Slaves Next Door

Part One

Heather was waking up from her nap, and was regretting it already. She wasn't a nap person, and was now facing one good hour of headaches. It beat facing the full brunt of a seven-hour long flight, but for some reason, the headache was really severe this time.

"Hmmmngh...dammit..."

She had shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and cute features marred by baggy eyes and a few freckles. She certainly couldn't be confused for a guy, even with her tendency to wear practical male clothing, but her body did lack any noteworthy curves. Heather was, through and through, an ordinary girl. There were times when she regretted it, but in this moment, she just really wanted the headache to fuck off.

She winced and attempted to rub her forehead...only to realize she couldn't move her hands.

"...What the...?"

Still groggy, she opened her eyes, but saw only darkness. A jolt of fear broke the bonds of sleep, and Heather reflexively pulled as hard as she could. Her hand moved about twenty centimeters, but then slowly went back to its initial position, pulled by some sort of mold encasing her entire forearm. What was this thing? Panicked, the college student pulled with all four of her limbs, to similar results. She was sitting on something, but it sure as hell wasn't an airplane seat. More like a cushy gynecology chair.

That thought triggered a sharp sinking feeling in her heart. She realized she her legs were kept spread open. And that she could feel the air on her skin.

"Oh...Oh God..."

She was totally naked. It was pitch black and dead silent, but Heather now knew, without a doubt, that she was in grave danger. As a modest, unadventurous girl, she started to panic. Her breath quickened, her small B-cup bust rose and fell, and her voice came out as a high-pitched hush.

"I've been kidnapped, oh shit oh shit oh sh..."

Heather gritted her teeth. As frightening as her situation was, the last thing she wanted was to alert her captors. She had to calm down, think of something...So she tried to focus on how this happened. Because, seriously, what the Hell?

She was just traveling back to America with her friend Nico. Last thing she remembered was being on the plane with her. Nico had been asleep, her short-haired brunette head resting on her shoulders. Heather's impish friend never could stand boredom.

How could they have been abducted? And why? It was a trusted airplane company, neither of them were rich, well connected or even beyond a cute-ish 6. They were nothing but thoroughly ordinary college girls...So why would anyone want to kidnap them and strap them to a weird chair?

"N...Nico? You there?"

Silence.

"...Oh, please, tell me she got out..."

Suddenly, something exploded inside her mind.

-

I am a slave. I live on my wonderful Master's island. I choose to be a slave because I love my Master and he wants me to. I choose to be a slave because I am grateful for Master.

I am free to act but I want to act like a slave. I want to because it feels comfortable and right. I want to be a slave because it brings me everything I could ever want.

-

Heather gasped, awestruck. What in the possible fuck was that?! She had felt some sort of jolt around her temples, then...Words, directly inside her mind, clearer than any thought she ever had. Like the forced focus on a textbook definition you have to learn for a test combined with the clarity of a good idea. Words that rang true, resonated throughout her senses...

...But were way too alien to fool anybody. Heather shook her head and easily regained control. She sure as hell didn't feel like a slave. If anything, she had greater clarity now. There was no longer any doubt what was happening.

"I...I am NOT a slave!!" She yelled, mustering all her courage to silence the symphony of anguish her collapsing nerves played throughout her body. "I'm Heather Chilton! Wh...who are you? Where is Nico? Why are you d-d-doing this?!"

She had been kidnapped. By slavers. Slavers powerful enough to make her lose time and inject thoughts into her mind. She had heard tales of girls kidnapped abroad, addicted to drugs and sold as prostitutes, of course, she had seen Taken. But this...this was terrifying. This was elaborate. They had abducted her on the flight back home, for fuck's sake. They had strapped her to a chair telling her to love and obey. They didn't want her or her body...they wanted her mind. They wanted her on her knees, content to be property. A willing, loyal slave. The dirty-blonde girl tugged on her restraints with all she had, but it quickly became apparent she was utterly powerless. She was going to be brainwashed and there was no escaping it. Suddenly, the drugs and bordello scenario looked much more comforting.

"Th-this is crazy, you can't actually brainwash someone...You can't..."

But instead of going into panic, she latched onto this idea of impossibility. That's right - if the US government couldn't find a way to brainwash people with that MKUltra thing, who could hope to? The words in her brain had to be an illusion somehow. Yes! Just something to make her panic so she'd be open to suggestion. Heather allowed herself a wry smile, even though she knew the small victory mattered little in the midst of, well, being subjected to a fucking enslavement program. But she was willing to take any comfort she could get. Besides, it reminded her of her life motto as a student librarian - knowledge is power.

So while it was no comfy night of peaceful reading, Heather gathered her wits and set out to understand exactly what kind of machine she was strapped onto. There were the restraints. She tugged on them again, if only to give herself hope, but couldn't pull her limbs out of the molds even by a millimeter. But she already knew that, and remained calm. This allowed her to perceive other things with her touch. For instance, she felt pinches along her spine between her shoulder blades. The sound of her breathing reverberated, making it sound there was some sort of dome around her. There were also some things taped to her body. Electrodes? Scanning devices? If she was to be a mere machine to be reprogrammed, Heather supposed the slavers needed feedback.

There was something on her modest breasts. Something like a bra, but...different. It wasn't clothing, more like...comfortable furniture? Likewise, her private parts were covered by some sort of solid but cushy panties. She thought little of it until she realized she probably wasn't just going to be a slave, but a sex slave...And if the words they had injected in her mind were any indication, they wanted her to be a compliant one. A...slutty one.

And just like that, Heather lost what little composure she had regained. panic reared its ugly head again. Sooner or later, she was going to be raped. While being brainwashed. While being stripped of freedom and oh God they wanted her to associate obedience with sexual pleasure. They wanted to turn her into a submissive. To literally get off of being a slave.

"Oh God...Oh Ghooood...No. No no no c-calm down Heather...they want you afraid..."

In both things, she was right.

-

I am a slave. I love to be a slave. Being obedient and submissive feels so good. I wish I was born a slave. Slave. Slave. It's important I let that word burrow into my mind and become natural. Being a slave isn't scary. Being a slave is my life. I want to learn to love it and be happy at my Master's feet.

My Master will show me how wonderful it is to be a slave. My soft slutty mind will listen and understand.

-

"Wh-what oh shit did I really hear that last th..."

Submissive. Submissive. Submissive. The word echoed through Heather's terrified mind. Devices were whirring into place around her, but all she could think about was herself kneeling. Wet. Smiling. So thoroughly subjugated that serving the bastards destroying her life had become her greatest pleasure.

The shock of feeling a mechanical cock enter her vagina made her snap back to reality. Unlike Nico, she wasn't a virgin, but she was by no means used to being made love to. She cried out in unwelcome pleasure, then whined when another sinister device sucked on her nipples. That was it. Her captors had stripped her of her humanity and turned her into a sex toy to be molded before use. The dildo went back and forth in her increasingly wet folds and the breast pumps kept on sucking. Heather the modest geeky girl was being fucked by a machine.

"STOP THIS! STOP THIS I BEG YOOOUUU!"

The poor girl was out of her mind. She would do anything, anything to stop this defilement.

"I'LL BE A SLAVE! I'LL...aaah...I'll OBEY YOU PLEASE JUST DON'T BRAINWASH ME PLEAAAASE!"

But the machine wasn't interested in surrender. If all the Master wanted of Heather was fearful obedience, he certainly wouldn't have put her in such an exquisite device. And so, through one of the four IVs inserted into her back, the enslaving machine began to dispense a calmant.

"I'LL OBEY MASTER I SWEAR I'LL BE A GOOD SLAVE YOU DON'T NEED TO...to...oooh..."

The drug acted fast, bringing down Heather from her adrenaline high and forcing her to docilely listen to her quivering flesh. Preparing her to the next phase. As Heather started moaning, chemically forced to reduce her resistance to a quieter level, the dome around her head lit up.

"Mmmnh...Hyaah...Wh...What's..."

She saw herself. The girl in the picture was her beyond any shadow of a doubt. Same face, same hair, same B-cup breasts, same freckles. There were some key differences though. Picture-Heather wore a Slave Leia outfit. She was massaging her tits. She was smiling wide...And she was being fucked good and hard.

Real Heather blushed. Thoughts of outrage were kept at bay by the soothing drug long enough for the poor girl to feel butterflies in her stomach. She didn't like to molest her own breasts at all, but she had always fantasized about wearing that golden bikini. And that penis sure was big...as big as the one ravishing her right now. Heather blushed, in a daze, and was surprised by an intense pleasure wave.

"Aaah! <3"

The machine wasn't raping the student librarian anymore...It was making love to her. But the bubble of pleasantness was fragile, and a lifetime of socialization came back to her. She realized what was happening - the picture was who, or more accurately what, her kidnappers wanted her to be. A slutty slave happy to be fucked. It was a terrifying sight...and one that almost made her orgasm.

"No. No no no no no..."

To Heather's anguish, the kinky picture began to animate. Motion made everything more real, more intense, and...more exciting. Picture-Heather looked so happy. The dick in her matched the machine's to a T. Real-Heather wanted to block the video out, but her body was already focused on it. And the soothing drug ensured her mind wouldn't have anything to say. It simply realized that taboo had always been exciting throughout human history, and her torturers were banking on it hard. She was shamefully excited to see herself be a happy slut, she really was. She was just terrified of it being the first step on a road to complete, total enslavement.

"No...no please I don't want to...to..."

She held off the shameful word, but she knew the pounding was too much for her body. She had unconsciously started to go with the back and forth, clenching her pussy against the ravishing piston. Each suction on her tits sent another shiver down her spine. She was going to cum to a picture of her eventual self.

"Please...mnghaaah...please stooooop..."

It was at this harrowing moment that the video started to come with sound.

"Aaah! <3"

Heather's own cry of pleasure, synched with every thrust of the virtual man.

"Oh God." She let out with a wavering voice. "No no n...mnnnnh..."

It was too much. Her pussy spasmed. Her whole body clenched. She was coming.

"NnnOHMYGODNOOOOAAAAAAANNNNHH"

She came. The dildo and pumps disengaged. Darkness fell again but Heather could still see the fake her moaning in ecstasy at being a sex slave.

Brainwashing wasn't real, and yet they had made her cum at the idea of being a slave.

Heather went limp, her breasts heaving up and down and her hips still twitching. The return to stillness came as a comfort, but the young woman only fell further into despair. She knew this orgasm was a demonstration. This was no MKUltra fiasco. Her captors were very much able to do what they claimed. She was naked in a fully functioning brainwashing chair. Alone. Powerless.

"...Why..."

Her eyes welled up with tears.

"Why me goddamit...I'm nobody special, I'm nobody period...I'm not even that pretty, why do you want to make me a slut it makes no sense..."

She looked at the darkness, desperate to see someone, anyone, even the bastard behind this. In her desperation, she latched on the idea of someone listening to her. Someone who could be swayed. But there was nothing but the machine. Its onslaught had but started, and already Heather knew it would be nothing but relentless.

Once again, she was right.

-

I am a slave. A slave is anything her Master wants her to be. I am a slave and I will do anything, be anything for my Master. I will gladly accept surgery and be given massive tits and dick-sucking lips if my Master wishes. I will think of myself as Slutdoll if my Master wishes. I'll change everything and become a slutty airheaded go-go dancer if my Master wishes.

My only wish is to know what my Master wishes.

-

Heather wondered what her Master wished her to be. Did he really want her to be some kind of bimbo? What would it be l...

Heather took back control of her mind, eyes wide from disbelief. She had thought like a slave. Briefly, but...she did. Was it a lapse in her resistance brought by despair and fear or was the programming already taking hold?

Too terrified to even consider the answer, she burst into tears.

"Why me why me why me this can't be real...My parents are poor and I did nothing wrong to anybody! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIIihihis...please please let me go..."

The machine whirred a bit again.

"NO NO NO PLEASE NO MORE LESSONS PLEAAASE!" She cried in utter terror.

The machine went silent.

"Oh thank you thank you thank you..."

With a snort, Heather did her best to enjoy this moment of solace. She doubt the machine would do a concession like that anytime soon.

-

...After a while, Heather realized she had dozed off. For a fleeting moment, she thought she was back in her room in San Francisco, but the nightmare quickly came back to her. She was in the clutches of slavers that apparently wanted to turn her into a bimbo slave...Along, probably, with her friend Nico, if they weren't already done with her. Nico does tend to focus the attention...

She whimpered at the mere idea of Nico as a painted up hussy. She tried to tug on her restraints again, but it seemed to do even less than the previous times. She felt sluggish...and...

Her eyes shot open. She felt the dildo entering her again.

"Oh no, no no n-"

-

I am a slave. I am being turned into a sex doll and I love it. I can enjoy my body all I want if I'm a slave. I can just be a happy slut and thank my Master.

I'm such a slutty slave. I'm always horny, always ready to cum. My Master understands my needs and lets me fuck all my sister slaves or even toys. Hmmm...I think I'm gonna cum again...

-

The words had barely left her mind and Slave-Heather was back in her field of vision. She wore a halter top reading proudly "2 slutty 4 life". Once again, her expression was nothing short of ecstatic, despite wearing an appalling belt with two -two!- inward dildos. Heather was shocked to see the pussy juice leaking from her violated hole, and dared not even think about the backdoor. Backdoor that was now being ravaged in her true body as well.

The most degrading sight, however, was the blonde bimbo with childish pigtails sucking on Slave-Heather's erect nipple through the halter top. While certainly not homophobic, a hard thing to be in San Fran this days, she was very, very straight...And seeing even the image of her engaging in saphism came as an insult. The proof that the machine was going to change her down to the very core.

And yet, Heather's outrage was once again sedated to the point of uselessness against the conditioning. Heather was being fucked in both her holes, her breasts massaged by a lesbian, and she couldn't hold back the tide.

"Aah...aaiie...Make it...nghaaah...stop..."

The machine further teased her by flashing words on the screen. Drawn to her own slutty expression, Heather's eyes feasted on

SLUT

CUM

WET

OBEY

atrocities even her addled mind rejected. They could make her cum, she vowed, but they would never make it normal to her. No, wait, they can't make her cum either, this is disgusting, this is...

"Mmmmmnghhhohaaah..."

No, she pleaded internally as she moaned. Not again. Not like this. I can't orgasm to such dirty...dirty...

"Aaah...haaaah...nnnooOOooaaaAAAAAAAh!"

Delightfully dirty thoughts. Being a slut was so wrong but...her naughty body couldn't resist. Why would those bimbos on campus get more action than her anyway?

...Heather caught herself thinking those dangerously slippery -if not entirely untrue, seriously, those campus floozies- thoughts and refocused as she recovered from the orgasm. The pictures went away, the sex toys left her alone, and she was left with a soothing afterglow...spoiled by regret.

"I can't let them worm their way into my head like that goddammit..."

The captive had fought two battles and lost both. She still had her mind, at least she thought, but for how long? The machine could control her feelings, use her voice against her...and she could not escape it.

"No, you can resist." She vowed, trying her best to sound calm to convince herself. "Mind control isn't real, mind control isn't real."

In her corner of Hell on Earth, Heather only had that knowledge, that certainty, on her side. People in history had gone through worse torture. She couldn't let that machine convince her it could change her. She c...

Suddenly, light.

In their unbreakable bonds, Heather's hands clenched. Someone had opened the door to the pit. She closed her eyes, blinded by the sudden illumination. Her heart raced. Finally, someone. Odds were it was the utter reprobate that imprisoned her in the first place, but in her panicked state, she couldn't care. Anything was better than being left in the machine. And so, not even knowing who she was talking to, she let out a torrent of bottled-up words.

"Let me out let me out please I wouldn't be a good slave I'm so plain...I have no idea who you are you can just sedate me and dump me somewhere, you would be safe, please let me out before that thing breaks my mind please please..."

"Hey hey hey! Stop freaking out, Hezzie!"

Heather forced her eyes open, ignoring the glare. That voice...

"Oh...oh my God! Nico!"

Her friend was standing before her. Short brunette hair, an oval, childish face despite her 24 years, pierced ears, and, of course, her signature band-aid over the bridge of her nose. Nicole Gillen, little impish Nico, student in chemistry, her best friend. She still wore her dark brown hoodie and was still flat as a board.

"Oh my God Nico I thought they had turned you into some kind of stripper already oh God..."

"Yeah, I saw some specimens in there." Nico chuckled, embarrassed. "Not going to happen to us tho. Anyway, just calm down, okay? Think...did the Enslaver get to you yet?"

Heather's dear friend turned her attention to the big metal cylinders encasing her hands, fiddling with them. The freckled blonde sighed in relief. The nightmare was over.

"Almost, but no...I'm me. I'm me. So you...you went first?"