The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT FIVE: “I don’t want to own an obedient pleasure slave.” Sure. We get that all the time.

But you do own a pleasure slave.

Maybe you want a cat, but what you have has a long tongue, and shaggy fur, and wags her tail, and fetches balls.

What you have is a dog. You aren’t going to make a cat out of her by wanting it.

“I’ll tell her she’s independent, can say no to me...” this is still a pleasure slave. We live in the world as it is. Do you think we’re wrong? Tell her not to suck your cock. Tell her to resist you with all her being, no matter what. And then get her on her knees, and walk that dick onto her lips.

See what she does.

She is your obedient pleasure slave. The important thing is that you are happy with your obedient pleasure slave, and she is happy with you.

What, really, makes you happy?

For their next group session they went on a field trip to Bella’s wedding.

The institution of marriage had changed considerably over the past several years. Male legislators—the only legislators—were still playing around with concepts and ideas. What was the difference, the real difference, between a man who solemnly bestowed a ring at an expensive ceremony, and a man who looked into a girl’s eyes, perhaps on a municipal bus, and said “I own you completely, utterly, and entirely”.

The law recognized that a guy who went to the trouble of arranging cake, band, venue, and officiants, had priority rights to a given woman. A married woman belonged to her husband in the eyes of the state, and would be returned to him. There were also numerous provisions about control of finances, property, medical decisions, and other things that silly girls didn’t need to worry their foolish heads about. Even Cass, diligently studying her own gender’s degradation, hadn’t paid much attention. No kidding she couldn’t buy and trade stocks anymore. She wasn’t even allowed to drive a car. She was unsure if she could legally ride a bicycle.

“I don’t get it though,” Melody said, slowly. She kept rubbing her brand new tits. “Hao likes it. I should just do it... because he likes it... right? Like, what’s the downside?”

“Housekeeping is servitude,” Cass repeated. The new boobs seemed to be interfering with words getting to Melody’s brain. “Didn’t you say you’d seen the videos? Cleaning and cooking release this... low-level oxytocin burst that will smooth you out really quick. That kind of dull, thoughtless labor is what sex slavery actually looks like. Well, the slave part. Believe me, I have recent experience in this. I barely fought it off.”

No you didn’t, the virus told her. You are a liar. He came on your face, and you loved it. You want it again.

“That’s a lot of words for don’t do the dishes,” Melody said. She cupped her tits again, and shivered, and grinned. “Aren’t they getting BIG?” she said.

They were getting big, and round. Already they peeked out on either side of Melody’s torso, which was, itself, starting to melt down into heavier, more feminine hips. They looked like fake tits, bolt-ons, added to the top of her chest. Even her nipples had a men-pleasing fakeness to them, large and extended and cherry-red.

“At first I was sleeping on my chest, having all sorts of emotions about them, but... I don’t know...” Melody said, coy. “Hao says they’re special. He’s never seen tits come in like this. He says if I’m going to grow huge stupid titties just for him he’s really honored. He says he’s never seen someone grow plastic boobs, like I’m a medical marvel.”

There was a lot of Hao-this, Hao-that, and the Melody behind her glasses had a new, glazed look. Maybe it was just the new boobs. On her short frame and with a short hem she looked like an overripe college freshman, majoring in dick.

Melody also wore a new necklace. It was a wooden chess pawn, on a silver chain.

They were in Bella’s suite, getting ready. The bride herself had not yet made an appearance. She was in the oversized hotel bathroom, getting her hair did. Weddings had changed tremendously, but there were still a few girl-only spaces to take advantage of.

“I want to double down on convincing Owen that—” mentally Cass added, even though I am a worthless piece of ass—“he wants to save me. I want it to feel good for him to be my knight. So I got him this.”

She had spent all her remaining money on it, shortly after the disastrous sleepover. Her emergency fund, in a shell , that was no longer legal for her to have.  Property wasn’t supposed to hold property. It was a male brooch, in silver. Inscribed on the back was “To My Knight.” She’d had it overnighted.

It was the best idea she could come up with. The sleepover had taken big chunks out of her, Cass could tell. When she went to sleep it was to a refrain of “SIT! STAY!” playing through her. She had sat, and stayed...

She’d needed a new plan, and could only think of the one Owen had approved of, already. There were so few paths left to her. He kept jizzing on her face. And she wanted it more and more. He was too hot and cool for her to keep her hands off.

It was all she could do to make a last-ditch push for “White Knight”. A knight and his pup.

Giving it to him, with gravity, at the wedding, like that was his formal status, it made a certain amount of sense. He was her Knight, that had earned the solemn right to nut in her mouth. A lot. Maybe every day. Fall on her knees, and, before she blew him, and she WOULD blow him, give him the brooch, and declare him her protector. An embodiment in silver of all her remaining independence. It wasn’t a very big brooch. She held it tight in her palm, and squeezed it again and again.

She’d gotten the brooch idea from reading IS IT REALLY OKAY FOR AN OTHERWORLDER LIKE ME TO OWN A PUPPY GIRL SLAVE? eight times.

The male lead was a knight, when he wasn’t coating his puppy girl slave in ropes of censored jizz. He really enjoyed fucking his puppy girl, Akane. In Chapter 113 she’d given him a ring, although it had been her Mother’s, and her only piece of personal property. In Chapter 92 he’d chained her up for disobeying him, and she’d only earned back what limited freedom she had by giving up her ass. He’d yanked her tail to the side to get at her. Cass had read that part nine times. She’d stuck a finger up... well...

“Anyway, lets stay safe out there and stay out of trouble,” Cass concluded.

“Everywhere is trouble. You girls are going to dance tonight, metaphorically and for realsies,” Saph said, sweeping in to the room. She was—presenting, Cass thought, blinking. She was dressed to get fucked. Their instructor wore one of the popular new cotton-paper dresses, one of the disposable ones. It was dyed a crass pink and could be torn off with only two fingers. It was boxy, and didn’t move well, but so what, it was just a stopgap for a girl who meant to fuck.

“Dance? Have you been to a wedding lately?” Cass said. Not that she had, but Mom went all the time. She loved weddings. She always returned—filthy. “The dance floor gets sticky. It’s a—it’s a pit. It’s just a pit where girls get used. I’m not going out there. It’s for sluts who don’t care what they return as.”

“Ooh, a pit?” Melody said, noncommittal. She discreetly—no, it wasn’t discrete at all. She was just rubbing her tits, in front of them. She had a pink cast to her cheeks, all the time. Melody was feeling hot. The chess pawn kept getting stuck on her upper slopes.

“You are going out there with your partner, and you’re coming back out as his partner. That’s the homework,” Saph said. “Keep one hand on his chest at all times. Watch his face. Smell him a lot. Rub his cock. A+ is, no one else cums on you.”

“What’s a C?” Melody asked, earnestly. “What gets on me that gets me a C? How many boys?”

“Why?” Cass said, loudly. “What are we even learning, with this?”

Some of the well-fed girls that made up Bella’s family looked over. It was a full family of plush blondes. Bella had come by her love of tattoos genetically. Most of the family had tats, although the girl version were mostly of the new variety of “IF FOUND PLEASE CALL THIS NUMBER”.  “Everything we’ve learned so far, quote unquote, has been some version of, become a slave, but slowly. Become a really good slave. Be a fully-figured likable slave for your man, and if he keeps a part of your personality, good for you.”

Saph looked at Cass, and let a brief smile play across her lips.

“Saph, do YOU think we should be doing housework?” Melody said, tilting her head. “Cass thinks its... ummm... what’s the word.... servile?”

“Absolutely,” Saph said, promptly. “You should be up two hours before your man. Make yourself a schedule, and do it with cute graphics in case you get cum-stupid and its hard to read. Walk his get-ready route in the morning and make sure every single thing he glances at is spotless and gleaming. His toothbrush should sparkle. His clothes should be wrinkle-free. Every step his foot takes should be on dust-free surfaces. And you yourself should be like a cup of coffee to him. Beaming, happy, sparkle sparkle. Also, make him coffee. Or tea. Whatever he likes.”

Cass had waited, in vain, for a moment to interrupt Saph. Melody’s mouth drooped open. Hadn’t this woman VERBALLY BERATED her man? Why was she telling them to worship his route? Why did it feel so right? she had to—

“I’m—” was all she managed to get out.

“Cass, are you really so fucking important you’re going to let a man make his OWN COFFEE?” Saph said, and Melody added a look that said, yeah, girl, really?

Cass had no response to that.

Of course not, the virus told her. Of course she’d make him his coffee. She’d woken up, the morning after the sleepover, and made breakfast.

She’d slept in the guest room, alone. Owen had locked his bedroom door.

Cass hadn’t been able to stop herself from cooking. She’d even been proud of herself, assembling some forgotten eggs and locating dusty jam. When Owen had gotten up, reserved and uncertain, she’d given him a huge, happy smile, and he’d visibly relaxed, and it had made her very happy.

It was only when he pointed out that she’d forgotten to cook for herself that a belated alarm went off.

And even then, she’d just poured his coffee.

Learning from mistakes was what fighters did, Cass thought. And then the bride floated out.

Still in her white shift, only partially bridal. Nonetheless Bella was so different, and radiant, that the heart dropped out of Cass. Cass figured she’d already been given her Orders, sternly turned into someone else. Bella looked too different already, taken out of her black leathers and put into fragile, feminine gear. This girl had been hiding in the zippers and tattoos all this time, like they were a maze. Bella stopped, and an entire train of attendants had to stop with her. These were the hairdressers and makeup artists, the few remaining women in the workforce, and they wore all red.

She came over to them.

“Hey fuckers,” Bella said. It sounded strange, coming out of a bride’s mouth.

“You could’ve told us you were getting married,” Cass said.

“Eh. Hey, watch this,” Bella said. She waggled her fingers in front of them, and then took her index finger and bent it back. Way back. Until it nearly touched the other side of her hand.

“Okay?” Melody said, confused.

“Last time I get to to do that. Later, bros.” She spun off, verty nearly a married woman.

and it was time for her first whore wedding.

The groom’s side was very French. Submission had forced a very limited set of masculine traits onto everyone. A type of being a man. The prevailing theory was that it was genetically engineered by an American, or perhaps even in South America. Every man had to hit the gym, and growl convincingly, and act with a uniform high-handed swagger, if they wanted their pussy to not just obey, but hop to it.

French men had made it work. Their shoulder bulged in slim navy suits, but they still wore perfectly tied slim ties. They wore expensive shoes. All of them were fogged with aftershave. And they kept their girls in big, fancy collars.

The collars were showy, glittery, and did not look very comfortable. Brand names blared from the jewels, and Cass, for a moment, wondered if the girls were named HERMES, or MAZE, or GIVENCHY.

But that was it for the remnants of haute couture, the new world of necklaces. The girls were otherwise cheaply dressed, in the same kind of disposable paper that Saph had on.

Owen held her hand. He wore his Dad’s suit. It was too small for him, and his ankles stuck out from the pant leg. They were hairy. His own collar looked even more uncomfortable, raising a red ring around his neck, although years of band meets had taught him to tie a decent tie.

He’s wearing a collar, why not you, the virus asked her.

He was holding her hand.

And Cass was wearing a dress. Her Mom’s dress. A before-dress, she told herself. It smelled stale, like the back of the closet, and that was good. It was a nice dress, a blue and black striped outfit that landed north of the knee, and she’d also stolen some of Mom’s before heels. Three inches, nothing too crazy, compared to the towering heights the french ladies were reaching.

The dress was taut around the bust. Cass had measured herself after the sleepover. She could put Melody in the shade. There was going to be a reckoning, with these big boobs. She was top heavy. If the virus was striving to make her into an anime babe, she could be looking at some huge titties indeed.

The groom entered. Jules was composed, his hair slicked back, even his usual stubble on point. He was escorted by his Mom, who was a very petite woman with a very big collar. It read “Salope à foutre bonne à rien.”

And then the bride.

It was apparently Bella.

She glowed. The dress was a concoction of white lace and strands of pearls, and if Cass squinted, there was a tiny hint of punk in the loose, concealing folds that made up the bust and the train. The overwhelming feature was the hem, which was the shortest possible skirt. It was a half-inch, maybe, below her cunt. Her thighs were perfectly smooth, rubbed together as she walked, and glistened under the conference room lighting. Her face was Frenched up, in pink rouge with carefully applied lipstick. It was startlingly artificial, applied in big pink circles on her cheeks.

The only piece of Bella left, that hadn’t been covered over, was the tattoos on her arms. On her left arm was still an open coffin, with a lit match below it. Cass wondered if the virus was at work there, too. Would they be erased, the pigments dissipated?

Bella walked towards her owner to the procession of the usual Pachelbel. In her hands she held—no more bouquets—her own collar. It was bridal white with a gold clasp.

Owen’s hand tightened on hers.

The bridal side shifted in their seats. This was a different type of girl then their version of “girl”. They wore spandex and cheap, garish colors, and had loud makeup that accentuated their whore mouths.

But there was no room to complain. Jules was her owner. He could do as he pleased. They just ran the dealership. It was his car.

Bella rolled by, and her perfume preceded, and followed her. She was gloriously fragrant, Bella was. This was the ultimate power of Chanel No. 5, deployed for the wedding. She smelled fantastic. She smelled like a girl should. With a small touch of extra pussy juice.

They all sat through a thirty-minute mass, watching lubricant roll down Bella’s legs.

Then the vows.

Jules turned to her, and for the first time Cass got a good look at his face. He did seem happy. Nervous—he was getting married at nineteen—but happy. Determined, his gallic nose high in the air, his eyes fixed on his bride to be. He’d been turning the collar about and about in hands through the entire ceremony, through a perfunctory homily on constancy.

Girls didn’t get to say vows anymore. There was no point.

“Bella. You are mine. To have and to hold from this day forward. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, mine to love, mine to cherish, mine to own, until the hour of my death.”

His. His. His. From her angle Cass couldn’t see Bella’s face. She wasn’t used to this Bella, this person. Was there a punk princess lurking, somewhere far inside of her heart? Had all the leathers been tossed away? Did it feel good? Did it feel incredible? Was getting washed and rinsed, bleached and tailored, to fit this man, did it feel fucking amazing? It probably did. She was leaking pussy juice at the altar.

The priest took a half-step, but Jules gave him a quick look. Oh no. There were more vows.

“You are my doll,” he declared. There was a stir in the audience.

These were new vows. Cass put her hand to her mouth. His doll. She glanced at Owen, who had no reaction. Which meant—unsurprise? Had the boys unveiled their deepest hearts to each other, and this was it?

“You are my doll, to pose, to model, to display. To dress and to apply, to sit and to stand, to control and direct. To play with. Until the hour of my death.”

Bella became a doll.

Cass waited for Bella to—what? Assassinate the man? Kick in the balls, and run? Slap him for his impertinence, to not just make her into his posable dolly, with movable arms and legs, but to do so in front of all her friends and family. To be reduced to an action figure on the stage.

“He really did it,” Owen murmured. The bride’s side was unhappy, rolling their eyes and pursing their lips. Their punk Bella had just been turned into one step up from a thrift store Barbie.

Bella herself stood there quietly. She looked happy. She looked posable. She looked frozen, but in a hot way. Cass couldn’t even see her breathe.

Only one thing left. Jules unlatched the collar and fit it around his doll’s neck. Then he turned her face upwards and kissed her, ionately, fiercely. There was a round of applause from the audience.

There were collars on all the tables. Ivory-colored collars with “JULES AND BELLA” and the date written on them. Wedding favors. They were very nice, and Cass couldn’t stop herself from picking one up.

“Oh yeah, we had a big talk at the sleepover,” The doll said. “I mean I walked in to his room and he had an entire dresser of action figures. Dolls. I was like, well, okay. This is it. This is me from now on. He did this, no no, you be you, and it was like, buddy, Jules, me be me. So now I’m really Polly Pocket. I’m really his doll.”

Bella looked at her hands, at her articulated ts. She was a very good doll, human-like, with realistic skin and excellent teeth. “And I’m even self-cleaning,” she concluded.

They were past dinner and the reception. That had been a very tasteful blending of traditions. From the bride’s side, a steaming steel crock of the best chili in Cass’ life, as well as mounds of brisket. It had to have cost a fortune—things were expensive, with all the disruption from Submission. And on Jules’ end, en salade, the best bread in the world, and gougeres. Previously chili would’ve been a dangerous play with so many fancy dresses, but those were gone. Girls got a lot more messy.

“He talked a pretty big game about you being independent, letting you kick him in the balls.” Cass said. “That was like a week ago. Now you’re a Bratz.”

“I can still do that stuff,” Bella said. She was still completely radiant in white. “Rebel Barbie.” Her collar was immaculately white. “He said he likes the punk stuff still, just, you know, not the music. Leathers Barbie. Jules really, really, really likes dress-up.”

Everyone was drinking pretty steadily, including Cass. Alcohol was a mixed bag with Submission. It confused the virus. It also confused her.

No one was having sex yet. They were saving it for the dance floor. And people still did get hungry. Cass found herself looking around for her Mom. It was unusual for her Mom to not be at a prominent local wedding. She went to ones where she didn’t know the bride, or the groom. Having Alyssa on the dance floor running the orgy was considered a kind of blessing on the marriage.

“How does it feel?” Melody said. They had gotten a moment of girl time alone. “To be—a doll?”

“I mean, its easy to interpret to your benefit, right?” Cass said. “Yeah. Like you said. You can be Doctor Barbie, Witch Barbie, Surfer Barbie... I can see how you can work with it?”

Bella faintly shook her head. She gave Cass a—was it a pitying look? It was!

“I’m a dolly,” she explained. “I’m Jules’ doll. Look, I even drew lines on myself, with a sharpie.” She showed them off. On the back of her arms, and on each of the ts of her fingers. “I’m just a doll now. What a whirlwind, right? You wouldn’t believe how much time yesterday I spent shaving down to get ready. Jules is going to pay for so much electrolysis.”

Do you resent him, Cass wanted to say. It died on her lips. How could a man trick a woman? Why bother?

He tricked you. Or did he? What use, saying to her, or giving the slightest hint, that what he really intended was a posable, huggable, fuckable, life-size dolly with fully-functional cock-sucking action? He could just do it whenever. Girls didn’t get to have opinions about it. She’d walked into Owen’s room, and found out he was into puppy girl sluts, and she didn’t feel betrayed. Cass felt relieved. That was all it was. It could’ve been whips and chains. It could’ve been clowns. It could’ve been piss. Puppy girls? No problem. Arf arf.

No, she had to push that back. She was not a puppy girl slave. She wasn’t looking forward to the walkies, to her body heating up, juicing up, in the sure knowledge that he would throw her his bone.

When it happens, the virus told her, you’ll be happy. You’ll be happy when you submit. You’ll quiver, between your legs. You will feel such a sense of relief, that the struggle part of your life is over, and the long, lazy, thoughtless orgasms have begun. You’ll let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and open your mouth...

“How was it?” she said. “When he told you. Told you, told you. Did it—did it hurt? Did it feel good?”

“Did you cum?” Melody said. She leaned forwards, for the answer, and displayed her sizable new cleavage. She was still getting used to having boobs. Or perhaps she just wanted to put them on display. “I’ve heard that you usually cum, but you didn’t.”

Bella looked at the both of them with her doll eyes. She had porcelain-dusted doll cheeks. “A doll would never fall down,” she said.

“But you did cum?” Melody insisted. Her tits threatened to fall out of her dress, the way she was leaning forwards. She was blinking hard.

“I’m at the alter and I can’t use my arms and legs anymore. I’m cumming and I can’t move. I’m a doll. I have to be posed. I’m in front of all my family and I know they hate it. I can feel pussy lube run down my legs. The priest is giving me this oh shit look. I don’t control my own body anymore. And you know what?” Bella said.

It was the best moment of her life, Cass thought. Every girl told the exact same story. That first submission, true submission, real submission, life-altering, no-going-back, I’m your slave submission, it was the best moment of her life.

She put the brooch in her purse, and clenched the collar in her fist. It would happen to her, wouldn’t it? She’d seen the shape of it. Her owner liked collars, liked girls that went for walks, liked her kneeling, looking up at him. Since it was going to happen, the virus suggested, she could—

No. Cass crushed the collar with her weak, feminine grip. It was not going to happen. Owen was her white knight.

“It was the best moment of my life,” Bella concluded. She didn’t give them an encouraging smile, or a pat on the hand. It was just a factual statement. “Did you see me cum?”

“Did you really?” Melody said, impressed. “You didn’t...”

“Dolls don’t spasm,” Cass explained. “She just said that.” Melody tilted her head, confused. Her brow furrowed.

Bella smiled. Her teeth were a radiant white. “I actually have a vibrator in me right now. You can’t even tell, can you?”

The DJ had started up some System of a Down. The doll’s expression darkened, fractionally. Very nearly a trick of the light. Bella’s face just wasn’t going to change very much, anymore. “Okay, excuse me,” the doll said, standing up. She even stood up differently, patiently unfolding and bending her arms and legs. “I have to go tell this DJ not to play shitty-ass music.”

The dance floor was already getting soaked. Sweat and lube speckled the surface.

There was a competition going on between the bride and the groom.  The groom’s side generally had it their own way. The bride was now the groom’s special toy, for starters. The music selections were Eurodancetrashpop. The centerpieces were tastefully and understated French, garden selections with a few spare white roses.

But the bride’s family was not done. They staged their counterattack on the dance floor. There was nothing understated happening on the dance floor. Girls with fat, thick asses were gyrating, creaming, sweating, and slutting. There was enough ink on the men and women to print a newspaper. Everyone had their hands into each other’s privates.  Mascara was getting sweated off in fat, thick rivulets. They would all benefit from getting hosed down.

Cass forced herself to look. This was what she was fighting against. Right? Getting a finger in her ass in public?

“Hey,” Owen said, finally coming by. Up close, his suit was worn and threadbare. “Look at all that. You think that’s Bella’s Mom, jerking those two guys off?”

She had Bella’s hair, the spun-gold curls. The rest of her was a trashy chubby slut, and her mother-of-the-bride outfit was already mostly cinched around the waist. Whoever she was, she commanded the dance floor, stroking and rubbing and being rubbed.

“Did you know about the doll thing?” Cass said.

“No, I didn’t,” Owen said. “I did not.”

He was lying. That was a nice benefit to slowly, inevitably, becoming Owen’s slave. She was very in tune with his body language. And also, he was a rotten liar. They sat at an abandoned table, far from the action. Owen fiddled with one of the white roses. It was wilting under the heat of all the horny people.

It was nearly time for cake, but the frenetic orgy developing on the dance floor had thrown off the schedule. Someone was going to get spitroasted pretty soon.

She interlaced her hand with his. It was so big. She tried to be mad that he was lying to her, but that was already gone. Probably went away when he spooged on her face. “Would you have said something, if you did know?” she said.

“No,” Owen said. He couldn’t look at her. “I mean. We talked about... our interests. I knew he was really into Transformers and GI Joes. I just didn’t know he was going to do.. this. Here.”

“Bella looks happy,” Cass said. Neutrally. They watched a girl go electric, from her dance partner shoving most of his fist up her cunt. In time to the music.

“Look,” Owen said. “Jules is... he’s not a bad guy. We’ve been learning, its important to WANT your slave. Girl. Your... girl. Cy says, responsibility and reward go hand in hand. Bella will be fine, right? She just has to play dress-up and do robot moves from time to time.”

Cass couldn’t stop herself from folding into him, sidling up, nestling in the crook of his body. She desired this man so much. She just had to believe the day would never come when he—took her. She really needed to give him the white knight brooch, and have that conversation. He was drinking too, she could smell fine french wine on him.

But first, she put his hand on her thigh. The inside of it. She didn’t have any struggle left on that one. He could, and should, feel her thighs up. This close, Cass could gauge how much fight she had left. She could ask him nicely not to slave her up too much, while smooching his dick.

Melody sidled up. Did her dress look—even tighter on her? She’d been eyeing the cake since they’d arrived. Her breasts were getting so sizable, and the way they hung high on her chest was eye-popping. She could lose her necklace down there now. She looked nervous.

“Cass, can we talk for a sec?” she said.

They decamped to a nearby table. Owen sat and watched the show, watched girls getting groped by randy boyfriends and husbands and erbys. He took another long drink from his glass.

Melody’s face was set. She looked at Cass. Her face scrunched up, adorably.

“What happened?” Cass said. She had really fucked up, drinking. The conference room was starting to swirl. There was too much sex in the air. She still had the collar in her hand. Where had she put the brooch, the White Knight badge? This was the moment. It had been so expensive. It had cost her everything.

It was in her purse.

Owen’s purse. No... her purse... the room spun around, full of people fondling each other.

“Nothing! Nothing has... has happened,” Melody said. She looked away, to where Hao was standing, sipping his own drink. “I just have a sec. I have to.. I have to get back to Hao. I just... wanted to...”

She was fighting something. Something she didn’t have the words for, anymore.

“What did Hao tell you?” Cass said. She swallowed. It was all happening so fast. One friend was a doll, the other was—what? “What’s he going to—make you into?”

“Um, yeah,” Melody said. She smiled, shyly. “He said every time he cums in my mouth I’m gonna get dumber.”

It was not a shock. Cass had been too distracted to much think on it, but this was not a surprise.

“How much dumber?” Cass said.

“Oh, I don’t know, I guess I’ll find out,” Melody said. She giggled to herself, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I mean, he already told me to be a little stupider, when we played chess. Did it show? I’ve been feeling... kinda dumb already.”

“Yeah,” Cass said. Kinda dumb. She’d been kinda dumb. And Cass had been so distracted, she hadn’t even...

“Gosh, it feels so weird already,” Melody said. “I was just asking Bella and—anyway. He told me he owns me and this is how it’s... gonna be. So, yeah. I’m glad he was honest with me. He wants me to be his stupid slut I guess. I guess I should’ve let him beat me in chess more often. I beat him again during the sleepover, even when I was a lil dumber. Maybe that was the dumb thing.”

‘Yeah, I guess so,” Cass said. Why was Melody even telling her this? She was clearly fighting hard just to be there. To stay away from Hao. They were tethered. “Melody, maybe I can get Owen to countermand it.”

“What?”

“Counter—tell you not to obey.” Melody was dumber already. Why wait, once she knew what Hao wanted? Really wanted? She was giving it her all, too, with her mouth open, her lips glossy pink, her big stupid boobs wobbling on her chest. Her eyes were wide and silly.

“Oh, oh no! Oh no!” Melody exclaimed. “I’m gonna go suck his dick right now. I’m gonna suck him super good and get super stupid. It feels—good. Deep down I think I... well... I don’t do smart stuff like that anymore. I just—wanted to give you a heads up.”

Just wanted to tell you, the next time we talk, I’m just gonna giggle, Cass thought. And to think, she’d struggled with Owen’s collars.

“No,” Cass decided. “No, no. The men are just drunk and horny.” The alcohol came to her own defense, fighting off the indignation from the virus.  “I’m going to Owen and he’ll tell you to not do it.”

Melody grabbed her hand. “Please, no,” she said, urgently, and shook her head. “I want to do it. I want to suck his dick. I’m gonna be a stupid slut for him. I’m gonna be the bestest stupidest suckiest slut ever.”

“That’s the virus talking,” Cass said. She stood up. “Melody. Seriously. Stay here for five seconds. I’m getting Owen.”

“Cass,” Melody said. She gripped her chess pawn necklace tightly. “I’m gonna go give Hao a really good blowjob. But thanks.”

Cass turned to Owen, and when she looked back, Melody was already getting up. Licking her lips. Staring at her man. Looking forward to it, to her brain getting scrambled, her Harvard education fizzling, at the taste of cum on her lips.

It was all happening so fast.

“Owen, we need to—” Owen was looking at her very thoughtfully. He was drunk. He looked drunk, he smelled drunk. The sauvignon blanc had done him stupid and horny.

“What’re you—you holding?” he said.

The white knight pin. Right. “It’s for you,” she said, and held her hand up. “Listen. Melody—”

“For me, or for you?” he said, and plucked it out of her hand. Not the pin. That was still in her purse. The virus chortled.

He held the white bridal collar, their party favor. He looked at her, mouth open.

Give him what he wants, the virus whispered. All your friends are.

Cass couldn’t say anything. She’d made a tiny little error and now was going to pay for it with her personality. Her owner held the collar, and looked at her, significantly. A smile played across his lips. “Really?” he said. “I told you its just a—sex thing.”

No, no, Cass thought. The white knight. The brooch. But the collar—the words were slippery and thin in her mouth. She couldn’t say anything. In a way, it was a very romantic moment, her giving him what he wanted most. Not what she wanted, not anymore. Not some badge of her own unfuckability. What he wanted. It was very important she give him what he wanted.

A collar for his pet.

Owen gently opened the clasp, and put both strong hands around her neck. Cass felt the leather around her throat. It wasn’t as expensive as it looked. Her skin glowed around it, pleased. The tautness of it was just as arousing. She was floating. Her pussy juiced and drooled, her big heavy tits were warm and tender. Whatever expression she was making, Cass knew it was hot, silly, and submissive. She was becoming his puppy girl.

No. It couldn’t be now. She was not being collared.

The clasp closed around her neck, and Owen withdrew his hands. It was done. It was around her neck.

She was collared.

“You look so fucking hot,” Owen told her, and kissed her.

Submission raged in her. This was their first kiss. Cass floated in the sea of it. Every other path in life closed off, leaving only ones where she wore collars. Pink collars, white collars, collars with rhinestones, expensive anniversary collars. Collars with her name on them, collars with OWEN’S PUPPY embroidered on them. She’d felt the pull between them—the desire to please, the eagerness to obey—but now it was doubled, trebled.

She forgot about Melody entirely.

Cass kissed her owner back. They made out. He smelled like chardonnay. It was intoxicating. His hands lingered on her back, touched at the collar, like he couldn’t believe it was really there. He really owned her. Remaining wisps of resistance blew away, ones Cass didn’t even know she still had. She’d have his children. She’d give him her anal virginity. She’d blow him in public. She’d go topless in the park. Whatever he wanted. She’d been so selfish before, trying to take from him, make him into a solitary guardian, defending her chaste virtue. This would be so much better, the virus insisted. She knew it was right.

Cass opened her eyes. From behind him she could see Hao, up against a wall. On her knees, Melody sucked his dick as fast as she could. He was getting close, Cass could tell. So much for Melody. It struck her, overheated, as really hot. Super duper hot, getting used like that.

You haven’t been given an order, part of Cass reminded her. She hadn’t been told anything.

A technicality. She had to please him, Cass responded. She had to, so badly.

But she hadn’t been told she was a—it was obvious where this was headed—his pet. His good little Cass, who wore a collar and a leash. He hadn’t said it. There was a tiny, tiny piece of wiggle room there.

Cass broke the kiss.

“Lets dance!” she told him, and pulled him up. Owen was surprised, but let himself be pulled up by his very nearly sex slave. She pulled him into the orgy. That’s what it was.

They were enveloped, the two of them, by the scent of dozens of rutting people, compelled by heavy viral loads to fuck and be fucked. Whatever bride-groom rivalry was initially there had worn away, and was replaced by simple animal obedience and submission, a delight in rubbing and stroking and sucking. The girls were all delighted, and breathing hard, taking in so many rich masculine scents. Arcs of men popping off punctuated the dance floor, girls trying hard to be in the spray.

Above it all the DJ was pumping heavy, thumping beats. He had some girl of his own underneath the table, her hair colored purple and pink, wearing a set of raver glowstick bracelets. It was dangerous to suck a man off in the fray—people were still dancing, somehow—but the girls were going at it. A coat of jism was the perfect party favor, and would flavor the cake.

Cass touched at her collar. She was collared. And then the dance floor spray of hormones and pheromones hit her, a spritz of randomized male need that it was her job to service. She nearly turned away, mind blanking, to see who she could tug and suck, but Owen held her back. He’d collared her, and she wasn’t getting away. Obedient, she turned back, and sank into his chest. He slipped his hands behind her, under her dress, and grabbed hold.

It seemed like he actually kind of wanted to dance.

Cass put her arms around him, drawing him close. Closer. Guilt threaded through the rare gaps in the pounding obedience, at her bad behavior. She’d drawn him away to avoid final submission. Orders she’d obey for the rest of her life. But the collar WAS a lot. They’d joked nervously about her being owned, a depreciable tax asset, but now she actually felt like property. Even her body was—detached. She was walking around in it in case he needed it. Whatever claim she had to her body, it was secondary. This was Owen’s pussy. Owen’s ass.

Owen’s tits. Yes. She’d denied him them for too long, and it was the perfect way to demonstrate what he now possessed. Cass gently stood back, wobbling on a puddle of cum, and shrugged down her halter dress. She hadn’t worn a bra. They were now too big for any bras she owned.

She couldn’t hear anything he said, but it was almost definitely, “holy shit”.

Cass preened, pleased. They were great tits, and she was so honored to present them. His reaction, the shocked intake of breath, the half-step backwards, was very gratifying. They were really good titties, and Cass was now in love with them. She loved her huge fucking tits. It was hard to imagine she’d resented them, resented how inevitable they made her enslavement. They brought Owen pleasure, they were going to have so much fun together, her tits and Owen. Maybe she’d even get to in. He could suck them, and knead them, and play with them. She’d help by putting them on display, and making them even bigger, and urging him on with pleased throaty moans when he rubbed her nipples.

And they were dancing, to boot. Cass hopped up and down, to make them bounce. They wobbled perfectly. She was so happy to show them off. He put his trembling hands on them, and then wrapped his palms across the tops of the snowy peaks. Even with his big, heavy hands, it was tough to take them all in.

He squeezed, first softly, then harder. They felt about equally good.

“Unnnhh, unhhhhhhh,” Cass said, to no one. She felt electric, getting her boobs fondled. This more than anything else she’d fantasized about, feared, dreamed. She knew she had really good tits. Once they were in some man’s hands she was all but gone, all but enslaved, reduced to chattel and turned into property.

She’d felt a little preview of how stupid and horny she would eventually get the very first time she’d sat in front of her mirror, in her bedroom, and hefted them in her hands. Blood pounding in her ears as thoughts drained away, turning into a wet spot on her chair. At least she felt less worried about being interesting. Her tits were interesting to Owen, it turned out. Who worried about their dog being interesting?

Over behind Owen she could see—her Mom?

It was a struggle to keep her eyes open, much less focus them. It was hard to do anything but make senseless, horny noises and try and stay on her wobbly feet, as her owner enjoyed her body. There was a high-class woman in a low-class pose, on her haunches. Not on her knees, because she liked to move around, and maybe lower herself onto a ready cock.

No—Alyssa wasn’t even there—her oversexed head was messing with her, assuming that if there was a local orgy, she’d be part of it.

It couldn’t be her Mom.

“Lets get the bride and groom in here for their first dance!” the DJ announced, perhaps because the dance pit was getting too wet and spunked for OSHA standards, even for a pro. Bella and Jules stood up together, at their special little table, and Jules took her arm, triumphant. His doll responded perfectly to his movements.

The DJ started up a new song. It was a eurotrashy techno remix of Danses des poupées mécaniques, from the Nutcracker Suite.

Cass blinked. Owen had left off on his hungry assault of her titties for just a moment, and an itty-bitty amount of reason had returned. It was some other black-haired girl getting double-teamed, splitting time between two different dicks. It wasn’t her Mom.

The only slut in the family getting her big boobs felt up, a tiny piece of remaining Cass whispered, is you.

“Come on,” Owen said, pulling her away.

They fled outside, away from the wedding, away from the worst electronic music ever designed by a person. She was still topless. Owen kept going, through the corridors of the hotel, and outside into a well-kept set of grounds. The pool area was closed. He sat her down on a pool chair.

Don’t let him talk, that part of Cass said. The smallest bit left. The virus wasn’t whispering to her anymore. It was joyful and triumphant, all through her. In her red, aching nipples. In her sopping wet slit, in how she had to slurp back drool. When he opened his mouth, to have a heart to heart, Cass pushed a titty into it.

He started to suck almost immediately.

She had to please him. She HAD to. Saph was right—if he didn’t want THIS, he’d want something else. She had to please him so badly. She wanted to please him. While Owen sucked on a nipple, and squeezed the other, Cass opened his zipper and fished out his cock.

There was no more protesting from Owen. He was prepared to enjoy his property.

He broke for air. When he opened his mouth again, Cass slipped backwards, and put her mouth on the top of his dick.

“Oh,” Owen said.

He sounded happy. She pulsed and shivered. She’d made him happy. He’d enjoyed her tits, and now was about to enjoy her mouth. The collar felt warm. She felt so SAFE.

This was risky, because at last his mouth was free. Cass was determined to make it hard to talk. She took him all the way down to the base of the shaft, like she’d sucked a hundred cocks. Her tits were heavy and warm against Owen’s knees. She slid her tongue against the underside. It was all very easy to do. She didn’t feel any urge to gag. She had good cocksucking genes, probably. She’d have to tell Alyssa. Of course, Mommy already knew. Wasn’t she at the wedding? No. She was getting confused. The great cocksucker at the wedding was her.

“Oh man,” Owen said.

He started to pet her head.

Cass almost browned out. Being fucked deeply and madly would not have been more arousing. Bright white ripples of pleasure circled through her, around her, bouncing off each other. It was impossible to see. It was very hard to think. He was petting her. Stroking her hair, softly. She had on his collar, was sucking his cock, and was getting pets. It was pure joy. Whatever goals she had previously had were gone. The goal now was more pets. More pets on her head. She’d beg for them, wag her tail, wait by the door until he returned.

“Good...” Owen paused. He had to know this was going to make her cum. And do other things to her. But they’d gone this far. It’d be weird not to. Cass tried to hold on, briefly, to the moment, where she was sort of choosing to be good, where there was a argument that this was just normal young couple stuff. That they’d gotten randy at a wedding, and weren’t forming up a complete pair of master and slave.

She wasn’t even sure of his name, anymore. Technically it was Owen, but Master was what came to mind. Owen, owner. Owing owner Owen, Cass thought, with those few neural pathways not shaking with orgasm. She preened as he pet her. She shook her ass. That seemed to decide him.

“Good girl,” he told her. And to punctuate it, or maybe because he’d said it, he also came in her mouth.

She was a good girl.

Joy cascaded through her. The virus raged, triumphant, pleased. She wanted to play fetch, and wear a collar and a leash, and be the best and most loyal pet that Owen could ever have.

The little bits of Cass that survived her resulting orgasm stayed hidden and low. There weren’t a lot of them.

Totally forgotten, in a very fundamental way, the white knight brooch sat in her purse, through the second round of Owen fucking her mouth, and her glassy-eyed trip through the reception line, congratulating Jules on his new dolly-wolly, and stuffing herself with cake, so her tits would grow, and the very quiet car ride home.

Until it fell out, as Owen was helping her out of the car.