The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The next morning came, and Lena woke up with her head feeling fuzzy.

It took her a few minutes to even where she was— that was right, she was at Jerome’s penthouse— and then a few minutes more to what had last happened, as she ed it. She’d— been something else. Not really Lena anymore, just an animal for Jerome to tame, and the more she’d felt like that, the more intensely she felt like that— it was a little jarring to suddenly feel like a human being again, to be thinking and reasoning as a person would.

She ed, too, how embarrassing had been the transition from herself to animal. In the interim, she had felt like a chaste woman, humiliated by the way a stronger man was making her open up to desire. And all of it had mixed together— the illusion of inexperience, the feeling of being debauched, the humiliation and the shame— and finally the animal drive that overcame her, that feral nature coming out in her. All of it had gone together, and finally she had become something ruled by appetites, something unthinking, something only acting on impulse. That animal to tame, fully, more intensely felt in each and each moment. And from what she could , though it was hazy, she would say that Jerome had been very successful in taming her.

Where did that leave her now? She probably should have felt alarmed by some of it. Maybe she should even be angry, but that wasn’t what she was feeling.

She craned her neck to look around herself, having to move her blonde hair partially out of the way so it wouldn’t curtain her view.

She last ed still being on that wrap-around sofa, but she wasn’t there anymore. She had ended up in a quite luxurious bed. It looked to be late-morning. The bed was sprawling, placed in a decadent bedroom, and the sheets and covers over her naked driedsweat-covered body felt very decadent and luxurious too. Soft and full.

She turned her head a little more, and saw that Jerome was asleep next to her.

Should she try to get up? Find her clothes? Sneak out of here?

When she stirred a little more, she ed, suddenly, that she wasn’t completely naked. She felt that presence at her throat, and ed in a flash that Jerome had put a collar on her the night before.

She shuddered to feel its presence there— he was getting to her head, a bit, like she’d had a little too much of some alcohol. Just feeling that collar there— it gave her back that exclamatory feeling that celebrated his existence. And it made her feel like the thing that belonged to him— whether she was the chaste virgin meant to be debauched or the animal meant to be tamed, in either of her two aspects, with that collar there— she felt how fully she belonged. She was his. Tied to him in both places, tied to him in both ways— he so fully owned her being.

That collar was there— she wouldn’t have thought, in her life before (fundamentally changed as it seemed to be, now that Jerome had entered it), that she would have liked to wear a collar. It wasn’t only the presence of the thing at her throat that did it. It was the thought of being marked. If she left this penthouse still wearing it, everyone would see it and know that she was wearing it. And she could opt to expose her devotion further at any time, and tell them who she wore it for. But whether onlookers knew the full details or not, she would know, everywhere she went, that the person who owned her— who desired her— had given it to her to wear, and that she, as helpless for that person as she was, had chosen to wear it, had been unable to resist wearing it. Having a mark like that on all the time… having a claim like that… it had her shimmying a little in the bed.

That wasn’t all she was thinking of, either. Jerome— Jerome!— was so important to her that it seemed he had outsize influence on her. The things he’d said, the actions he’d taken— every small bit of his behavior, all of it had made her feel more helpless for him, and the more he’d said to her, the more that what he’d said had gotten inside. It felt a bit internalized, and that hadn’t been a conscious process.

He simply had such significance over her that it imbued him with additional power. It had her mind latching on to everything he said and taking it in, fundamentally altering her without her choice, of its own accord. And she might have minded if it had been anyone else in the world doing this to her— but for Jerome alone— Jerome!, if only she could raise her fist and shake it in emphasis so that name could receive the exaltation it deserved— for Jerome alone, she welcomed that effect. For no other person in the world would she do that— but because it was him— she rejoiced to see the power he had over her, the influence, the extreme affects of his words, even when they were forming throwaway comments.

She… adored him. Yes. She did.

She’d been shimmying in the bed at the thought of him— had been shimmying still. And this seemed the thing that roused him; now he was shifting restively, and finally, he opened his eyes and looked on her.

He was magnificent. Still— even more so with his eyes watching her— such a beautiful figure, so so beautiful, and she was knocked a little breathless at the sight of him, at having his attention.

He was the finest man she’d ever seen— every aspect of him— his bald head, his average solidity— only enchanted him further in her eyes.

He gave her an easy smile. “You stayed put until I woke up,” and the statement was almost like a congratulations.

She was sliding into being the chaste virgin awaiting debauchment already, just from receiving his attention.

Instead of saying this, she said, “Yes. But I should… go…”

Should she? Did she really want to, while Jerome watched her with eyes like that?

“Why don’t you stay?” Jerome asked. “You could stay for the whole week. And we’d have a chance to get to know each other better.”

“I… don’t know… I have… classes, and I— have responsibilities to my filmmaker’s collectives… my collaborators…”

Jerome’s hand was out suddenly and in her hair. He’d seized it by the root— not painfully, but undeniably in a tug— that strong arm, those strong fingers in her hair, tugging against her scalp. It felt so claiming— so reprimanding, but not with cruelty. She thought suddenly of a pet owner lightly taking hold of their pet’s ear— not hurting them, but just making them feel slightly restrained.

She felt a bit like that— and her response was animalistic. She let out a wailing keen, but it was not a wail which beseeched mercy.

It was a wail that beseeched further constraint.

“Lena,” he said smoothly. “You can be good for me. Do you want to be good for me? Because it would be good of you to stay, and let me take care of you— and let yourself get to know me better.”

That melted her. “Jerome,” she sighed, and it almost sounded like the exaltation it deserved to be.

“Do you want to be good?” He asked again— she was going to lose her mind at the sound of his voice— it was so— commanding, so knowledgeable— a little the chaste virgin again, looking to a more experience man to transfer his knowledge of sex to her… she adored him, and adored his voice— so smooth and rich in tone— so beautiful—

“I want to be good,” she whimpered.

His smile was winning, and he released his tugging hold on her hair.

“Here’s what you’ll do for me. You’ll stay here, all day— you’ll call each person who expects you, and give them good excuses for why they won’t be seeing you today. As you successfully inform each one, your body will give you an orgasm without you having to touch. But you’ll be very good and not let that show in your voice.”

She was breathing heavier. The power he had over her was unmistakeable— and only unresented because he was the one wielding it. She knew what he’d said would be so.

“Once you’ve gotten through everyone, you’ll just kneel on the floor by the bed, all day. You’ll stay. I have to go out and attend to things, but I’ll come back in the evening. I’ll feed you by hand, and you’ll take it. And I want you to know something.”

Lena felt her eyebrows quirk up in questioning.

“That collar around your throat. All the time it is putting a signal into the depths of your brain; those soft, hidden depths. It is making you more and more my thing. Unless you can take it off, you will become fully mine. And you can’t even make yourself want to take it off now, can you?”

She understood immediately why he’d told her. He may as well have put a second collar on her— this marked her, this claimed her even more. To know this— and know it changed nothing. To know what it would mean to be here for the next seven days.

“Get up,” he said. “I’ll walk you to the bathroom now. One bathroom break from now until the time I get home this evening should hold you through the day.”

She couldn’t deny— she couldn’t refused— but she felt a little humiliated as the two of them walked together. Like she couldn’t even do something so basic to care for herself.

After she reemerged, Jerome threw her her phone.

“I know you’ll be very good for me today,” he told her, as they stood together outside the now-closed bathroom door. “I’ll be home after sunset.”

Then he turned without another glance her way, and strode for the penthouse door. A moment later, he’d opened, exited through it, and shut it once again, leaving her standing there, cradling her phone in her hand.

She was still naked, apart from the collar, and she was very aware of the way it felt for her fingers to be folded around her phone. Already, her mind was streaking through the week ahead, listing out all the people she was going to need to . She’d have to get a hold of her friends in each class she had this week, so they could get class notes for her. She’d have to call her collaborators at the collective and tell them she’d be unavailable for any projects this week— and that her projects already underway, some of which they’d had input in, would have to wait until she was ready to come back. She’d have to call the poker-group, too— tell them she’d miss this week’s game, and call her recreational soccer league, tell them she’d miss the match next weekend.

Technically, Jerome had only told her to call the people who were expecting to see her today. So, outwardly, the fact that she was choosing to work ahead and call everyone expecting to see her in the next week, might look like disobedience. Might look like she was trying to get one over on Jerome.

But she knew the most traitorous part of her brain was responsible for this sneaking, sideways action. And that part of her brain was not a traitor to Jerome— it was a traitor to her. It knew how those orgasms of reward would train her— and it was trying to set her up to have as many of them as possible. More phone calls meant more orgasms. She was disobeying— but not to get away from Jerome.

She was disobeying to get deeper under his control, taking more obedience for herself than he’d offered her. And worst— she knew what the collar was doing to her, what it would keep doing, what it was doing even now, but which is would only do more powerfully when it had those training orgasms to give to her. She should be fighting to get the collar off. But instead she was fighting to get Jerome’s control deeper, get it tighter around her— fighting to make it more inescapable, not less.

She didn’t technically have to be kneeling on the floor beside Jerome’s bed. He’d only told her to go there once she was done with her calls. But she was choosing this for herself too: she wanted to go there, and be there, in that position, while she was making her calls, and while she was orgasming her rewards.

She moved briskly, with purpose, back to the bedroom, and went down onto her knees. She unlocked her phone, and scrolled through her s. First, her friends in shared classes. Her professors would just have to dock her marks on attendance, because she didn’t feel comfortable calling to each professor’s office number individually— and besides, it was hardly the protocol in this situation. No other student would have done that— so she wouldn’t do it either, and Jerome had not told her to.

She dialed her first .

“I’m just really sick. I won’t be coming in to classes all week. Yeah, I’m sure I’ll be out a week. I saw the doctor yesterday and he said it’s that really nasty flu that’s been going around. Some of his other patients who’ve had ended up sick two weeks. Just vomiting the whole time. So as long as I hydrate— oh, you will give me the notes on what I miss? Thanks, you’re such a good friend!”

She was going to make the exact same excuse to every person she called. If any of them compared stories later, all the details would match up that way.

It honestly made it all the better that this was something she was tackling all at once— easy to repeat the same story if she was telling it to a bunch of different people in sequence. It would be a much more consistent story this way— as opposed to if she’d told it to the same quantity of people, but sprinkled out over days or weeks.

Just as her friend on the other end of the line was expressing sympathy for Lena— clearly having believed Lena’s explanation, the orgasm she’d been promised tore through her body.

Had orgasms been like this before? Had any feeling she’d ever felt been like this before? It was like her entire body was filled with ecstasy, but it went so far past being simple, pleasurable ecstasy that it had become an emotion. It had become a joy burning inside her, making her body alight. A total, all-possessing joy, which made her want to weep in insane happiness— a total, all-possessing joy which made her want to shout and whoop, and it was so good— if she were the debauched virgin, surely now this was what the debauched virgin would feel the next day— she would be full of this feeling and sing her joy.

Or if she were an animal she would whoop and she would bay— just make nonsensical sounds to proclaim her enjoyment and her happiness.

But she could not make any of those sounds, even as that feeling quaked inside of her— even as she felt her womb quaking with it. But it just made the feeling stronger, to think— she was kneeling here, on Jerome’s fine wood-floor, and she could feel the floor biting into her knees— and she was completely naked, with the phone held to her ear, and her friend on the other end had no idea. If they were picturing her at all, they were picturing her in her sickclothes, pajamas, maybe a bathrobe over top— picturing her with frazzled hair, picturing her looking a mess. Not picturing the truth— that she was down on her knees, in a collar, doing something at Jerome’s command, and cumming from it, just because he’d told her that she would.

The most ecstatic realization was how perfectly calm and composed her voice sounded. There was no labour of speech— no uneven breaths, no strange pauses, no thinly spoken tones. She sounded completely normal— not at all like a woman being torn apart by orgasm— and loving that destruction completely, loving each second of that destruction. That thrilled her— scared her in a way that she enjoyed, a way that intensified her ecstasy. She didn’t have control over her voice, it was only carrying out Jerome’s command.

If he had told her she was to essentially give phone sex to everyone she called today, her voice would now be doing that— it would be sounding moans, and breathy tones, and she would have just as little control over it as she did now. She only sounded so composed because Jerome had told her that was how she was going to sound. She was experiencing her present reality on so many levels, with so many layers of awareness, so to take in the composite whole was hopelessly overwhelming, devastating in its overwhelm and overwhelming in its devastation, and each aspect of the experience only elevated her to further joy. An orgasm that went so far as to become a feeling in her heart— in her mind— so much, she didn’t want to stop—

But her friend was saying goodbye. And as the phone call ended, Lena’s orgasm did too.

She dialed her second friend. “Yes, I’ve got the flu.”

As soon as she said it, just in telling the lie this time, she was pleasured. She was elevated to ecstasy. Her body was shaking like she was going to collapse to the floor, her pussy thrusting of its own accord— her voice never showed it. She was streaking herself with sweat. Her knees were throbbing and she’d barely been kneeling for ten minutes. She could feel her arousal pouring out of her, down her thighs— and her voice was completely level.

Part of her wanted to spill over, onto her side, and roll around on the floor, flashing her pleasure.

But she felt more immersed in Jerome’s control being up on her knees like this. She didn’t want to give that feeling up.

The third call— “Yes, I’m sorry to say I have the flu. Yes, it is unfortunate…”

Completely level tone, again. But were the orgasms getting stronger? She never would have wanted to resist Jerome anyway— it was too late for that, and that only made her happier— but if there had been even a tiny part of her wishing to resist— what hope of resistance would there have been? How could she ever refuse what Jerome told her to do, what he wanted from her? How could she ever want anything besides that— when the orgasms that came from obeying were like this? Such total body affairs, that came bundled up with joy.

Calls four through twenty went much the same way— except each time, the orgasm was stronger, more overpowering. By the time she’d gotten through the twentieth call, (which was also the last call), shew as drooling out the sides of her mouth and shuddering in her kneel.

When the last collaborator from her filmmaker’s collective was the one to end their call first, Lena just let her phone fall from her hand, let it smash into the floor. She didn’t even look at it. It seemed a much nicer idea to fix her eyes on a nondescript point in Jerome’s wall— to keep them there, and just stare. Just stare, and kneel.

The last orgasm had been harsh. She could still feel the after-effects of it now, ringing through her. And now— she kneeled.

There was nothing special about it, really— except everything about it was incredible. There was nothing special about it, apart from what it meant to her, as an experience, and as an experience to go through.

She should have been bored, just kneeling there. She’d be kneeling her for hours— her knees would probably bruise— and there was no cheating to get out of it. (She didn’t want to get out of it.)

But Jerome so controlled her mind. If she spent the day laying in bed and only got back onto her knees in time for Jerome to get home, intending to lie to him— he could simply compel her to give an of her day, and she would have to expose her own lies. That was thrilling to think of too.

So she had to be here, as he’d told her, so that when he compelled her, the truth would fall from her lips— had to kneel here so her kneeling would be retroactively true. None of this was what made this special.

Jerome was gone, she was alone, she should have been bored— but kneeling like this, she was feeling his presence so strongly. Like he was a worker of magic, like his power was a manifestation of the spiritual, an actual phenomena touching her right now— like he was a wizard who’d flicked his hand and spelled her down, whose spell now held her immobile in place.

None of this had happened. Her mind was being besieged by waves she could not see, but she had not lost all rationality. She knew this hadn’t happened. But it was how she felt. As if Jerome was in every moment holding her. This was completely about him, only about him— his will a tangible, if mysterious thing, that she could almost feel.

It had her here, it would keep her here— and when she felt she was being held exactly where he wanted her to be, it washed her over with more of that joy. Not in an ecstatic burst. Instead in a slow, rolling pull. Something consistent, something constant— but no less affecting. No less craved by her, either. She shuddered each time she felt the wave go through— and those waves, she could feel, unlike the ones going unseen into her mind.

She had no sense of time. Only had a sense of Jerome— felt he was all around, holding her, though he was nowhere to be seen. And each time she felt that, she understood— she was being good. She was being more and more like he wanted her to be. She should be more and more like he wanted to be. That went around and around in her mind, and she followed it, watching that thought spin circles, finding them captivating.

That made the timelessness even further lack time; she felt she was transcending— transcending everything, only having that experience of joy that felt almost like it was happening on a different plane of existence. It’d go on and on forever.

She heard the sound of the door to the penthouse opening. That startled her away from following inner circles.

There were striding footsteps approaching the bedroom.

After a moment, Jerome appeared in the doorway. His eyes held a gleam— he looked pleased to see her in the state she was in.

She could only imagine what that was. Kneeling, probably shivering, covered in dried sweat— a bit eased up off her kneecaps for how they hurt— but she was kneeling beside his bed all the same.

She could not speak to him first. He was the one in control of her, and she was a bit lost in her submission to him— she had to know what he wanted from her, before she could speak. And maybe he didn’t want anything. Maybe he only wanted her silence.

He folded his arms over his chest and looked down at her.

“You can’t lie to me. Tell me what happened today.”

It made something click in her mind. Truth was spilling from her lips.

“I called twenty people. I disobeyed. I was only supposed to call the people expecting to see me today, but I made all my arrangements for the week, going directly against your command. My traitor-brain wanted to be trained— it wanted those reward-orgasms more than it wanted to listen. It disobeyed to seize greater obedience for itself.”

“Continue,” Jerome said, with a nod.

It was only striking her now that she was really seeing him— he was really here, really back— Jerome! So handsome, so beautiful— how she adored him.

“I knelt beside the bed and called everyone from right here. I wanted to feel your command over me as I spoke to them. I lied to every single one, and every time I lied, I orgasmed, so hard that it made my heart erupt in joy, even as my pussy was erupting in arousal.”

“And then?”

“And then I dropped my phone onto the floor and didn’t care if it broke, and just stared at the wall and kneeled… and thought… I’m becoming more like you want me to be and I should become more like you want me to be and I’m becoming more like you want me to be and I should become more like you want me to—”

It had already happened. She was getting sucked inward, to follow that thought as it whirled circles through her mind. She was retreating, losing all sense of time again—

“Stop, Lena,” Jerome said, and her mind focused.

At seeing such a concrete display of his power, his influence over her, all she could think in response was— I adore him!!!! I adore, I adore, I ADORE him!!!

“No need to fall down the spiral of obedience just now. Finish what you were telling me.”

“That’s just what happened,” Lena said. “I… thought that forever, and time disappeared, and there was a slow, rolling surge of joy through my body a lot less intense than the direct orgasms, but no less addictive than they were. And I was only aware of the same thought going around my head, and if I say it will catch me again and you don’t want me to be caught up like that, so I won’t say it.”

“Not a bad first day,” Jerome granted, and she thought she would weep in her happiness. “Not a perfect first day— but you need to be broken in more. I’ll take care of that, but first, we need to get you in order. Stand up, I’ll take you for a bathroom trip. Afterwards, I’ll wash you off in the shower.”

She allowed him to lead her there, feeling very weak and pathetic as she did. She’d lost a basic human dignity that most other people had— because she wasn’t being treated as a human. She was being treated as Jerome’s pet, being taken out for supervised bathroom breaks, and then washed off like she couldn’t do it herself. It was embarrassing. It made her feel like she was a joke— but when it made her burn in such shame, she felt a thrill there.

Jerome wanted her to be his pet so she was becoming his pet so she should become his pet because Jerome wanted her to be his pet, so she should become his pet— her mind looped the same refrain as she was seen to in the bathroom.

When she emerged after, clean, and having been toweled off by Jerome as well, she felt more docile than she had felt before. Shameful to have someone else responsible for her cleanliness— but the care he had shown in helping her this way was also something hard to refute— it was even somewhat addictive, and she felt a bit domesticated as she walked with him across the penthouse again.

It had taken a while for him to get her clean. There had been quite a bit of sweat coated on to her, and in the shower, after standing there for a period, her knees had finally reached a point of total failure— and then Jerome had had to prop her up under the water himself. He was solidly-built, and possessed more strength than he appeared to, so he’d managed this, but he’d gotten his clothes all wet.

He was leading her now back to the bedroom. She hoped he would fuck her again, but when they reached it, he only gestured at the bed’s end, and she took the cue to sprawl herself horizontally across it. Sleeping at the foot of the bed— like a pet.

She wanted to roll over and watch him take off his wet clothes, but as soon as she felt the softness of the mattress beneath her body, she found it was too much effort to do. The comfort she felt was too much to fight. She’d thought he’d make her sleep on the floor— but no, like a beloved pet, she could share the bed with him. He was so brilliant— he was so incredible, so beautiful— she was thinking it hazily as she lay there.

But he was responsible for the existence of that collar— still pulsing things into her head unsensed— and it was fully waterproof, fully perfect— she never had to take it off— and somehow it had gotten so late, so dark outside the skylevel windows, and she wasn’t sure when that had happened either. But the sounds of Jerome rustling around as he changed into a drier set of close were a comforting cacophony, and the bed was so comfortable— it wasn’t a bad first day to the week at all. She closed her eyes, and just allowed herself to drift restfully for a while. She was becoming what Jerome wanted so she should become what Jerome wanted… a comforting loop to think through, to hear— to watch go around as she finally fell into sleep.

When she woke up the next morning, which was only her second day at Jerome’s penthouse out of that total week, this time, Jerome was already awake. She hadn’t woken up much later than him, because he was standing at his closet and dressing himself in a nice dress shirt and a sharp pair of pants. As he was getting his tie done up, he looked back over his shoulder, clearly noticing that she was awake.

She had slept all night on top of the blankets— and she was still lying across the foot of the bed. Her muscles were singing in relief— it had felt good, for them, to lie on such comfortable bedding for an entire duration, and so her body was full of that comfortable feeling.

Seeing Jerome readying himself for the day, though, sent a pang through her heart.

“You have to go out all day again.” She said it as a statement, and not a question. Saying it as a question would have wrapped a morsel of hope up in the words— would have left one option open for his not leaving. And even such a small piece of hope was too much, when she already felt as sad as she did at the thought that he was going.

He’d finished with his tie, and now he rested his hands on his belt, and gave her an easy smile.

“No, I’m not going anywhere today. The work I need to get done, I’ll get done here in this penthouse.”

Lena wasn’t quite sure what to make of that answer— it was better than her worst fear. He wasn’t leaving— but what he’d said didn’t make it sound like he was going to center his attention on her, either, so this was hardly her highest hoped-for ideal, either.

“I should kneel at the end of the bed again, shouldn’t I. I’m becoming like you want me to be so I could become what you want me to be so I’m becoming, so I should—”

He walked over to the bed, until he was standing over her. “I’ll take you out for your bathroom trip, and then I’ll show you what I want from you today.”

She got up and followed him to the bathroom door, trotting along behind him as he went. He waited for her in the hall, and she was out again a few minutes later.

“I’m going into my study today, and you’re coming with me.”

She trotted along to follow him across the penthouse to another closed door. When he opened it, and stepped through, she trotted after as well.

The central feature of the study was the large desk in it. It looked more like three desks lined up than one— though it was all one connected thing. Huge surface-area, though.

At the far side of it, there was a work laptop, and a comfortable looking rolling chair that seemed more like a highbacked armchair on wheels than anything else.

“Climb up onto the desk, near where that chair is,” Jerome instructed her.

She did this, moving around the very wide desk until she was standing next to the decadent rolling chair. She used it as a springboard to climb up, and it was a mark of the chair’s quality that it bore her weight without shooting itself away by its wheels.

When she was crouched on the desk she looked up at him.

“Lie down on your back, so your hips are beside my laptop there, and your legs are dangling off the side.”

She adjusted like this, and then couldn’t look at him anymore, instead having to stare up at the ceiling over her.

She heard his steps then, and he came around the desk too, before sitting himself in his chair, and pulling it up to the desk.

He lifted her legs, so they were resting his lap, and raised one hand to the mousepad of his keyboard, starting about doing whatever work it was he had to do on it.

She could only lie there and look at the ceiling of the study— it had a high ceiling, like every other room in this penthouse.

Then she felt Jerome’s other hand resting on her leg— carefully running up it, and then running back down, in a smooth spread of warmth. It made her let out a little whine.

This was where he would keep her all day? Lying on his desk, next to his work, within his easy reach? It was making things spin in her head. This was a position that worked so well it could be used multiple times. And that was frightening to think about. What if he asked her, at the end of the week, to stay longer than seven days? What if he asked her to move in? What if he worked from home more and more, and every day of the rest of her life was like this? Lying here, having him touch her— or worse, what if he started taking her into work with him, and having her do this there? Then anyone he had meetings with, any subordinate— they would see what an inhuman slut she was— naked and wearing his collar, lying there for him to pet her— for hours— what if this became her life? And all her other aspirations fell away?

Why did the thought of that feel so good?

“There’s a good bitch,” Jerome said, in a cooing tone, as he kept running his hand along her shin. “You’ll just lie here like this for me all day, letting me touch you, won’t you?”

He wanted her to— it was impossible for her to keep herself separate from Jerome’s desires. Even knowing a desire of his made her greedy to give it to him— made it so that known-desire filled her head and was all she could think about— think about what it meant to him, think about how it made him feel, think about how he related to it personally.

There was no part of her that could push a desire of Jerome’s away. She embraced every one she knew. In giving them to him, she found they gave her something to. There was no obligation— it wasn’t like most other tasks of her life had been. Just duty, just practicality, just things she had to carry out because she knew they needed to be done. This was transformed by desire— she wanted to do this for Jerome and it did something in her when she did. She was letting out a rumbling moan that was almost like a purr. His hand moved along.

“This is helping you, Lena. So much of you is still wild. I know your mind wants to belong to me, but your body still needs to be taught. You were far too disobedient yesterday— I only intended for you to have just exactly as much obedience, as much surrender as I had arranged for you, and you conspired to greedily seize more of it for yourself, in amounts I had not approved. So you will learn the proper way that you’re meant to behave. You’ll lie here, and take what I give you. And that will teach you. As you take exactly what it is I want you to have, your brain will learn. You are meant to have just what I give you— not more, and not less.”

He spoke with dread power. It might not have seemed that way to any other observer, had they been there— but it was dread power to her, because his influence over her had become total, and hearing him speak something close to a reprimand was making her shake where she lay.

But yes— yes she wanted to take what he would give, she wanted to take just exactly what he would give— he decided what happened to her now, it was all his decision, she’d been foolish to try to take more surrender for herself yesterday. There was a bit of maliciousness to this too, she felt. A bit of— you wanted greater surrender? Fine, then, take it all day and never stop. It was going to get difficult to withstand, sooner or later— then she’d be cursing herself for her yesterday-greed. If she wasn’t loving the overwhelm too much to reflect on it, by that point.

He slid his hand higher. Over her knee, up her upper-thigh, until he had brought it to her crotch.

It made her stomach dip in fear when he nudged her inner-thighs apart— because this was laying her pussy out for him completely, this was making her so entirely exposed. But even that nudge showed her a hint of something else he desired and she could not refrain from giving his desires— no matter what the cost of them would be to her. She allowed herself to move as she’d been guided, and she felt how the air in the study settled over her naked pussy.

Then his hand was there, over her genitals, and he rested it down. Stroking without a lot of pressure— stroking without any great sense of urgency. He was petting her.

That made her whole body shudder. He was petting her. He wanted to lie here, potentially all day, and just get petted. And when he petted her, he tamed her— it took what was wild in her and domesticated her further— in those repeating, soothing pets, his fingers tracing through her.

She craned her neck up to look at him, but he wasn’t even looking at her. He was reading something on his computer screen, navigating his computer set-up one-handed, scrolling, sometimes typing, sometimes clicking. Looking completely like a man absorbed in his work.

Except his other hand was still petting her.

She let her head drop again, to rest once more against the surface of the desk. She was looking up at the ceiling still, but that touch-sensation consumed all of her internal focus.

It was making time start to drag. And it felt like her mind was doing that spinning thing again, thinking repetitive thoughts that all flowed into each other, that chased each other around and around in circles. And he was never applying more pressure than just that tracing, petting stroke— so it really shouldn’t have been having much of an effect on her.

But every time his hand moved over for her, she felt more and more insatiably aroused— simple pets, just like that, just broad sweeps of his hand— nothing targeted, nothing complicated— just that broadhanded , and yet her body was reacting as if he was giving her the very best fingering of her entire life. She was panting— it was getting harder and harder to she was human. It felt so much easier just to think of her as… the animal.

The animal was lying there on the desk, under its owner’s hand, and its owner petted it so well. Someday, perhaps, it would think of itself entirely as “the pet” and not “the animal,” but had not reached that point yet. For now, it was just easier… to lie and be petted, and feel the way that petting, that constant, unrelenting petting— turned it on more and more.

It had been like this the other night— when its owner had been fucking it. After a while its mind had seemed to snap like this, and then it had been in this mindset of being trained. It felt it was taking its training very well, as it lay there. It never squirmed or disrupted that constant meditative pace of petting. But its body grew hungrier and hungrier for lust, and finally, with one more of its owner’s hand, it felt itself spasming, and gushing liquid all over.

But after its orgasm had subsided— nothing else was any different! In fact, even as it was cumming, its owner kept ing his hand along at the same pace; and now that the animal’s orgasm was over, it was painful to still be stroked there, where it was so sensitive. But this was training it. It was being a good animal. It was being a good pet— and thoughts chased each other around in circles in its head— as it just lay there, and took. Time dragged out even slower.

Sometimes is was cumming, sometimes it was in pain from too much stimulation, and sometimes it was building up to its next orgasm, but it was always in one of those three states, and all the time, its owner’s hand kept ing over it. It was being petted. It was a good animal. It would lie there, and let itself be petted.

Some eternity later, its owner finally withdrew his hand. There was clacking sound, of a laptop closing, and then two hands were helping the animal up.

When it saw its owner looking at it, it felt filled with a sense of pride. But there was no language involved as that nightly routine played out— its trip out to relieve itself, and then its washing in the shower. All this being done, it was led, once again, to the bedroom, and this time did not need to wait for guidance. It moved to the end of the bed, and slept.

Lena woke up feeling more human again. This time Jerome was not awake— nor did he seem about to wake up. She wished, a little, that he would wake up. A bathroom trip at this moment would be a relief.

But she didn’t have the right to wake him— and she didn’t have the right to get up and leave the bed herself. She had to stay here, until Jerome himself decided where she needed to go.

She felt the first day of the week had given her practice for this. Then, she had had to stay kneeling all day, waiting. She was lying across the end of the bed, so today things were at least a little more comfortable for her today. But the same core experience, of having to wade through a sludge of monotony, had not changed. And as she had done on that first day, she would now fix her gaze on one spot, and just… wait, unceasingly, until Jerome interrupted, as he had then, and moved things forward.

It made Lena lubricate when she reflected on herself— this was something to regard. On that first day, Jerome had given her a direct command, and that was why she had felt his control around her like he was physically present. But he’d given her no commands today. She was only acting according to an assumed wish of his— which maybe he would also think of as disobedience. Maybe he would say she was being greedy again, taking more surrender than she was meant to have.

But she couldn’t help herself this time. This imagined desire of Jerome’s was irresistible, and so, so personally exciting to her, so personally motivating. She didn’t even know if it was a real desire of his, or if it was just something she’d misunderstood, made incorrect assumptions about. She didn’t care. For as long as it was plausibly Jerome’s desire, it was too much fun to work behind the scenes, arranging to give it to him without him knowing. So she didn’t care if he said she was disobedient later, for doing this now. It would be worth it.

Even if she was wrong about this, the most that would happen was Jerome training her again. And she loved being trained by him almost as much as she adored the man himself.

It did amaze her though— amazed her still. No direct command from Jerome, only her assumption about his desire— that he would want her to lie and wait for him to wake up. But even that felt like it put his control over her— she felt it like a physical presence again, as she fixed her eyes to a point on the ceiling, and continued to stare at it.

It was making her perception drift out of time. Easier to watch thoughts circle again— only if she really concentrated could she know what they were. She was becoming as Jerome wanted her to be and she should become as Jerome wanted her to be— that could repeat a thousand times, it just got truer with each repetition.

It felt nicer like this, to be outside of time, to have this kind of fixed focus— to feel Jerome’s control settling over her, cradling her. It owned her like he owned her. And she liked to be owned.

She was called back from this an unknowable amount of time later, when she felt the blankets shifting under her. Her mind focused, and she looked up the bed to see Jerome waking up.

She marveled at him again— everything about him was amazing, was incredible, was incomparable— she could just think her adoration for hours, and on some unconscious level, she had likely already been doing just that for some time. But what impressed her now was that Jerome was so quick to respond. He was still in the process of awakening, but he was moving fast, being efficient, being thorough.

He threw the covers back and stood. “I’ll take you for your bathroom trip now.”

He took her, and after she was back out again, led her back to the bedroom, before telling her to lay herself out once again, on the bed.

She did this eagerly, and then was pleased to see Jerome opening the button on his pajama pants, and letting his cock out. It only took him a few second to line himself up, and then she could feel his tip against her.

He didn’t drive into her right away, though. Instead, he pumped forward, sending his cock along her slit, dragging down through her softness, and then back up again. He had a good gliding motion going, and for the moment seemed committed to maintaining it.

She bucked her hips forward, trying to increase the between their bodies. She wanted more of it because she wanted more of Jerome.

“Tell me what’s happened so far this morning,” Jerome said, making another stroke through her wetness.

She groaned as he went— he guided himself so smoothly, so surely, it felt good to have him move up her slit and then back down it again.

“I woke up and it was still dark outside. And— I was greedy again— disobedient again. I imagined it was really your desire— just because there was the barest hint of it, and I extrapolated back from it— I imagined you wanted me to lie on the bed and wait for you to wake up. And when I told myself I was doing what you wanted, it put your control over me again. But I was greedy and took surrender you didn’t approve me for.”

Jerome made another stroke along her. “You’re opening yourself up to the collar. It’s working on you so beautifully.”

“That’s how it felt,” Lena panted. “My mind slipped out of time, and I went into a daze— where the thoughts that trained me were playing in my head but I couldn’t hear them anymore… and the time just streaked away— but you didn’t tell me it was alright— I was just guessing at your desire, too, I don’t know if you really did want that.”

Jerome answered this comment by finally thrusting himself inside of her. “I did really want it. And I don’t mind that you were disobedient again this time. You’re being broken of it. It’s getting trained out of you. Soon, you won’t even be able to make any conscious decisions like that anymore. So this won’t be a problem for much longer.”

Lena felt she had a good sense of what he was saying— because the second she felt his cock inside of her, it dazed her mind.

Feeling the motion of him, thrusting in and out, pushing forward and drawing back— that seemed to be the same motion as those thoughts that circled inside her head, unseen. She followed his penetrations similarly— feeling them put her mind in a haze, feeling herself drift from time.

And they did more than that— they were driving her identity away. In and out, in and out he went— and the animal was the animal again, not any kind of human being, not a being in possession of any other identity or name. The animal was with its owner, being tamed, and as the wild thing it was ashamed. But as the increasingly domesticated thing, it was overjoyed. So it had a bit of divided response, but that was what its training was for— it was resolving that split, strengthening the domesticated side of the animal, and making that side spread over to the wild and untamed side of it.

It felt good to move so instinctively, to drive up as owner pushed in— to let itself flop as he drew back out. It was like it had been when owner had petted it all day the day before— repeating action that never reached perfection but nevertheless increased and increased the animal’s experience of pleasure. It was getting more and more turned on— and it was sure this would be like yesterday too— it would have one orgasm or many, and the spaces after each would be agony— but owner would just keep fucking it through those orgasms, and in the moments after. Owner could keep animal here, getting fucked like this for hours— or getting fucked like this all day.

That was—

No, animal couldn’t even think about that. Because its mind was too dazed now for it to catch any of the thoughts that were ing by. The thrusts inside stopped its brain, and then it was only experiencing sensation, as had happened multiple times by now, on multiple different days.

And there was so much sensation, and there was more sensation— and without any chance to prepare, animal’s pleasure spilled over, and it was coming, and it was coming— and as it had thought, when its mind had been a bit less dazed— owner just kept fucking it through that after-orgasm space.

And it was agonizing, in a delicious kind of way where it enjoyed the agony as much as it suffered from it. It kept spasming, but owner never faltered, just kept pumping in, and never seemed ready to spill himself. Seemed to have as much control over himself as he was able to hold over his animal— and now animal’s orgasm had mostly fallen away, and slowly the sensitization was decreasing. When it had gotten to be reduced enough, the second the pleasure had crossed over from hurting to feeling good again— in that very moment animal’s next orgasm started to build.

Everything owner had said was true. Because everything owner ever said was true— and he had said that animal was being trained by this, and animal could really feel it. The fucking went on, and it made animal feel its identity was shaking again, ready to burst and become something new. Maybe animal didn’t want to be animal… maybe… animal wanted to be pet. It pondered this, as the fucking continued.

“Wake up a little more,” the animal heard Jerome say, and in hearing it, Lena was able to herself slightly better.

He was calling her attention back to her as he was drawing himself out of her body— as he was going though, Lena could tell that he had not pursued release inside of her. He must have intended something else, intended something he preferred better than that option, because if he’d wanted to pursue release, it would have been easy to achieve.

He had also, apparently wanted her to be more aware. She had retreated into that more animalistic, primal form of experiencing, but—

“You can tell?” She asked. “When I… go?”

“Of course I can tell,” Jerome said. “I own your mind, and just as with every other thing I own, I track it for maintenance purposes; I know everything that is going on with it. I like it when you go to that more primal place, in your head. If that is where you end up living a majority of your life, I’ll have no complaints. But I own you whether you’re the animal or the woman— and that means I have the power to call you into whichever state I’d prefer to see in you. So this is my preference now.”

She let out a guttural ut, in sound. Anytime he brandished his ownership…

“Come and follow me,” he said, not leaving her caught in desire’s seizing. “We’ll go back to the study now.”

The other day, he had wanted to dress himself up in full and proper business attire. But today, he didn’t seem to care that he was going still wearing his sleep-pants, sleep-pants that were still unbuttoned at the crotch, and which she had dripped pussy-spendings all across.

They reached the study, and she wondered if he would tell her to lie on the desk again. If he made her endure multiple hours of petting again, there would be no way of holding on to her more conscious state of functioning, no matter what he’d commanded.

But instead of telling her to lie on the desk, he said, “Climb under it, and kneel so you’re level to my crotch.”

That made her, in equal parts, simmer in eagerness and burn in humiliation. When she was the animal, she was freer— and yet still had some shame there, because even as the animal, she knew that part of her was wild, and part of her was tame— and was ashamed of those wild parts that wished for taming.

But as the woman, there was more shame even than that. He always made her feel like the chaste creature corrupted, so in moments like this, when he asked for things so obviously depraved— she felt that nature so strongly. And yet it only enticed her.

She climbed under the desk, and kneeled.

He sat, and rolled himself forward. Then guided himself out through his sleep-pants, so his cock was there, presented for her.

He was giving her that flash of indirect desire— which made her mind assume, and made her mind eager. She waited only a moment to see if he would speak direct command but he didn’t. So she greedily took the surrender for herself again— fitting her lips around his cock and starting to slurp it.

It was even better this time, when she felt Jerome’s control set itself over her anew. His hips stuttered forward from the chair when she sucked him in, and she could see the extent of his desire in that response. He desired this, and she was giving it to him, which meant she was surrendering to him— which meant she was controlled— ahhh, but it felt good to be controlled. It made her so wet, she could feel herself leaking from between her legs onto the wooden floor beneath herself. She traced her tongued down his length, and swirled it around his tip— pumped her cheeks in and out a bit too, to give him a really good sucking.

This was starting to seem like the other day— but for Jerome this time, and not for her. As she had lain there and taken endless pettings, which had relentlessly been put upon her as she’d just had to withstand them— now he would take her endless sucking, and she would suck him through those after-spaces following his orgasms— he really might be getting work done above, but down here, she was only tuned into his body, tracking his every small reaction, always trying to work him more, work him better.

Too bad he hadn’t wanted her in the animal mindset for this— because he had essentially given her the best oral-toy in the world to play with— just as any other owner to a pet— but she could appreciate that as a woman, too. She sucked.

After a while that timeless nature was coming back. She was always sucking, though she constantly found new ways to vary it. But in response to this, Jerome was either cumming, or shuddering in sensitivity, or building to another orgasm. After the first two, there wasn’t much for him to spurt out— but she could still sense that his balls were clenching, even though they had nothing to put out. And he never told her to stop— so he was enjoying all of it— just as she’d enjoyed being trapped into that petting pleasure. Except that pleasure had further made her his possession— and what she did to him now had no effect on his overall freedom— nor would she have wanted it to.

Quite a bit later, he finally spoke.

“Shift back, and look under where you were kneeling.”

She did this. “I— made a puddle. With my arousal. It’s just— shimmery, there.”

“Lick it off the floor,” he said, as if in the saying he was not making an obscene, depraved request.

But he wanted that— she could not refute— and she burned in shame but loved that— to be brought down to doing things like this, only to find she enjoyed them.

She leaned down and started licking the floor clean— not minding the taste, not minding anything about it. At every chance of consideration, she only shivered at the thought of the illicitness of her actions.

It would take her a while to lick it all up— and most of the day had surely gone by. Perhaps all that would be left after this would be a trip to the bathroom, and an assisted shower, before she was lain down to sleep.

That’d be alright. All in all, it’d been a good third day.