, she found herself having already taken another step, without ever knowing.

At no time did she question brainwashing Ellen. That was obviously what Master wanted, so there was no reason to even consider the why or the how. She did briefly consider telling him, but she had come to believe that she gave him a lot of information she didn’t recall.

Ultimately, that was the thought that allowed her to sleep, and sleep deeply, and sleep well and satisfied. Master was pulling her strings, so everything was clearly alright.

She woke up the next morning, refreshed and ready for work. She rose naked from her bed and stretched, admiring the new shape of her body in the mirror. Definitely the way Master wanted her to look, and therefore perfect for her. She couldn’t help but smile as she considered the changes she’d undergone for him.

Walking into the bathroom, she turned the shower on, lingering near the cabinet while it warmed up. Studying her face closely, she tried to imagine herself in a character in one of Master’s videos, making him a profit, being brainwashed further. She arranged her expression into the same neutral emptiness that had made her so addicted to Jasmine’s performances.

***

Lisa became aware that gazing into her own blank eyes had put her back under when she realised that the tone of the light coming in through the window had changed. She wasn’t sure how long it had been, but she was undoubtedly late for work.

Despite that, she didn’t rush out. Instead she got into the shower. She was picturing the cubicle as some sort of conversion booth, which didn’t surprise her. Her head was packed with hypnosis and brainwashing tropes now. It was how she thought. She was pretty happy with that.

Inside the conversion booth, her body language was tense, tight, closed in. And as she moved under the spray, she moaned softly, closing her eyes, imagining the water as a literal brainwashing.

Pivoting slowly, she felt herself waking up deep down with the hot water. The fantasy and the shower together had her arousal building. She shifted position with her back to the spray, legs parting, standing wide apart, as desire built until she was almost panting with it. She imagined herself still fighting it, but beginning to crumble; her hands, one across her chest and one between her legs as if in protection, began to twitch.

Up until now, she told herself, the soundtrack to this would have been Jasmine and Becca, breathlessly moaning, Now, she imagined, Master’s voice would start chiming in. Her shower would be intercut with her own glassy-eyed stare in some uncertain space, in close-up, as she droned her agreement and surrender.

It was so clear to her she could almost hear it. Some mindless slave monotonously admitting her complete submission and proclaiming herself to be under complete control from her Master.

“I am powerless to resist. I cannot resist. I will not try to resist.”

“I must obey. I will obey. I cannot disobey. I will not disobey. I will not try to disobey.”

“I belong to my Master. I serve my Master. My Master is my purpose.”

She turned again, facing into the controlling, commanding, mind-melting spray.

“My body belongs to my Master. My mind belongs to my Master. My skills belong to my Master.”

Fuck, this felt so good.

“I am my Master’s property. I have no will of my own. I have no desire but to serve my Master.”

It wasn’t until she drew in another breath after that one that she realised she’d been listening to herself aloud.

“I brainwashed myself for Master. I gave myself no choice. I have been remade to obey.”

Her hands came back to life, going from protecting her modesty to caressing herself. She found she was even more deeply excited than she’d realised.

“I love to obey. I live to obey. My purpose in life is to please and… and serve… my Master.”

She couldn’t believe the urgency that was taking her. This was a new intensity, almost a new phase of brainwashing, and it was just welling up from inside her.

…Probably.

“I am… ahhhh… a slave. I am… fuck… proud t- to be a slave… I am betTER as ahhhh… a slave than… I ever was… as a fuhhh - free woman.”

She leaned back against the wet, cool tiles of the shower wall, bracing herself with her shoulders as her hands became more and more desperate.

“S-slavery… is… the best… best… thing… t-to HAPpen to… meeeeeeeeeeeee…”

Her mantra became a shriek of pleasure; arousal, joy, euphoria and orgasm met in one place and seemed to melt her mind. Lisa lost awareness.

***

She should have been at work, she realised, an hour and a half ago. But she wasn’t upset or worried by that. She was actually weirdly calm, almost to the point of an emotional numbness.

She dressed carefully in the way she wanted to present – her favourite red lace bra, a black thong, a red pair of hot pants – then fastened a knee-length grey skirt over it and pulled a faded old blue college hoodie on and in to place.

She paused, checking in the mirror. Nothing of her inner self was showing, but her new breasts still meant some would look twice even at a ‘shapeless’ silhouette. Excellent.

She pulled on her dull old calf-length khaki flat boots and headed for the door, scooping her carry-on luggage up and slinging the strap over one shoulder. She paused at the door, dragging her suitcase out, locking the door, then tucking the key under the doormat, and stepped down to the kerb to wait for the Uber.

It was at this point that she remembered selling off her car two weeks previous.

The Uber pulled up, and the driver got out to help her with her bags – a nice courtesy. “So, the airport?” he asked.

Lisa was feeling a little slow on the uptake, but this was the point where she realised she wasn’t going to work.

And it was at that point she remembered giving notice. She nodded, taking a seat, and pulled out her phone. She was in the middle of drafting a message to Ellen – mostly hidden between a trance trigger and a waking trigger – when the driver asked “Is this business, or…?”

It crossed her mind that he’d clearly learned not to ask directions directly when a single woman was in the vehicle – which was probably the result of a bad experience or two. Still, it was appreciated, but that wasn’t why she smiled.

There was a warm sentimentality to her smile – she caught a glimpse of it in the rearview – which she hadn’t imagined she was still capable of. It seemed like more of her actual self had made it into her slave-self, slightly transformed, somewhat improved, than she’d expected or realised.

She laughed just thinking about it. “Oh, it’s pleasure,” she answered, and her voice wobbled a little on the last word.

His eyes met hers in the mirror, and they crinkled slightly as he smiled. “Boyfriend?”

“He’s amazing,” she replied, deftly avoiding the clarification she wanted to make, the one that could only lead to a really complicated, awkward conversation.

The driver gave a knowing chuckle and nodded. “Well, I can’t get you to him faster, but I can get you to the airport in plenty of time.”

She felt genuinely touched. “Thank you.”

***

Diana didn’t know why she was dropping by Lisa’s home, but if she was honest, that was no longer surprising for her. She had come to be pretty comfortable with not knowing why she was doing things.

Honestly, she thought about things less overall. It just seemed easier now to go through life without much consideration, and to vaguely await the next time that DeeDee would be invited out to play.

DeeDee had much more fun, and only the fact she would let Diana share in it kept Diana from feeling frustrated and left out.

As she reached the door she paused and stooped, lifting the doormat to pick up the key. She unlocked the door and let herself in, and because she rarely thought about anything, it didn’t even occur to her that this wasn’t how she usually entered the building.

There was normally a small glass ball, a clear piece of crystal, resting on a shelf at the end of the hallway. Diana would usually enter when Lisa let her in and start following Lisa deeper into the house, only to see the ball when Lisa moved into the living room. And Diana would be caught up and bound in the ball, leaving DeeDee to mindlessly advance.

None of that happened today, either. Instead she had a vague moment of puzzlement as she reached the living room door still as Diana.

No sign of Lisa, but Diana assumed she had some sort of plan. Why else would Diana even be there?

She picked up one of several large, flattened cardboard boxes, set it up, and carried it over to the bookshelf. Setting it down on the floor, she set about packing books into it systematically.

She was two boxes and three shelves in when she heard a knock at the door. That was a puzzle. Lisa would know the door was unlocked.

Diana drifted back out into the hallway, feeling her head swim a little out of habit. She spent so little time here in her right mind.

She opened the door to reveal a woman she didn’t know; a shortish woman with close-cropped blonde hair.

“Hi,” Ellen said. “I’m Ellen, Lisa’s friend.”

“Oh,” Diana said, puzzled but still at least peacefully accepting. “Okay.” She gave ground, stepping back a couple of paces to allow the newcomer in. Ellen shut the door.

“And you must be DeeDee,” Ellen said. Diana blinked, suddenly nervous. “No, I’m-“

“You’re not listening,” she was told. Ellen stepped closer, eyes meeting Diana’s, and she grinned. “You must be DeeDee.”

Some part of Diana’s mind understood it wasn’t an introduction. It was an instruction.

Diana went away. DeeDee smiled.

Ellen’s face split into a smile of her own as she saw DeeDee emerge. “Mistress told me I have to take care of you,” she explained.

DeeDee looked back at her, confused for a moment. The message was clear, but why did Lisa think she needed this help?

“We’re going to be carrying on where she left off,” Ellen said. “So that you and I don’t get lonely now she’s with her Master.”

And DeeDee finally realised why she’d begun packing up Lisa’s home. For a moment, her persona crumbled. She and Diana were united in loss, and Diana wept.

Ellen cradled her cheeks in her hands, speaking softly, but Diana barely noticed. She certainly couldn’t make out any of the words. The other woman’s tone was caring, even loving – surprisingly loving for their first meeting – but Diana was caught up in her own sudden shock.

It was for the best, she knew, if Master willed it. For the best or not, though, she had barely encountered Master, had not been twisted and warped by subliminals and long-term conditioning by someone so experienced – she’d merely been changed at one remove, by a version of Lisa with more programming, more direction.

That didn’t feel like enough right then to keep her in the correct frame of mind. And Ellen seemed to have disappeared.

Diana slumped down onto the sofa and continued to cry. She wallowed until, perhaps a minute later, she felt a gentle hand on her back, sliding across her shoulder blades, to pull her in, arm around her shoulders.

Ellen’s warmth against her side was more helpful than it had any right to be. Barely introduced though they might be, they were part of the same strange (harem) sisterhood.

“Hey,” Ellen said quietly. “I’ve got something to show you.”

Diana opened her eyes. In front of her, on Ellen’s open palm, was the glass ball that brought DeeDee forth… and within moments, she felt it happening again.

She sighed and slumped back into Ellen’s embrace.

“There,” Ellen said. “Isn’t that better?”

“mm… hmm…” DeeDee replied, mind still adrift.

“Good,” she said. “Because I feel like we’re going to need to work at this. We both still have orders to obey.” Her hand was wandering from DeeDee’s shoulder, down and around, to cup her breast through her shirt. DeeDee moaned with surprised delight.

Her submission was transferring much more quickly than she would have imagined to be possible.

***

Lisa didn’t register much of the flight. She wasn’t blank for it (Master probably thought that would end up being far too obvious) but she was far, far too excited and nervous. She made small talk with the nervous young man in the seat next to her (flying into Chicago Rockford for a job interview, possibly more nervous than her, but without the confident certainty that life was about to improve as a result of this), but it barely stuck. She ate the meal, but didn’t register what it was.

There was in-flight entertainment but she didn’t know what her options would even have been. Staring out of the window watching clouds drift by had never provoked such a positive feeling until each cloud passed was one cloud closer to Master.

Nobody was waiting for her outside the baggage claim. There was nobody stood with a sign (she’d pictured it as a possibility; Becca stood in casual-enough clothing, holding a sign up, sealing their first meeting with a kiss in the airport before whisking her away).

And she had no idea of her Master’s address. But she collected her luggage and wheeled it toward the exit, walking with the confidence of a woman who knows her subconscious has already been programmed with all the tools she needs for success.

She was past the reuniting couples and the children running to greet parents, past the smiling faces, when another woman fell into step beside her. Lisa smiled. It was the kind of satisfied smile you feel set itself as your expression.

She glanced to her side and saw Joanna Lawson walking along with her, hands in the pockets of a long, belted, closed raincoat.

It wasn’t Becca, but it didn’t occur to her to be disappointed by that. It was still Master reaching out for her.

“Hi,” she said.

Joanna looked toward her and returned her smile. “Hello.”

“Bit strange, don’t you think?” Lisa asked.

“What is?”

Lisa held her answer for a few more paces as they strode past another flyer, stopped near the entryway as he consulted his cellphone, waiting for a page to load.

She made sure they were past his earshot when she said, quietly but very distinctly, “A journalist picking up a new sex slave for a brainwasher and pornographer.”

“I am not a mindfucked slave,” came the answer as a drone. “I am not hypnotised or brainwashed in any way. Like all journalists, I am completely unbiased.”

Lisa smiled slightly. It was even better to hear that in person. She’d wondered if it even could be.

“Isn’t your investigation complete yet?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I still have plenty to learn.”

“Like?”

“Like who you are and what happened to you, for a start.”

Lisa smiled. “There’s not much to tell, really. But you’ll get your chance.”

Joanna led her into the car park, then across to a relatively modest station wagon. It didn’t look like the vehicle of a rich man who could twist the minds of anyone he chose.

She decided it was probably Joanna’s car, or possibly Becca’s. She wondered if Joanna was the butt of jokes about her strange, reinforced believe that her investigation hadn’t been compromised long ago, and if sending her to do the group’s shopping had become common.

She’d soon find out, of course.

Without really knowing why, after stowing her carry-on and her luggage, she removed her skirt. She retrieved a pair of red heels she hadn’t known she owned and her collar from the carry-on – when had she packed those? Not that it really mattered, as she didn’t honestly remember any of her packing.

Sitting down in the front passenger seat, she waited for Joanna to exit the car park before doffing her hoodie and throwing it into the back seats.

She was probably now past the close-up scrutiny of anyone who wasn’t her Master or one of his slaves.

She fitted her collar back around her neck, closing her eyes to better savour the moment when it sealed shut in a mark of her submission once more. By the time they had left city limits, she’d shed her flats for the red heels.

“How do I look?” she asked Joanna, her smile dimpling. The former journalist turned harem slave looked her over, then turned back to the road. Unconsciously, she licked her lips.

“If you were my slave, I’d be delighted.”

“I didn’t think you were into slavery.”

Joanna pulled a face, signalling her disagreement with the direction of the conversation. Lisa felt she might have pushed too far, and fell silent.

But a few moments later, Joanna spoke up again. “Off the record?”

“You’re the journalist.”

“I’d still rather not be quoted.”

Lisa humoured her. “OK, sure.”

“Off the record, then… if I had to express a preference, I’d rather be a slave than a mistress.”

This was… something special. “Oh?”

Joanna looked embarrassed… but eager, all the same. Lisa suddenly realised nobody at Master’s home had been in a position to get confessions like this from her.

“The thing is… I kind of envy the way some of the slaves are. They seem so happy. It’s not right, of course, but…”

“Are you sure about that?” Lisa asked after a moment.

Joanna gave her a glance, then switched her attention back to the road. But she seemed troubled. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

Lisa shrugged. “I think… maybe… that you’re still working on the story because you’re not sure you don’t want him to win.

“You’ve been fighting it for a long time… but that’s just that you started out believing he was bad.

“If you were really unbiased, you’d be open to the idea of being a slave, just to see if you were wrong.”

Joanna was silent for a long while after that.

***

She hadn’t expected the house. It wasn’t quite a mansion, because it wasn’t ornate enough, but it was huge, and it was behind walls that made it effectively a compound.

Master had his privacy, and his room, and gardens and a pool. She wondered where he’d got the money from, but she felt quite comfortable with the fact she’d never know. It was enough that he’d made himself rich, and made himself protected, and secure.

She wondered if the woman only referred to in the options video as ‘slave’ might have been rich… but it didn’t matter overmuch.

It never even occurred to her that her house was now up for sale, and that naturally, he would claim the proceeds.

Joanna parked, and Lisa hurried to collect her baggage and get inside.

***

It wasn’t a throne room. She’d pictured it as ornate, impressive, and above all, rich. But Master’s preferred room to spend his day in wasn’t a throne room.

It was more like a lounge; a really expensive lounge. Few of the pieces tied together. They were clearly just things Master liked, and therefore had bought.

There was a pinball table and a Silent Scope arcade cabinet against the wall. They both looked like something a younger man might have sworn he would buy if he ever could, then felt forced to follow through on.

There was a big wooden globe, set into a table with glasses on it. She assumed it was a drinks cabinet. A silvered maids trolley rested in the corner of the room near a tall bookshelf filled with books; she was too far to see the titles but it was a huge splash of different colours, styles, and sizes.

Across the room from that was a media centre that had clearly cost the earth. One big screen. Two smaller screens off to the side. A sound system, a PC, a collection of games consoles, and a whole mess of wiring. Beside it was another huge shelf, this one packed with DVDs and video games.

It seemed Master sometimes felt the need to entertain himself.

And in the centre of the room, there was an off-kilter V of furniture; a worn, long sofa and a much-loved armchair. Next to the armchair, a stool. Both of them faced the media centre.

In a low semi-circle around them were a number of small foam mats. Lisa saw how neatly arranged they were, as if they were in deference to the chairs, and knew instantly that they were for surplus slaves to kneel on and wait.

Master – looking even more mind-blowing in person (that may have been her programming but it was also a fact of her life) – was seated in the armchair. The blonde – Sugar – was on the stool, glassy-eyed, wearing a tight, cleavage-displaying top with an energy drinks can stored between her breasts, using her cleavage as a caddy.

Becca stood behind her Master, topless and blank. He was using her tits as a headrest. She seemed, to judge by her expression, absolutely delighted by this.

He paused what he was watching, and turned to look at Lisa. Their eyes met, and she practically reeled.

It was so much more intense than meeting his digitised gaze. Here she was finally in front of him, fully exposed, ready to obey whatever order he had for her.

He smiled, and pointed to the floor not far in front of him. To one of the kneeling mats.

She approached it. How could she not? Her knees trembled as she sank onto the mat, and she sighed contentedly. Everything about her was programmed to find this place, this man, and her relationship to both the ultimate satisfaction, the ultimate contentment.

He said something, some word of instruction, and for the time being, her mind ceased to act.

***

Ellen settled into her computer chair, reaching down to run her fingers through a kneeling DeeDee’s hair. “Ready?” she asked.

DeeDee was practically purring. “Mm-hmm…”

Ellen hit Play.

A jaunty, off-kilter tune played through the title sequence (No Side Effects) and the screen then cut to the outside of a low building in a businesslike neighbourhood. No brand signs were visible, but the camera was focused on a large ground-floor window, the blinds drawn, next to a doorway with multiple postboxes screwed to the wall next to it.

The shot cut to a close-up, probably one made at a different time, which showed the names on the postboxes, panning over them slowly and coming to an end on a nameplate that reads Dr Wilson, Therapist.

Another cut, and Rebecca was seen making her way along the street, dressed in a well-tailored light grey business suit. She was looking worriedly at each door as she passed it; eventually, finding the door she wanted, she straightened up. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped in.

The scene changed, and the camera now looked out on Joanna, sat in a stale, yellow-green waiting room, wearing much more revealing, much more provocative clothing, flicking idly through a magazine.

Rebecca, entering, saw her and stopped short. She seemed thrown, nervous, extremely surprised.

And a voice spoke from offscreen. “Can I help you?”

***

At the computer, Ellen and DeeDee both perked up despite themselves.

***

The shot changed again, and Rebecca approached a friendly (if somewhat ditzy) redheaded receptionist.

Lisa smiled warmly. “ Welcome to Doctor Wilson’s clinic. Where we help you make the life change you need.”

END