The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lena awoke, and knew that it was the fourth day. For the moment, she was still mostly herself— she had not slipped into being either the animal or the shameful virgin. Her eyes were still closed, but her mind was free to work. She was Lena— she was still a version of her core self, even if that core now clearly showed the alterations made by Jerome’s influence.

She knew it must be his influence that was making her happy. If she had been her untampered with self, it probably would have been wiser to panic. There were still four more days of this treatment— what would she even be like by the time it was over? Certainly, she was holding together the remnants of her identity at this moment. But during the day, when Jerome was actively training her— she ceased to be herself. She became, again, either the animal, or the shameful virgin, or some ever shifting hybrid of both. She was only feeling like herself now because she’d just woken up, and sleeping had, to some extent reset her. But it was impossible now for her to completely revert.

He had made marks on her being too indelible— he had eroded too much away. When she reverted now, it was only to the things that had not been eradicated yet. What would happen when those things, too, were gone? Would she just become something blank and empty, waiting to be pushed into either of the new identities he was fashioning for her? Or would those two identities eventually merge together to be one complete entity? And then would she be blank, waiting for his telling her to become that entity, and then be that entity? Or would he stop her “reverting” at all, and just as her to be the one thing, that one thing, all the time forever with no respite?

These questions should be striking fear in her heart. But the ability to fear, to dislike, to feel contrary to his desires for her, including what he desired her to feel— all of those were things that had been eroded away. She was not able to respond in such ways any longer, nor did she want to. She was still only happy. It was only something good, being here.

And it was only something good, that she would be here another four days. Only something good that by the end of that time she was likely to have become something unrecognizable to what remained of her self, now. Only something good, only something good.

She felt that she had slept a long time— slept in. She had to go to the bathroom badly— so badly she only thought through her next action slightly. It was late, she had slept— so it was likely that Jerome had already left for the day to go… do whatever it was that he did, being the important and successful man that he was. Those machinations of success were a little above her ability to understand now, with her brain in its altered form. So he had gone, and left her— trusting her to do what she needed and then obey. She’d quickly go to the bathroom, then come back and kneel at the foot of the bed, and let her mind be fucked by whatever the collar was going to beam into it. She couldn’t plan any better than that. Her body was demanding relief.

So mostly on instinct, she turned over the covers to free her legs, and stood, to move quickly from the room. Before she could take off at her sprint though, as she was still in the process of rising, there was a shifting sound— and then a vice around her wrist.

When she looked down, she saw it was a hand. And following it back to its owner, she saw that Jerome had not in fact left for the day. He was looking up at her, with a scrutinizing expression— she couldn’t discern any emotion in it.

“What are you doing?” He asked— his voice perfectly polite, if a bit intense with quiet.

“You left for the day,” she said, then immediately felt it necessary to— “I thought,” — amend, “and so I assumed you put trust in my obedience. That I would take care of myself and then come back to obey. To let my mind be ravaged and ravished and fucked by your collar-beam. So I was— doing as I thought— you would want.”

He twitched his lips in a rueful smile, and then set them back into being a line.

“It is not your place to assume,” he corrected— and it felt like her mind was being set, a bone that had snapped and was being aligned to itself again— it felt that jerking, and brutal. “You do nothing without my leave— if I had left for the day, and left you in bed, that would mean I wanted you in bed all day. So you would have had to lie in place where you were, and hold it until evening.”

That brought the shameful prude out of her— that was humiliating! She didn’t have the right to stand up if she wanted to? She didn’t have the right to sit up, to walk, to move, to go and use the bathroom and then come back and kneel? Didn’t have the right to assess a situation, make her best judgement and act on it? These were all very basic freedoms, basic allowances every other person had— and she couldn’t even shift position without him desiring it, commanding it? She felt like she was flushing in shame all over her body.

And it had that addicting aftertaste. That flushing shame— then the thrill of being so totally possessed by him, so trapped by that possession— so owned. Which made that shameful prude in her more ashamed, which made it more of a thrill. It was something that fed on itself endlessly, and she was already at the point of being ready to groan and hump the air, trying to ride it out where she stood.

But she stayed still, feeling his hand’s seal around her wrist.

“You may go to the bathroom,” he allowed. “And only by my granting. I’ll take you now.”

He stood, still holding her in the same place, and pulled her by the arm towards the bathroom. The same bathroom trip as every other day this week— she was still caught in the humiliation spiral the whole time.

After she had re-emerged from the bathroom, her business taken care of, and she herself feeling clean and fully refreshed, she stepped back out into the main area of the penthouse.

She never got farther than that first step, because he took hold of her body, and hauled her down onto the floor, forcing her over onto her back, and then overcasting her with his own body.

She couldn’t escape— he had so much power over her she couldn’t think of anything but how he wanted this, he wanted her to be here, and she wanted whatever he wanted. Then she felt her own longing— she wanted to be here, owned by him, liked the feel of his body over hers— craved sexual engagement, though that made the prude in her humiliated all over again.

She was trapped on both those counts, and only at a distant third by his physical strength. But that was something to notice too— his physical strength came from his body— and his body looked like— and she was attracted to— and she wanted him so she wanted what he wanted and actually she did want to be here, under him, in her own way, and he was keeping her there because he was strong, and by the strength of his body— and his body looked like—

She was trapped. She could only submit, could only surrender to what he was trying to do with her.

She let out a sigh— made her body go pliant, let all the tension go free.

“I stayed home today deliberately, so I could give you a more active period of training time. What did you say before, ravage, ravish and fuck? I’ll ravage, ravish and fuck your body while my collar does the same to your mind. All day long, if necessary. Then maybe you’ll fully integrate this lesson, into that newly trained mind my collar is making you form. You don’t have your own ideas, you don’t undertake your own actions. You wait, always, to be filled, by me. By my desires, by my instructions, by my body— and if nothing has come to fill you, then you are nothing, and you have to wait until something does.”

They had slept naked last night— had been naked ever since waking up, so were still naked now, as they were pressed together on the floor. It was only a bit of a shift down for him, to get his cock between her legs, between her thighs, right to her entrance.

He’d fucked her multiple times since she’d come here, and she still wasn’t ready, had still never adjusted to his girth. She could only keen over and over, as he pushed his way into her.

And she felt the collar on her neck. There was no sensation— there had never been a sensation, she knew there had never been a sensation. What the collar did, that collar-beam— it could not be felt, it could not be sensed, could not be perceived. But she was confused— the keening noises she made confused her more— was she the shameful prude, or the animal? She was keening like the animal but feeling like the prude— and so much confusion like that only blurred things further. It was hot to think of that collar-beam entering her mind. Hot to think of it pulsing, throbbing into there, coming in, in streaks, one following the next, never stopping, a laser always hitting its target. She couldn’t feel it but it was hot to imagine— so she imagined, and that seemed to make it manifest, seemed to make it more real.

Jerome was fully into her pussy now, his thick cock stretching her open. And as he started up his careless, harsh thrusts, she really thought of the collar-beam.

The two were complicatedly intertwined, after what Jerome had said to her. This was more active training now, by his declaration, and that intertwined them. He thrust, and the collar beamed.

She felt the thrust at the same moment as she pictured the beam— a straight line done in an eerie blue go, streaking up on a perfect trajectory, to penetrate the deepest part of her brain, make it ripple from the force, make it rearrange itself, like ocean-water set into chaos by the plunging-in of something heavy. Or ocean-water set into chaos by a ship sinking down.

Like a laser to a perfect target— his thrust— and then the imagined collar beam. Both were doing the same thing. As he withdrew to thrust again, and as that individual beam dissolved in her brain-matter for a new one to follow it, in both places she felt she was being spread wider. Nothing about this was rational— so much of this was imagined— but when Jerome pulled out of her, it really felt like he had exposed her, laid her out for him so there was more to ravage the next time he came back in. And more to ravish.

In her imagination, it was the same with the collar-beam. It came in— but when that beam penetrated those inner folds of her brain, it had done the same thing as Jerome, when he drew out of her. When that beam penetrated those inner folds of her brain, it had exposed her, laid her out for itself so there was more to ravage the next time a collar-beam beamed in— and more to ravish.

She could only stare forwards as she felt herself being so undeniably, so irresistibly trained. Jerome’s thrusts opened her body further every time so his next penetration was even more shocking and even more penetrating. And the collar’s beams opened her mind further every time, so its next beaming was even more shocking, and even more penetrating. She was rapidly being reduced to that unspeaking, silent place— and what came after that was the unthinking silent place. She was being opened, it felt like falling apart, it felt like splitting to show a hidden center— her pussy opening and opening more, her mind opening and opening more, both of them opening like a flower shifting its petals to show its face to the sun.

Time was ing; it was slipping by like water running down a brook. She was the thing that had fallen into the brook, and everything was still ing by her, while she herself could not stand or watch where those things ing by were ing to— time was ing and it was impossible to know how much of it was.

She was opening so much it felt like she was being turned inside out. She was just a piece of clothing being turned inside out that way, to show its seams. The seams of her were showing, and when Jerome’s thrust came in, they were pressured and strained almost until it seemed they would tear. The seams of her mind were showing, and when the collar-beam came in, they were pressured and strained almost until it seemed they would tear.

And she could not speak— she was inside out. She could not think— she was inside out— still being turned to open further— so exposed, so laid bare, taking what came into her ever and ever deeper, more and more shaken each time.

“Enough,” Jerome said, and again, left her body. She was dazed as her body moved up with his lifting. She could only just barely that it was now completely dark outside— that was the fourth day, it had gone like that, but nothing in her mind felt like it was reverting, returning to some prior state. She felt stuck being open— shaken by how deeply she had been touched, in both body and mind.

She stayed in her daze, as Jerome led her back to the bathroom, and gave her her nightly bathroom trip. Then dazed, as Jerome led her to the kitchen, put some food in a bowl for her and set it on the floor. Dazed as she ate it, and dazed as he helped her up one final time and helped her into bed.

Training should have been hard, maybe, but it felt easy— everything in her wanted to be trained now, and she just took it— but she was still disoriented, now, and glad to be lying ed in the bed. Any other would have felt like it was spinning underneath her.

She fell asleep then, with no further thought.

Lena woke up, and knew it was the fifth day. But this day already felt so different than the day which had come before. There had been more of her remaining yesterday; and today, it felt like so much of that had been whittled away. She was less, today, than she’d been yesterday.

And her mind was absolutely exhausted. Even to think— this is the fifth day of the week, was a completely overwhelming effort. Being spread as wide-open as it had been the previous day had completely exhausted her mind, making a simple thought like that incredibly difficult to think.

She could feel, lying still, that Jerome was in bed beside her. This set her tired mind off, asking automatic questions, coming to automatic conclusions. Knowing it was the second half of their week together, was Jerome moved to spend more time with her? Or was it that he knew how much further into her training she was, and so he wanted to direct it in a more hands-on fashion at this point? If he stayed with her all through this day, that would mark the second day he’d not worked.

Lena resented her mind a little, at that moment. Just because it went off asking itself automatic questions without giving her any choice didn’t mean she was spared the effort or exhaustion of thinking. An automatic thought still taxed her mind, and in some ways was even worse than a deliberate thought, because it shot off unprevented and made her exhaustion even more wearisome. It happened consequentially, in sequence. If she’d been choosing deliberate thoughts, there would have been a pause beforehand, in which her mind new slight peace and slight rest. Then the plunge of thinking would have followed, exhausting her further. But she’d at least have had that moment of respite to prepare. And a moment of respite after to recover.

Not with automatic thoughts. Automatic thoughts were like being shoved— she was plunged right into the taxing process, no opportunity to prepare first or recover after. It was so much worse— those damn remnants of her identity, those habits of personality which made her think and wonder in that way— couldn’t the collar-beam get them out of her? A large part of her was really wishing for oblivion’s peace.

She lay there, just sensing Jerome’s presence for a moment. She could ask him— she could plead with him, make me the animal again so I don’t have to think. And so much of the feeling in her heart was the plea that went along with that. A desperate, whining plea. Make me the animal again so I don’t have to think— make me the animal again so I don’t have to think— it would feel better, it had always felt better, slipping into that primal mindset where all she had to do was experience, and nothing else was required of her.

But she realized now— the training from yesterday had been internalized. It would be wrong to ask Jerome to do something to her. It was wrong to desire anything herself— her will was meant to erode away completely. Jerome had not chosen to fill her with that primal headspace, so she could not try to take it for herself. She had to wait to be filled— had to be nothing until she was filled.

But there was still so much not eroded away yet that even when she was being nothing, relative to whatever Jerome might want from her— she still had to be something, because there was so much left from who she’d been before that it filled her up, in the absence of Jerome’s filler.

There was less of her than there’d been yesterday— but there was still far too much for her to be a blank nothing while she waited for Jerome to want something from her.

She lay there for a while longer. She was really feeling she needed a bathroom trip— but that lesson had been internalized from yesterday too. Being fucked so open in mind and body had taught her. She would not ask to be filled before Jerome decided it was time, and she would not seek to meet her own needs herself. She would go only by Jerome’s granting— just as she would only be filled by Jerome’s granting.

An uncomfortable interval ed, as she waited for Jerome to either wake up or decide he was done lying there half-awake, if that was what he was doing.

Luckily, at the end of that interval, Jerome did sit up in bed. He put his hands on Lena’s body, and shook her roughly, likely thinking she was still asleep.

That cheered her— she’d obeyed so well, been so still and patient, waiting for his filling, that he’d mistaken her stillness for slumber.

But she was also glad that he was going to make her do or be something else now.

“Up, girl,” he said, still shaking her. She felt the command enter her, and fill her deeply, and she rose up in response, out of his hands, out of the bed, and until she was standing just beside it.

She’d not speak unless he instructed her to. That was one refuge from words, at least. If she couldn’t stop her thoughts, or ask Jerome to stop them, she could stop her speech. And that was still taking something for herself when she shouldn’t— but it was taking something she could get away with, so she would.

He hooked his arm through hers, again pulling her towards the bathroom so she could make her bathroom trip.

This was done a few minutes later. Then she and Jerome were standing in the penthouse’s general area, looking at each other.

She wanted him to fill her up with a command again, wanted him to make her do or be something else. And if that command happened to silence her thoughts, that would be all the better.

Finally, Jerome did speak. “On your hands and knees, Lena.”

She got down as instructed. Would he mount her like this?

But she heard his footsteps retreating. Heard some difficult-to-classify rustling, then heard his footsteps returning.

She felt him tugging on her collar— and realized there was a loop on the back of it, where it sat at the nape of her neck. He was threading something through that loop, then tugging what he’d threaded to test its hold.

He’d put a leash on her, she realized!

“Walk around the penthouse, Lena. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

That made her eyes half-glaze; she could feel that. It put her mind into a haze, too. That was relief from the exhaustion that was— something the collar-beam could synchronize too. She still couldn’t perceive it, but again she was imagining it.

Today she was Jerome’s pet. And he wanted to walk his pet. So she would walk— and be his pet.

The collar must be beaming things like that into her head— thoughts like, I’m not a human anymore, I’m just an animal, just his animal, belonging to him, only an animal, can’t think, only move, only feel—

Then she couldn’t picture what the collar-beam was doing anymore, because she was just feeling the experience.

She moved; front-paws forward, back-paws forward, prowling ahead in that direction. She wasn’t Lena anymore, wasn’t a person. She was an animal, she was the animal, the animal he’d made her before on separate, consecutive occasions. But she wasn’t a completely wild-animal anymore. She was half-tamed. That was why she didn’t fight the leash, didn’t even resent its presence. She was happy to be walked by her owner. It felt good to stretch both her fore and hind legs.

It felt different, being in her true nature this time— to be the animal was to be in her true nature, at least that was how she felt when she had gone animalistic. She was not only animal. Some influence of the naughty shameful virgin was present even here. So she was not an animal— but an animal in heat.

As she prowled around, the leash following her, she felt how much she wanted to fuck. The only thing that briefly broke the spell over her mind set by the collar-beam was the thought of the arousal that must be streaming out of her, trailing all over the fine penthouse floors. There was brief memory— of having to lick her own arousal-juice up off the floor. That would be a trap, if Jerome told her to do it now. She would lick one stripe of it up and lay another down. Her work would never be down, she’d be stuck doing the same thing again and again and again, making a new mess as she cleaned the old one, perpetually caught in the task.

But her body had not stopped moving even as her mind had shrugged part of the collar’s control off. And the sensation of forelegs moving forward— hindlegs moving forward, began to soothe her mind again and make her forget humanity. She was turning more primal again, feeling her stride as she walked, and soon she was just the animal again.

The animal again, that was filled with that primal urge to seek sex. But it was not a wild animal— it was a partly-tamed, fully owned animal. And what it had been told to do was walk, so it would do nothing else. Besides, walking was fun. It felt good to exercise. It was letting out some of its pent up energy— even as walking seemed to generate more of that kind of energy— a perpetual trap like— having to lick the floor clean…

The animal thought only of walking, felt only that it was walking. Walking, walking in circles, sometimes taking off at a bound, at a running pace, other times slowing to a trot— it circled the entirety of the space available to it and never got tired of seeing the same sights: those objects its owner had placed about his living-quarters. The views of the sky outside, through owner’s windows, as the sky got darker and darker.

The animal walked, and trailed arousal, and walked, and enjoyed the exercise, and walked— until every muscle was tired, until all of its body-covering was streaked in the fluids of exertion.

And still it would have kept walking, even with how totally it had exerted itself, but then Owner said, “stop now, it’s time for you to have a bath.”

He’d spoken up at the moment where they had arrived, naturally, at a point close to the bathroom door. Owner walked her on the leash towards the door, opened it for her, and filled the bathtub with water. As it was filling, he took the leash off her, then helped into the tub, where she stayed standing on her fore and hind legs.

The hot water was soothing on her exhausted muscles, and owner got a sponge, and dipped it into the sudsy water, before carefully guiding it over her body. Getting all that exertion-juice off, making her body-covering feel clean and fresh again.

But the animal was still an animal in heat. It felt so good to have the sponge ing over its body covering. Owner was washing it, and that was as soothing as the walk had been. But sometimes Owner had to wash it in its more private places, and when the warm, wet sponge touched there, it made the animal quiver in carnal need.

Owner must now that he was doing that— that she was responding like that— but he kept doing it. So Owner must know that she needed a release, that she had all that pent-up erotic energy inside that she needed to let free. She didn’t need to worry about anything, because Owner would take care of her. Make sure she got the exercise she needed, then clean her up from it— make sure she got the carnal release she needed, make sure she was satisfied.

It felt better just to feel the movement of the sponge, right over her leaking hole— and the bud above that sent out electric shock of pleasure. The sponge had a gritty, tacky texture, which was drawing her skin slightly into its pores, creating just a slight grit of resistance— but then that was contrasted but the soft bubbles of soap, the smooth spread of the water. Three sensations at once, so good, so good, right over the center where all that energy was concentrated.

Sponged, sponged— and like a true animal, just had to let release go when her body dictated it— the orgasm spilled out, that arousal-juice getting lost in the water, soaked into the sponge. The animal let out a howl, a response as involuntary and unthinking as the rest of the way it was responding. It felt the pleasure everywhere in its body, and rutted against it— felt so good to be rutting against the sponge, riding out the pleasure, feeling it everywhere beneath its body-covering, even into its muscles.

Owner washed it clean some more, while the animal still twinged.

Finally, he helped it back out of the tub, and had it stand, on fore and hind legs, on the bathroom floor just beside the tub. He had a soft, fluffy towel in his hands, and began to towel the animal off, rubbing body-covering dry— the animal felt soothed again, felt its tired muscles relax even further, felt the pleasing texture of the towel, the softness, the warmth, and enjoyed all of it. It was so good to be taken care of— the animal had been wild once, it could vaguely — but this was how pets got treated, they got pampered like this, so the animal was probably better off being a pet.

When at last the pet was dry, Owner put the leash back on it, and led it out of the bathroom, into the kitchen. He left it standing there as he saw to something on the counter. A few minutes later, he had set a bowl in front of it, which was full of warm food, cooked meat and some kind of starch, which the pet tore through with its teeth. The bowl was very full so there was plenty to eat, and the pet ate and ate until its stomach was heavy. Then it was ready to curl up and sleep right where it had stood, but Owner gave a tug of the leash, and led it back to his room. He helped it up onto his bed, but didn’t fight it when it curled itself up at the foot of his bed instead of laying itself out and letting itself be covered by Owner’s blankets.

Only once it was settled did Owner unclip its leash, and then the pet’s stomach was so heavy, and all of it felt so warm. So warm, and all of its body still so tired from exertion. It slept.

On the sixth day, when Lena woke up, she found that in the night, she’d uncurled and spread out onto her back.

She felt almost completely estranged from the Lena she’d been. So much of her had been obliterated, in what she’d done for Jerome the day before.

She was surprised to find herself thinking somewhat like a person. If there had been any coherent thought at all yesterday, past a certain point, it had been the thought that she was the animal now, and she would stay that way. Fully his pet and only acting on instinct.

But she was thinking like a human again. And yet not like her former self.

There had been more of the old Lena the morning before, and more still the morning before that. There was nothing of her today. Lena knew which person she was existing as.

She was, again, the virgin awaiting deflowering, as eager for it as she was ashamed of that desire. It didn’t matter that there was nothing virginal about her. Old Lena’s past was distant, and could barely serve as evidence.

It didn’t matter either, that even if her memory only included the time since she’d been with Jerome, her virginity would be discounted there, too. Because he’d fucked her plenty of times since they’d first been together.

No, none of that mattered. The role of the virgin, the role of the prude, was just that. A role. So pesky things like facts or evidence or memory couldn’t interfere. It was an emotional state, so it was an irrational space. She would always be the pure one waiting for sullying because that was, clearly, what Jerome wanted.

If she could think like this it was only because the collar-beam was shaping her mind to be capable of this thought. So late in the week and her process, this mindset wasn’t a remnant of something earlier. Wasn’t something yet to be cleared away. It was something intended. Which meant it was something Jerome wanted.

When he wanted her human, he wanted her like this. Chaste, dreading and desiring what she thought of as wrong and bad. And when he wanted her animal, he wanted her like she’d been yesterday. Tamed but desperate, lost to her appetites.

There was nothing left inside Lena. There was nothing else she could be. She could be this human, or that animal, and those were the only two options.

She’d only been awake for what felt like a scant number of moments, but she felt Jerome already stirring beside her. As she was becoming more trained for him—was he becoming more attuned to her? Today it seemed he’d woken up almost immediately after her.

“Do you need a bathroom trip?” he asked her, and that pricked tears into her eyes even though they were closed. Even closed, she could feel them watering.

She teared, because it just reminded her—whether she was chaste human or tamed pet, she belonged to Jerome just as much. Which meant that he possessed all the functions of her autonomy. He decided for her. That made her feel pathetic. That made her feel less than, inferior to every other human being in the world, those others who could go to the bathroom without needing someone’s permission.

But for all that Jerome put her through yesterday— for all that he’d given to her, he had not given her a water-bowl when he’d set that food-bowl in front of her. So, for once— there was nothing in her she needed to clear out.

She just shook her head.

His hands were on her again, and he was rolling her onto her side. She didn’t question. She’d been good today and hadn’t even tried to be—it was carved into her deeply enough, now that she’d been trained more. Until Jerome gave her something to do, she did nothing and waited for his command to enter her body. Until Jerome told her something to be, she was the chaste woman waiting. Then he could leave her as that or make her the animal, whichever way the fancy took him. But she was nothing until he made her something, and that was humiliating too.

She again felt inferior to every other human being on earth—those others with an inherent identity that was always there as a baseline. Those others who didn’t have to wait on someone else’s order to be something.

Even if she was the chaste virgin by default—it still felt different from the way normal people interacted with their own identities. Because even when she was defaulted to virgin, she knew that it was a role that had been made for her.

She was still on her side now, and it felt like Jerome was on his side to, crowding up close to her, his body along hers.

His hand was on her right leg, which was the leg above the other, since she was on her left side. He rolled it forward, opening her pussy up, and put her back at twisted odds with her hips. Her back was still basically parallel to him, but now the knee of her right leg was touching the bed, her hips at an odd angle, and her pussy exposed. She was going to get sore, being contorted like this.

But this was Jerome’s desire—and she was so receptive to him now, that even understanding one of his desires, understanding what it was, was very close to taking a command from him. She responded the same way, the knowledge of his desire filling her up.

He folded himself around her, his cock teasing at her pussy, and it was already making her hips ache. They were in an unnatural position to begin with, but now she had to accommodate the weight of Jerome’s body. A weight that was not insubstantial, and so that added tension to places where things were a little misaligned. Thus, the aching.

He drew back only slightly, and then he had fully pushed into her.

It was more overwhelming having him penetrate her like this. When he was putting his cock in her from the other angle, it moved in harmony to the structure of her basic internal anatomy. Gliding in a direction that went deeper into her vagina, where he could be accommodated.

From this angle, he was thrusting forward, toward her shallowest depths, and hitting up against the front of her structure. Even for having less space, he was thrusting as roughly as ever. Lena half-thought, if she looked down, she would see his cock making a bulge in the front of her body.

But hitting against the front of her vaginal structure meant that he was in the vicinity of all the nerves that bundled up to make her clit. They had roots that went beyond the bud that presented externally. Those roots were all in the area his cock was ramming itself into now. If he hit it just right—at the point where they were most concentrated— but she’d never had anyone hit there. Old Lena had been stupider than her, she was thinking now. Because old Lena had always liked to be the one in control; which had usually meant she was straddling her partner, and sending their cock up the way her vagina’s structure flowed. Back—deep— so no one had ever been in this area. No one had had the chance to hit that point. But if Jerome angled himself just a little bit, he would be. Lena couldn’t even imagine what that experience would be like, but as the chaste woman she was, it made her want to hide her face. That kind of ecstasy wouldn’t be proper.

It was very stimulating, though, even having Jerome ramming around in that area, against skin that was just in front of corded nerve-networks. Even if he wasn’t hitting anything with precision, it was creating one broad wash of pressure. And that wasn’t proper either. She could feel her body burning in shame.

“You what happened yesterday, Lena, don’t you?” Jerome husked, from behind her, ramming into her again.

He was so close to her, even with their height difference, that it made his voice sound out very close to her, so it was quite loud. He could be touching her elsewhere—her breasts, her clit. He could be stroking hands over her bare skin, but he wasn’t, so he didn’t want to, and he wouldn’t.

“I was your pet,” Lena said, her voice small with her shame.

“You’re being my pet right now,” he said, and his hand was on her splayed-forward hip again. He rolled it back, so her hips were aligned again. But he was still inside her, which forced her cunt to clutch around him in a way that made her feel like she would burst from his girth.

He wasn’t done, though. Now he moved his hand forward, so it was splayed just over the hollow above her pussy. Then with his hand so-positioned, he shoved her back into his body one-handed, rough and pinning her, so it was painful; and he was pushed fully into the front of her vagina, even though it could barely adjust to fit him. It felt like he was almost crushed-in there, and the hand splayed over her hollow was causing pain, still, where it was pressing in.

“You’re being my pet right now,” he repeated, as if satisfied to find this confirmed. Something about how she had just let this penetration, this manhandling happen had apparently proven this to him. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Now when he tried to draw himself back, it was excruciating. Because her hips were aligned again, it meant her cunt was practically collapsed on him, and he had to force his way through, shoving out.

But he didn’t bother to come all the way out of her, just got slightly shallower so he had leverage to force his way forward again.

He’d reached a shallow-enough point, or so his thinking seemed to go, because now he had switched what he was doing, and he was pushing into her again.

She couldn’t repress the grunt that came out of her. He was giving her such a feeling of fullness.

“When I walked you like my pet around this penthouse, your pussy was streaming the entire time. You left trails of pussy juice everywhere.”

A few days earlier she would have volunteered the fantasy she’d had yesterday, of being caught in a neverending task. But today she said nothing. And was heartbroken to see how controled she was, hating herself for that. And at the same time, getting even more turned on at the thought of it.

“I had to call my maid to come in the night and perform an emergency service for me. She got it all cleaned up.”

He was drawing himself shallower again. Then pushing himself forward again in that ramming way.

Lena closed her eyes in shame. That really did make her like an animal, then, if someone else had to come and clean up after her bodily fluids.

“You should thank me for not explaining why the emergency service was required. I could have told her that my pet slut was so whorish she couldn’t keep her pussy from streaking the floor everywhere she went, while I had her crawling for me.”

“Thank you,” she said automatically. He was ramming into her again. She grunted again, from that feeling of being stuffed.

“It wasn’t mercy that kept me quiet about that,” he said. She still couldn’t decide if it was worse when he drew back or pushed forward. He was drawing back again, and it was just as torturesome. She was breathing raggedly, could feel herself sweating, and all the time she was making little noises she couldn’t control, noises of struggle, noises of discomfort. And her body shook.

“It’s just only worth telling someone about it if you’re in the room when I do.”

Lena’s cheeks flamed again, and it was the humiliation that drove the cry from her this time. He was so smart; what he’d said was so right. It was humiliating to hear she’d been cleaned-up after, it would have been humiliating to hear that he’d said something so humiliating about her.

But it would be most humiliating of all to have to be in the room and see someone listen, see someone hear it, see someone understand. It was like he was saving a treat for himself, for later. She was sure he would expose her that way some time in the future. It would make her burn even worse than she was burning right now.

Jerome lapsed to silence, and kept ramming into her. It was a soothing, repetitive motion, for all that it caused so much discomfort.

Lena could feel her mind unfocusing. She didn’t need to be so focused. She could just... let him use her body. Could just let herself be distracted by the pleasure that was moving through her. That was comforting to. This was going to be like the other days, now... where she lost the advancement of time, and went to a thoughtless place, even more thoughtless than when she was the animal. It meant she was attuning to the collar-beam. It meant that she was perfectly in harmony with it. Perfect harmony somewhere, at least, even if Jerome was currently in disharmony with the layout of her body, given where he was forcing himself into.

She could have sighed she was so happy. This was distilled surrender; the knowledge that Jerome completely had her, would do everything he wanted with her, would use her body in all the ways he wanted it to be used.

And she could just know that, and knowing that made her happy, and then she was perfectly attuned to the collar-beam, where she didn’t have to think, or count time. She could just be that nothing, that oblivion she’d wished for a few days before. She hadn’t thought it would be like this; being nothing while Jerome wanted something from her, while he was filling her, making her be something, do something.

The fact that she was like this at all was because Jerome wanted it. The collar-beam only served his desire. He wanted her mind like this, losing time—and that was surrender too.

She didn’t fully become aware again until that evening. The front of her vagina felt very sore, but she felt that she’d never come.

Jerome took her through a quick routine—bathroom trip, food-bowl, and a water-bowl, this time, likely because he’d made her pussy lubricate so much the whole day and didn’t want her dehydrated.

Then he took her back to bed, and let her lie down like a woman, not curled up as a dog. He wanted her to sleep, had put her in this position. So she slept.

It was the seventh day, when she woke up. Lena knew that. She didn’t know what would happen next—or even what the next day after this one would bring. Once it was the first day of a new week—what then?

It was the kind of decision she once would have made for herself. She would have considered what she wanted, and then would have acted accordingly. If she were entertaining this idea of choosing for herself, farcical as it was—what did she want? Did she want to hang around here, being used whenever Jerome had an urge, and otherwise being treated like a kept pet, with everything decided for her, and her life nothing more than a collection of routines?

There was more to being here than just that. Jerome loved to see her embarrassed, even embarrassed to tears. Lena had not doubt he’d got further and further in that direction, would take things to greater and greater extremes. Did she want to hang around and let him? Someday he probably would call the maid in while she was there and expose her sluttiness. Maybe eventually he’d find interested parties to come and watch as he actually did humiliating things directly to her, and so make her humiliation even worse by adding an extra audience. Staying here meant risking that all of these things could one day happen, and did she want that?

This was a time where she could miss Old Lena, and not just mock her memory and speak dismissively of her. She had been someone who knew what she wanted, so she wouldn’t be having the kind of trouble that New Lena was having right now. She’d know what she wanted, and then go out to get it.

It was really more of a question now of what had been trained into her. What she had been sculpted to be. She was now someone desperate for control, desperate to submit—desperate for Jerome. So that should mean she’d want to be as close as possible to the object of her obsession. So that should mean she wanted to stay.

But really, part of her felt that it was up to Jerome where she would be tomorrow. He was the one who decided everything for her now, after all.

She felt Jerome’s hand on her arm. He didn’t roll her onto the side of her body. He just gave her a rough shake, as if to wake her up. She opened her eyes, to oblige him. It didn’t matter that she’d already been awake. He could imagine that she’d been sleeping, until he’d done this, if that would be satisfying to him in some way. For all intents and purposes, she was essentially “asleep” whether she was unconscious or not. She was never truly awake or engaged with the world until Jerome gave her a command. Or let her know a desire.

“If you have to go to the bathroom, you’re allowed to take yourself for a bathroom trip on your own. Only because I say. You know you can’t even take a single step unless I’ve granted you permission.”

And she wasn’t the animal now, so she could stand and walk upright. She wouldn’t have to bound there on all fours.

What he’d said there was enough permission. She stood up, and went for her necessary trip.

As she was coming back to the bedroom, relieved and refreshed for the morning, she reflected on what Jerome had said. The training was deeply embedded into her now. It was probably true that she wouldn’t be able to take any step forward unless she knew it was Jerome’s will.

That made her feel very contained by his power. Even as she walked back from the bathroom, she felt contained by his power, as surely as she would have if he had come along to supervise her trip in person.

She lay back down in the bed, since that was the place to carry out the holding pattern. And she was again nothing, until Jerome told her what she would be.

And then even as she was being that—it was possible she might lapse into nothing there, too. It had been so pleasant experiencing that yesterday that she didn’t even mind the thought of having it happen again.

Once she was lying there again, she closed her eyes. Again, she wasn’t asleep, but she might as well have been. She was in the holding pattern—nothing, until Jerome told her how and when to engage with the world again. She was contained by his will.

Jerome’s hand was on her again, though, shaking her “awake” ... did he really think she’d dozed off that quickly?

Then again, maybe she had, and this action of his wasn’t so immediately following the action of her lying down. Maybe it was just her own perception that made it seem that way.

“Don’t fall back asleep,” he said, and she opened her eyes.

He was sitting up, leaning over her. If she had in fact dozed off and been unaware, it would be impossible for her to do again now that he’d given her an order which contradicted that hypothetical impulse. She could not take a step unless he gave permission; and if he gave interdiction, she was barred from action even more explicitly.

He was tracing patterns with his fingers over that hollow where he’d splayed his hand yesterday. It was making her shudder with her whole body. His nails were clipped short and blunt, but they still had a bit of scrape to them, and that was a tender area.

His hand was slipping lower, then, and he was parting her folds with his fingers. She felt herself leaking onto them. This was a desire being expressed by him, and she was receiving it. She could be what this was making her be. He was slipping fingers inside of her, then, her everpresent arousal slicking the way. She hated it and liked it at the same time. She was fully receiving his focus, and that was a very exposing feeling. And it was exposing, knowing he saw how much she slicked up for him, how desperate she was for pleasure and pleasurable attention, no matter how deeply ambivalent she was about actually receiving it.

He had his hand positioned so his fingers were coming up along the front area of her vagina. And it was still raw and tender from the day before. It was sore from being so rammed into for so long. Now, when he traced the nerve-network just below the surface, each nerve twinged a little in pain before it let loose pleasure. This felt more precise than the day before, because he had fingertips in there. He could point right to the underside of a nerve, he could be that focused in where he put the pressure.

It ached and felt good, two contradictory things at once. Just like her feelings—where she despised the way she responded to this shameful pleasure, and at the same time, craved it and waited impatiently to be given it again.

The place where all her nerves were most concentrated—the roots of her clitoris all in one bundle, his fingers were approaching it. He’d never hit it yesterday, but he had himself in her up to the wrist now, had his fingers crawling over, getting closer and closer to that spot—

And then he was there. Or almost there. He’d drawn his fingers back, so she could still feel how he was inside her, even though he wasn’t making finger-to-surface . They were hovering, not touching her, just inside her—

And then it felt like he had drawn all his fingers together, the four of them held beside each other and his thumb beneath and centered below them. A bundle all together—and he jabbed as hard as he possibly could. Right into that spot.

He’d known where it was all the time then—yesterday too. That made it even more awful that he’d never applied pressure there. Even more humiliating. She was with someone knowledgeable, someone who knew how to give her all the best things, but sometimes he would withhold them for her, just out of a playful sense of spite. And she would still crawl for him, even so. Which said something about her, revealed something about her that could make her so naked. More naked even than a lack of clothing could do.

Being jabbed into by hand, with his hand held in such a way—she howled. It was almost a scream, and yet it kept a howl-like quality about itself. Was she the animal, or the woman now? Or were the two a hybrid again?

And she didn’t know—if it was how much he’d worked her up yesterday, or if it was the control he’d given her today, or the slight attention he’d given her just before this. But the second his hand jutted into that place, her body completely gave up. Her orgasm was immediate, and so powerful it should almost have been lethal. And her body was letting a pressure go, letting a stream of fluid go from her pussy. It didn’t get very far, because Jerome’s hand was still there, but she still felt that physical reaction happen, even if she couldn’t see the evidence of it. She was sure Jerome had felt it happen inside her.

He wasn’t jabbing at that spot anymore. Now he was stroking it, and playing at it with his fingers. Gathering what flesh he could into his hand, and then letting it go slack. There wasn’t much to gather but he was gathering what he could.

It made the ecstasy roll on. And as it rolled, she felt her dual nature. She’d felt that duality before, but she felt it more than ever in this moment.

She was the animal. When he put his leash on her, when he made her play animal, it wasn’t a game anymore, it just brought out that side of her. And then she stopped thinking and just lived by instinct.

But she was the woman. When she woke up after sleeping, it was the state she reverted to, the state she always started in, and when he let her mind be, he was engaging her as the woman, wanting her as the woman.

And yet it was not something that could be divided neatly in two by a cleaver. When she was the woman, her response to the ecstasy was howling and animalistic; she was a swirl of the two things.

And when she was the animal, she broke out of the mindlessness briefly sometimes to have a fantasy as the woman, as had happened the other day. And when she was the animal she still felt her womanly shame, was still able to be somewhat humiliated in that state.

He had made her a thing of composites; two separate natures blending into each other in different gradients at any given moment— two separate natures present in different proportions, swirling into each other to make her a gestalt of those two multitudes. But different facets showed at different moments, in a lesser or greater amount.

This was her permanent state of being: a creature in perpetual flux, sliding from one end of their scale to the other, then back, then partway, so on, forever. She was the woman and she was the animal. She was the animal and she was the woman. She was both at once, she was a scale of tipping weights, this side a bit higher, then this side, then this side again—she could not be constant, she would always be both.

At last, Jerome withdrew his hand from her, and went back to just sitting over her. There was something ri in her that she felt she needed to say—could she say it? If she wanted to say it the collar-beam was allowing it, and the collar-beam was inherently tied to Jerome’s will. If she had it inside for the saying it meant the collar-beam had shaped her into someone capable of saying it—but still, it seemed to go against what Jerome had told her earlier in the week. To be nothing, waiting for his command. This still felt like her being something on her own, not in relation to him, and that was wrong and it wasn’t supposed to be happening anymore.

Jerome raised a brow at her, in a way that felt distinctly playful. “Is there something you want to say?”

“I want something,” she confessed, because that question had given her the opening. That single question had changed the statement inside from something illicit to something Jerome desired hearing—so she could say it.

He just kept looking at her, so she went on speaking.

“I’m your pet all the time, you’re right about that. When I’m the animal, and my thinking completely stops. But I’m your pet when I’m the woman too. And what you’ve trained into me is there, in both my aspects, and your ownership over me holds me in both my aspects, and what you’ve shaped my mind to be, how your collar has rendered me embarrassable, so easily—that’s true in both aspects. I’m yours and I’m just want you want—nothing beyond what you want from me, I live to be what you want—but...”

This was the tricky part. She drew an inhale, to try and help herself.

“I want things to stay this way. I don’t want to leave here tomorrow, or later tonight. I want everything to be like it’s been this whole week. I don’t want things to change. Own me forever. I’ll drop out of college. I’ll move in here. Just let me be your pet forever—just let me be your pet slut forever.”

It had felt like she was risking disobedience, in saying that. And yet, now that she’d said it, Jerome was only smiling at her. So that had been surrender again, after all! She was so relieved.

“That’s how you really feel,” Jerome said, very proudly. “That means you’re fully, perfectly trained. Yes, Lena. You can stay and be my pet slut forever. Do whatever you need to do tomorrow to end your involvement with all the things in your old life. And then you can go on living the way you have been the last seven days forever.”

He stood from the bed, and started to get dressed. “Since you’re trained now, I can get into the office for a bit. You’ll kneel down at the foot of the bed and be good for me while I’m gone, won’t you?”

And then he was gone. And she was kneeling and being good. Flowing between being the animal and the woman and the woman and the animal.

This’d be her life forever. The thought of that made her very happy.

THE END