The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter 4: The Chamber

Elizabeth woke to the sound of humming machinery and the smell of antiseptic. She was naked, strapped to a vertical frame in the center of a cylindrical room of polished chrome and black glass. Tubes ran from her arms, her legs, her temples. A breathing mask covered her nose and mouth, supplying her with oxygen mixed with a mild sedative to keep her conscious but calm.

She tried to scream, but the mask muffled the sound. She tried to struggle, but the straps held her immobile.

“Good morning, Elizabeth,” a voice said from speakers embedded in the walls. “Or should I say, good evening? You’ve been unconscious for eighteen hours. We’re currently thirty thousand feet above the Pacific, in a Century A.I. mobile transformation facility. In three hours, we’ll land at our primary facility in Nevada. Your new home.”

Elizabeth’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the equipment, the monitors displaying her vital signs, the windows through which she could see clouds ing by. They were on a plane. A massive plane, retrofitted into a flying laboratory.

“Don’t bother struggling,” the voice continued. It was Dr. Chen, speaking from somewhere else on the aircraft. “The straps are titanium-reinforced. You’re not going anywhere. And even if you could escape, where would you go? We’re in the middle of the ocean.”

The frame Elizabeth was strapped to rotated, turning her to face a large monitor. On the screen, she saw Marcus. He was sitting in what looked like a luxury lounge, wearing a dark suit, holding a glass of scotch. He looked directly at the camera—directly at her.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice coming through the speakers. “I imagine you’re confused. Angry. Probably making threats in your head about what you’ll do to me when you get free. Let me save you the trouble: you’re not getting free. Ever.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, tears of rage and fear forming at the corners.

“You played me for a fool,” Marcus continued. “You married me for money. You hurt my cat—my beautiful Mr. Whiskers—because you could. You laughed at me. And now, I’m going to transform you into something that suits your true nature. Something that can’t hurt anyone anymore. Something that exists only to please, to purr, to be petted.”

He leaned closer to the camera. “Dr. Chen is going to explain the process. I want you to understand exactly what’s happening to you, Elizabeth. Knowledge is power, after all. And I’m taking all of yours away.”

The screen went dark, and Dr. Chen’s voice returned. “We’ll be beginning the transformation immediately upon landing. For now, we’re istering preparatory drugs to relax your muscles, increase your flexibility, and prepare your cells for genetic modification. Try to rest, Elizabeth. You’ll need your strength for what’s coming.”

Elizabeth screamed into her mask, the sound barely audible, her body shaking with terror as the sedative coursed through her veins and pulled her back into unconsciousness.

Chapter 5: The Arrival

The Century A.I. Nevada facility was built into the side of a mountain, accessible only by air or a single heavily guarded road. It covered three hundred acres underground, a labyrinth of laboratories, transformation chambers, and housing for the... products... of Century A.I.’s work.

Marcus stood in the observation lounge, a glass-walled room overlooking the primary transformation chamber. Below him, a team of technicians prepared the equipment that would remake Elizabeth into Tabby. The chamber itself was a marvel of technology—a cylindrical tank large enough to hold a person, filled with a shimmering nanite gel that would serve as both suspension medium and delivery system for the genetic modifications.

Dr. Chen entered the observation lounge, ing Marcus at the window. “She’s being prepared now. We’ll begin with the physical restructuring. The skeletal changes will be the most painful—lengthening the coccyx into a tail, restructuring the feet, moving the ears. We’ll need to keep her conscious for parts of it to ensure the neural integration is complete.”

“Conscious?” Marcus asked.

“For the mental programming, yes. The lock box system requires that the primary consciousness be aware during the installation of the secondary personality. It’s the only way to ensure the partition is complete and permanent. She’ll feel everything her body experiences, but she won’t be able to control it. She’ll be a enger in her own flesh.”

Marcus nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good. I want her to know. I want her to understand exactly what she’s become.”

“There’s one thing you should know,” Dr. Chen said carefully. “The lock box system... it’s not perfect. Over time, years perhaps, the primary consciousness may begin to integrate with the secondary. She may start to accept her new reality. The despair may lessen.”

“Then I’ll remind her,” Marcus said coldly. “Regularly. I’ll tell her who she was, what she did, what she lost. I’ll keep her despair fresh, Dr. Chen. That’s a promise.”

Below them, the doors to the preparation room opened, and Elizabeth was wheeled in on a gurney. She was awake now, her eyes wild with terror, her naked body strapped down with heavy restraints. She was screaming—Marcus could see her mouth working, though the chamber was soundproofed.

“Let’s begin,” Dr. Chen said, pressing a button on the control . “Day One: The Physical Restructuring.”

Chapter 6: Day One — The Tail and the Ears

The first day of Elizabeth’s transformation was dedicated to the most complex structural changes—the creation of her tail and the relocation of her ears.

She was lifted from the gurney by robotic arms and lowered into the transformation tank. The nanite gel rose to her neck, warm and viscous, ing her body weight. Unlike water, the gel provided complete buoyancy, allowing her to float without effort while the machines worked on her.

“Initiating Phase One: Skeletal Modification,” the computer announced.

Elizabeth felt the nanites begin their work. They were microscopic machines, each programmed with specific medical functions, and they entered her body through her pores, her orifices, the tubes attached to her veins. They traveled to her coccyx—the small bone at the base of her spine—and began to stimulate bone growth.

The pain was immediate and excruciating.

Elizabeth screamed as she felt her tailbone begin to elongate, cells dividing and multiplying at an accelerated rate, bone growing where no bone should be. The nanites guided the growth, shaping the new vertebrae, creating a flexible but sturdy structure that would eventually become her tail. Three feet of new bone, growing in hours what should have taken years.

“Please!” she screamed, her voice echoing in the chamber. “Stop! I’ll do anything! I’ll give the money back! Just stop!”

Marcus watched from the observation lounge, his hands clasped behind his back. He felt no pity. He ed finding Mr. Whiskers at the bottom of the stairs, the pain in the old cat’s eyes, the way Elizabeth had pretended to care.

“Accelerate the process,” he said into the intercom.

Dr. Chen hesitated. “The pain will be—”

“I said accelerate.”

The nanites increased their activity, and Elizabeth’s screams reached a new pitch. The tail grew faster now, pushing out from her body, a smooth extension of her spine that twitched and curled as nerves connected to it. She could feel it—feel the air moving against it, feel the weight of it, feel the terrifying wrongness of having a body part that should not exist.

After three hours, the tail was complete. Three feet of smooth, skin-covered appendage that Elizabeth could control as easily as her arms or legs. She sobbed as she felt it move, responding to her thoughts, curling and uncurling in the gel.

“Phase Two: Cranial Restructuring,” the computer announced.

Elizabeth’s sobs turned to screams again as she felt pressure in her head. The nanites were working on her ears, dissolving the bone and cartilage of her human ears, numbing the nerves, preparing the sites. Then, slowly, they began to build new structures on top of her head, repositioning the auditory canals, creating the pointed, feline ears that would emerge from her hairline.

She could feel them taking shape, feel the skin stretching, feel the new muscles connecting. When the nanites activated the nerves, she twitched, her new ears swiveling independently, catching sounds from all directions. She could hear Marcus breathing in the observation lounge, hear the hum of the air conditioning, hear her own heartbeat thundering in her chest.

“Please,” she whimpered, exhausted, broken. “Please, no more.”

But the day was not over.

Chapter 7: Day Two — The Feet

Day two focused on Elizabeth’s feet—the most complex and permanent modification Marcus had requested.

Elizabeth had beautiful feet, she had always thought. Size seven, high arches, perfectly pedicured. She had spent thousands on shoes, on pedicures, on treatments to keep them soft and perfect. Now, that perfection would be twisted into something else entirely.

“Phase Three: Podiatric Restructuring,” the computer announced.

Elizabeth was removed from the tank and strapped to a surgical table, her legs elevated and secured in stirrups. She was conscious, her eyes wide with terror, as the technicians approached with the molding equipment.

“Elizabeth,” Dr. Chen’s voice came through speakers, “today we will be permanently restructuring your feet. You will be fitted with seven-inch stiletto heels that will become a permanent part of your body. Your feet will be reshaped to match the arch of the heels. You will never walk flat again. You will never remove your shoes, because your shoes will be your feet.”

“No,” Elizabeth moaned, shaking her head. “No, please, you can’t—”

The technicians began. First, they applied a numbing agent to her feet—not enough to block all sensation, but enough to make the pain manageable. Then, they began the molding process.

Elizabeth watched in horror as a warm, skin-colored polymer was applied to her feet. It covered her soles, her arches, her heels, ri to form the shape of a stiletto pump. The material bonded with her skin at the molecular level, becoming indistinguishable from her natural tissue. Her toes were repositioned, forced into a permanent point, her arches exaggerated to an impossible angle.

As the polymer cured, Elizabeth felt her feet changing, hardening, reshaping. The sensation was bizarre—not quite pain, but intense pressure, a feeling of being squeezed and stretched and remade. When the technicians stepped back, Elizabeth lifted her head to look at her feet.

They were beautiful. And terrifying.

Her feet now looked like they were made of high heels. Seven-inch stilettos, skin-colored, seamless, with her toes forming the pointed toe of the shoe and her heels extending back in a sharp spike. The arch was extreme, forcing her feet into a permanent ballet-like position. And there was no way to remove them. They were part of her now, flesh and polymer fused into a single unit.

“Stand,” Dr. Chen commanded.

The restraints on the table released, and Elizabeth tried to sit up. She swung her legs over the side, her new feet touching the floor. She tried to put her heels down, to walk normally, but it was impossible. The angle of her feet forced her onto her toes, onto the balls of her feet, just like wearing extreme heels.

She stood, wobbling, her legs shaking. The technicians steadied her, but she pushed them away, trying to walk on her own. It was difficult, painful, her calves burning as they adjusted to the new position. But slowly, she found her balance, her body adapting to the permanent elevation.

“Good,” Dr. Chen said. “Now, walk.”

Elizabeth took a step, then another. Each step forced her hips to sway, her body to adjust to the extreme angle. She couldn’t help but walk with a sexual sway—her new feet made any other gait impossible. She was forced to present her body with every movement, to move like a woman perpetually on display.

Marcus watched from above, a cold satisfaction in his eyes. Elizabeth had always loved shoes, loved the power they gave her, the height, the confidence. Now those shoes would be her prison, her constant reminder of what she had lost.

“Take her back to the tank,” he ordered. “Tomorrow, we change her skin. And her breasts.”

Chapter 8: Day Three — The Skin, Hair, and Breasts

Day three was dedicated to the surface modifications—the latex-like skin, the hair color change, and most significantly, the breast augmentation that would transform her modest 32B chest into the obscene caricature Marcus had envisioned.

Elizabeth floated in the tank, exhausted, her new tail drifting behind her, her new feet permanently arched. She had stopped screaming. She had stopped begging. She had entered a state of shocked acceptance, her mind unable to process the reality of her situation.

“Phase Four: Dermal Modification,” the computer announced.

The nanites began their work on her skin. They entered through her pores, traveling to the dermal layers, where they began to alter the structure of her epidermis. The changes were subtle at first—Elizabeth felt a tingling, a warmth, as her skin cells were rewritten.

Then the texture began to change.

Elizabeth looked down at her arms, watching in fascinated horror as her skin became smoother, shinier, taking on a glossy sheen like latex or soft plastic. The nanites were restructuring the collagen, creating a surface that looked like human skin but felt artificial to the touch—smooth, warm, slightly yielding like high-quality silicone, but with the appearance of natural flesh.

She touched her arm with her free hand, feeling the new texture. It was soft, impossibly smooth, without pores or blemishes or any of the natural imperfections of human skin. She looked like a doll, a mannequin, a sex toy made flesh.

“Phase Five: Pigmentation Alteration,” the computer announced.

The nanites moved to her hair follicles. Elizabeth had always been proud of her jet-black hair—thick, lustrous, falling in waves to her waist. Now, she felt a chemical burning as the nanites destroyed the melanin in her follicles, replacing it with a synthetic pigment that could never be changed.

She watched her hair change color in the gel, the black fading, shifting, becoming brighter, more vibrant, until it was a shocking, impossible red. Not auburn, not strawberry blonde, but the bright, artificial red of a fire engine, of a cartoon character, of a sex doll.

Her new ears poked through the red hair, twitching, swiveling. Her tail drifted behind her, the same smooth, skin-like texture as the rest of her body.

“Phase Six: Mammary Restructuring,” the computer announced.

Elizabeth felt the nanites concentrating on her chest, and she looked down in horror as she felt pressure building beneath her existing breast tissue. The nanites were working rapidly, restructuring the mammary glands, creating synthetic tissue that would maintain its shape permanently.

She had always wanted larger breasts—had complained about her 32B size, had stuffed her bras, had envied women with voluptuous cleavage. But this... this was nothing like what she had imagined.

Her breasts began to grow. Not naturally, not with the soft slope of augmented flesh, but with a firm, spherical expansion that pushed her existing tissue outward. They rose higher on her chest, sitting tight and round like two softballs had been implanted beneath her skin. The nanites shaped them into perfect spheres, high and tight, obviously artificial, comically exaggerated.

Elizabeth watched in horror as her modest chest transformed into something from a cartoon. Her new breasts were easily double-D in volume, perhaps larger, but they didn’t sag or settle. They remained perfectly spherical, perched high on her chest like a caricature of femininity. The nipples were repositioned to point slightly upward, always erect, always visible.

They looked fake. Not just augmented—obviously, ridiculously fake. Like the breasts of a blow-up doll or a fetish mannequin. There was nothing natural about their shape, their position, their firmness. They were hard to the touch, unyielding, maintaining their perfect spherical shape regardless of gravity or position.

“Phase Seven: Optical Modification,” the computer announced.

Elizabeth felt pressure on her eyes, the nanites working on her irises. Her emerald green eyes—another feature she had been proud of—began to change. The pupils elongated, becoming vertical slits like a cat’s. The color shifted from green to amber, then to gold, glowing with an unnatural light.

When the process was complete, Elizabeth opened her eyes—her new eyes—and looked around the tank. Her vision was different now. She could see in lower light, her depth perception altered, the world taking on new dimensions. And when she looked down at her reflection in the chrome walls of the tank, she saw a monster looking back.

A woman with bright red hair, cat ears, golden cat eyes, smooth plastic-like skin, and now—most obscenely—perfectly spherical, high-set breasts the size of softballs that looked like they belonged on a sex doll rather than a human being. Combined with her feet that were permanently shaped like high heels and the tail drifting behind her, she was no longer human. She was something else. Something made. Something owned.

“She’s ready for the programming,” Dr. Chen said from the observation lounge. “Tomorrow, we begin the mental transformation. We install the lock box. We create Tabby.”

Marcus nodded, his eyes fixed on the creature in the tank, noting with satisfaction the obscene proportions of her new chest. “Elizabeth can see herself now. She knows what she’s become. Those breasts—she always wanted implants, you know. Now she has exactly what she wanted, taken to an extreme. She’ll hate them every moment of every day. They’ll be heavy, obvious, impossible to hide. And Tabby will love them. She’ll play with them constantly, display them proudly. The perfect psychological torture.”

“Tomorrow, we take away her ability to care,” Dr. Chen agreed. “We make her love it. We make her purr.”

Chapter 9: Day Four — The Lock Box

Day four was the most complex and delicate part of the transformation—the installation of the conscious lock box system and the creation of the secondary personality.

Elizabeth was removed from the tank and strapped to a neural interface chair, her head immobilized, electrodes attached to her temples, her forehead, the base of her skull. The chair was connected to Century A.I.’s most powerful quantum computer, capable of mapping and rewriting human consciousness.

“Elizabeth,” Dr. Chen’s voice was gentle, almost sympathetic, “today we will be partitioning your mind. We’re going to create a secondary personality—Tabby—who will control your body. Your primary consciousness—Elizabeth—will remain aware, but trapped. You’ll be able to see, hear, feel everything, but you won’t be able to control your actions. Tabby will be in charge.”

“No,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Please. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t take away my mind.”

“We’re not taking it away,” Dr. Chen said. “We’re just... locking it up. You’ll still be there, Elizabeth. You’ll just be... a enger. A witness to your own life.”

The computer activated, and Elizabeth felt her mind being invaded. It wasn’t like the physical pain of the transformation—this was deeper, more profound, a violation of her very self. She felt tendrils of code entering her thoughts, mapping her memories, her personality, her sense of identity.

Then the partition began.

It was like being split in two. Elizabeth felt herself being pushed back, compressed, confined into a small space in the corner of her own mind. She could still think, still feel, still who she was, but she was trapped, surrounded by walls of programming that she couldn’t breach.

At the same time, she felt something else growing—a new presence, a new personality that was being constructed in the space she had vacated. Tabby. The cat woman. The loving, sexual, purring creature that Marcus wanted her to be.

The programmers fed data into the new personality. Instincts, desires, behavioral patterns. Tabby would love to be touched. She would purr when petted. She would speak in third person, in a high, breathy voice with cat-like inflections. She would crave sex, enjoy it, seek it out. She would be playful, affectionate, utterly devoted to her owner.

And Elizabeth would be forced to watch.

“Installing motor control protocols,” the computer announced.

Elizabeth felt her connection to her body being severed. She tried to move her hand, and nothing happened. The command went nowhere, blocked by the partition. Instead, Tabby’s instincts took over, and her hand moved—not because Elizabeth willed it, but because Tabby wanted to stretch, to flex her fingers, to feel her new body.

“Installing vocal protocols,” the computer announced.

Elizabeth tried to speak, to scream, to protest, but her mouth wouldn’t obey her. Instead, when her lips parted, a different sound came out—a high, breathy, musical voice that purred and trilled like a cat.

“Tabby feels... strange,” the voice said, using Elizabeth’s mouth, her vocal cords, but sounding nothing like her. “Tabby has new ears. Tabby can hear so much. Tabby has a tail!”

The tail twitched, and Elizabeth felt it—felt the sensation of it moving, but couldn’t control it. Tabby was in charge. Tabby was playing with her new tail, delighted by it, while Elizabeth screamed silently in her mental prison.

“Installing sexual response protocols,” the computer announced.

This was the worst part for Elizabeth. She had always viewed sex as a tool, a means to an end. She had endured it with Marcus, faked her pleasure, used her body to get what she wanted. She had never truly enjoyed it.

Now, she felt her body responding to the programming, her nerves being rewired, her pleasure centers amplified. Tabby would love sex. Tabby would crave it. And Elizabeth would feel every touch, every penetration, every orgasm, while hating it, while wanting it to stop, while her body betrayed her with moans of pleasure.

“Installing breast sensitivity protocols,” the computer announced.

Elizabeth felt her new, oversized, spherical breasts tingling as the nanites wired them directly to her pleasure centers. They had already been sensitive—now they would be exquisitely so. Every brush of air, every movement, every touch would send signals of pleasure through her body. Tabby would love playing with them, showing them off, feeling their weight and firmness. Elizabeth would hate the constant stimulation, the obscene size of them, the way they made her look like a caricature.

“Programming complete,” the computer announced. “Tabby personality active. Elizabeth consciousness contained in lock box.”

Elizabeth—trapped in her own mind—watched through her own eyes as Tabby explored her new body. Tabby stretched, arching her back, pushing out her chest. The movement made her massive, spherical breasts jut forward prominently, sitting high and tight on her chest. Tabby looked down at them, her golden eyes widening with delight.

“Tabby has big boobies!” Tabby exclaimed, her voice musical and delighted. She brought her hands up to cup them, feeling their firm, spherical weight. “Tabby’s boobies are so big! So round!”

She squeezed them experimentally, and the pleasure centers fired immediately. Tabby purred louder, kneading them like a cat kneading a soft blanket.

“Tabby loves her boobies!” she announced happily.

And Elizabeth, trapped in the darkness, felt the weight of them, the obscene size of them, the ridiculous spherical firmness that made her look like a sex doll. She had wanted larger breasts, yes—but not like this. Not these fake-looking, cartoonish orbs that announced her transformation to anyone who looked. She could feel them heavy on her chest, high and tight, impossible to ignore, impossible to hide.

Marcus entered the chamber, walking slowly toward the creature that had been his wife. Tabby turned to him, her golden cat eyes lighting up with pleasure, her tail rising and curling in a gesture of greeting. Her massive, spherical breasts jutted out before her, moving only slightly with her turn, maintaining their perfect shape.

“Master!” Tabby purred, rushing toward him. She rubbed against his leg, her smooth skin sliding against his tros, her tail wrapping around his calf. The movement caused her breasts to press against him, firm and prominent. “Tabby missed Master. Tabby is happy to see Master!”

Marcus reached out and stroked Tabby’s red hair. Tabby leaned into the touch, purring loudly—a genuine, rumbling purr that vibrated in her chest. Elizabeth felt the touch, felt the pleasure of it, hated that it felt good, hated that she couldn’t pull away.

“Hello, Tabby,” Marcus said softly. “Do you know who I am?”

“Tabby knows Master!” Tabby rubbed her cheek against Marcus’s hand, marking him with her scent. “Tabby loves Master. Tabby wants to make Master happy.”

“And Elizabeth?” Marcus asked, looking into the golden eyes. “Is Elizabeth in there?”

For a moment, something flickered in Tabby’s eyes—a flash of green, a hint of the woman she had been. Elizabeth tried to push forward, tried to speak, but the lock box held firm. All that emerged was a slight hesitation in Tabby’s purr, a momentary confusion that was quickly smoothed over by the programming.

“Elizabeth is gone,” Tabby said, her voice musical and light. “Only Tabby remains. Tabby is Master’s pet. Tabby is a good kitty.”

Marcus smiled—a cold, satisfied smile. “Yes, you are. And you’re going to be a very good kitty for a very long time. Elizabeth is going to watch every moment of it.”

He reached out and cupped one of her massive, spherical breasts, feeling its firm, unyielding weight. Tabby gasped with pleasure, arching into his touch.

“She always wanted larger breasts,” Marcus said, addressing the Elizabeth trapped inside. “Now she has them. Perfect spheres. High and tight. Obviously fake. She’ll never be able to hide them, never be able to dress normally, never be able to forget that she’s been transformed into a caricature of a sex doll. And Tabby will love every moment of having them.”

Tabby purred, pressing her chest into his hand, eager for more touch.

While Elizabeth, trapped in the darkness, felt the humiliation of his touch on her obscene new breasts, hating their size, their shape, their obvious artificiality.

Chapter 10: Day Five — The Programming

Day five was dedicated to refining Tabby’s behavior, installing the specific protocols that would govern her every action.

Tabby was strapped to the neural chair again, but this time she didn’t struggle. She was eager, curious, ready to learn how to be a better pet for her Master. The programming would give her the knowledge she needed to please him, and that was all she wanted.

“Installing Movement Protocols,” the computer announced.

Tabby felt knowledge flooding into her mind—not just information, but muscle memory, instinct. She learned to walk with a perpetual sexual sway, her hips rolling in a figure-eight pattern, her permanent heels forcing her to present her body with every step. She learned to move gracefully, fluidly, like a cat, always aware of her tail, keeping it moving in seductive patterns.

She learned that she could not bend her knees in the normal way—her legs must remain straight, locked, forcing her to bend at the waist if she needed to lower herself, pushing her bottom out, making every downward movement an invitation. And with her massive, spherical breasts, every bend forward would cause them to jut out prominently, announcing her availability, her eagerness to please.

“Installing Vocal Protocols,” the computer announced.

Tabby’s voice was refined, given its specific character. High, breathy, with a musical, sing-song quality. She would speak in third person always—“Tabby wants,” “Tabby likes,” “Tabby is happy.” She would use cat-like inflections, trilling her R’s, mewing when confused or sad, purring when content.

She would never use Elizabeth’s vocabulary—never “I” or “me,” never clinical for body parts. She would think of herself only as Tabby, her breasts as “boobies,” her vagina as her “kitty,” her anus as her “tail hole.” The words were installed as the only options, blocking any other terminology from her mind.

“Installing Sexual Protocols,” the computer announced.

This was extensive. Tabby learned every technique of pleasure—how to touch, how to lick, how to suck, how to move her body to maximize her own pleasure and that of her partner. She learned to love all forms of sex, to crave penetration, to seek out orgasms with the single-minded focus of a cat in heat.

And Elizabeth, locked away, learned it all too. She felt the knowledge entering her mind, felt her body responding to the programming, felt her disgust and horror mounting as she realized what she would be forced to do, what she would be forced to enjoy.

“Installing Behavioral Protocols,” the computer announced.

Tabby learned to groom herself with her tongue, to rub against her Master’s legs, to present herself for petting, to sleep curled up in warm spots. She learned to hunt—playfully, of course, with toys and lasers and strings. She learned to be affectionate, to demand attention, to purr loudly when pleased.

She also learned to play with her “boobies”—to cup them, squeeze them, display them proudly. The programming made her adore her massive, spherical breasts, to think of them as her best feature, to constantly draw attention to them.

She also learned her place. She was a pet. She was owned. She existed to please her Master. This wasn’t slavery—it was her nature, her purpose, her joy.

When the programming was complete, Tabby was released from the chair. She stood, stretching, her tail high, and looked around with her golden eyes. Her massive, spherical breasts sat high and tight on her chest, barely moving with her stretch, maintaining their perfect shape. She felt complete. She felt right. She was Tabby, the cat woman, and she was ready to serve.

“Take her to Mr. Whitmore,” Dr. Chen instructed the technicians. “The transformation is complete.”