Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 I GIVE IN

   The words on the book's pages spilled from it into my eyes and ran
directly to my mouth.  My brain was not part of the loop.  My brain is no
longer ever part of the loop.  Somewhere along the line, something -
something artificial - took the words and gave them an emotional context I
never knew.  My vocal chords twisted themselves into the right shapes to
read the book as it was intended.  Mistress likes it when I read; she says
I have the right voice for it.  She says she gave me the right voice for
it. And I believe her.  I believe her every word.  It is why I live.  She
has given me a number of tasks for when there are no more words to be read.
I will follow it.  I know I will follow it exactly, and so does she.  There
are no more words.  I drop to my knees and my tongue advances into her.  I
begin my first task.  *** The man once known as Benjamin King pulled on his
suit jacket and walked out of the house in which he existed.  To have
called it his home would have been inaccurate; to have called his existence
'life', perhaps just as inaccurate.  Once, both statements would have been
true.  Benjamin King, in that prior life, had been reasonably wealthy; one
of the new generation of mansion builders, ensconcing himself comfortably
in a modern, high-tech reprise of the huge, stoneclad piles that lie
scattered throughout Britain, one which did away with the faults time had
revealed in the originals and made it possible to care for them almost
without staff - although the mansion had recently seen a return to those
days when electronic aids were frowned upon and everything was done by
hand, with all the staff needed.  Not one of the aristocracy by any stretch
of the imagination, King had considered himself a self-made, independent
man, who certainly didn't need to rely on anyone.  Even at that time this
had, however, been a false impression; he relied more heavily on his
accountant, his deputy chairman, and his lawyer than he would have
realised, being the incredible egotist he had been.  Now his wealth, his
land, his classic car collection... all of it, in theory, still belonged to
him.  His lawyer, his accountant... neither of them had really noticed any
difference.  His deputy chairman had accepted a salary increase and now
handled the whole shebang, and wasn't complaining.  One of his clients had
simply, and swiftly, become more than that, and in doing so had made him
far less than he had been.  He put his briefcase on the passenger seat of
the E-type and climbed in, starting the engine.  He began to drive, heading
for an address he knew without consciously knowing.  *** I knock on the
door, and I wait.  I will wait as long as it takes.  That is why I live.  A
woman answers the door.  She is tall, like Mistress, and looks very similar
to Mistress.  But I neither obey her nor feel anything for her.  I carry
out the orders Mistress has given me.  "Laura Steinberg?" I ask, reading
from the internal script Mistress has given me.  I do not know what I will
say until it emerges from my lips, but everything I say has been told to me
by Mistress.  "Yeah," she says.  Her voice, it seems, is suspicious, but
that doesn't matter.  I reach into my jacket pocket and produce something.
I show it to her.  "Detective Constable King.  May I come in?" "What is it
- what's happened?" "May I come in?" I repeat.  I put the something back.
"What's this about?" "I would prefer to talk somewhere private, if that's
all right," I say.  So far her reactions have been as Mistress told me to
expect; I will not deviate from the script yet, but her replies must be the
ones Mistress anticipated.  "Oh, all right," she says.  Her voice is still
wary, it seems.  She steps back, as Mistress said she would, and I walk in
past her, turning into the first room on the left.  She follows me into the
room.  "Ok, what is this?" "It's about your sister, Miss Steinberg," I say,
my voice pitching itself as one experienced in grief counselling.  "Oh,
God... What's happened?" "We're not sure yet, miss," I say.  I put the
briefcase on her coffee table and open it.  "There's a patient at the Royal
Shrewsbury with credit cards belonging to your sister, but she's
unconscious." "So... do you want me to identify her?" Her voice, now, is
almost panicked, it seems.  I enjoy these moments, this brief time of
self-awareness.  "In a manner of speaking," I say.  I produce the card from
the briefcase and hold it up in front of her.  "This is your sister?" I
ask. "Uh..." I wait, just in case, but nothing comes.  I look at her face
and see the total blankness of her features, the absence of any expression.
Her lips hang open slightly from her last syllable, her eyes remain fixed
on the card.  Her body doesn't move.  I pick up the blue crystal pendulum
and lower it so that it comes to rest in front of the picture on the card.
I do not understand why she has frozen, but Mistress seemed to expect it
would happen, and I am able to continue with the script and not worry about
improvising.  I begin to understand how Mistress felt when I became hers,
but this woman is not for me; this woman is very definitely for Mistress. I
have instructions for the time before I bring her to Mistress to carry out
first, though.  "Watch the crystal," I say, my lips seeming to move of
their own accord.  My thumb and forefinger, holding the crystal, begin to
rub back and forth against each other.  At the other end of the pendulum
chain, the crystal begins slowly to revolve.  The woman's face takes on a
slightly different expression; the slightly open lips close, and her
expression becomes one of intrigued concentration.  Her eyes refocus. 
"Watch the crystal and allow your will to be drawn into it.  As the crystal
revolves it pulls your will from you, spinning it into a nothingness
trapped in the crystal's flaw deep in the centre.  You cannot take your
eyes from the crystal.  Every second you look at the crystal you will tell
yourself you have no will, and every time you tell yourself it will be more
true, until finally you have lost your will entirely.  But even then you
will continue to tell yourself you have no will." I pause and run a tongue
over my lips, fighting the dryness.  "Let your body lose it's energy, let
it become as fixed in place as stone.  Let your consciousness leave your
limbs... you can no longer move or feel your legs... you can no longer feel
anything below your belly button... your entire body beneath your breasts
no longer seems part of you, you cannot feel it, you have no control over
it..." My voice becomes low and compelling, the voice of a stereotype
hypnotist from a bad science fiction movie, but it still has it's effect.
As I watch her I can see the effects of my words - Mistress' words through
my mouth - take hold, though she was motionless before.  There is now a
different quality to it.  "Now your shoulders are fixed in place and you
have lost all sensation from them... the same phenomenon begins to spread
up through your neck and down your arms... Now it is only your head and
your hands that you can still sense; the rest of your body is like a shop
window dummy; I can move you, pose you, and dress you, but you cannot do
any of these things for yourself... and now you can no longer feel your
hands, though if you are told what they are doing they will still act, but
they do not seem to be part of you; as far as you are concerned, you are a
disembodied head.  And the same inability to sense and move continues to
well upward, covering now your jaw... you cannot move or feel your jaw...
and now it has reached your eyes... you are drowning in it, letting
yourself float free, and the only things that remain part of you now are
your ears and your mind." I pause for effect, as I had been told, and
though I have not been told my psyche, partially restored for the occasion,
roams over her body.  My own personality is becoming closer to restoration
as she descends under my control, which is effectively Mistress' control,
though it will; never reach restoration; for I come to realise I enjoy
being Mistress' slave.  I do not know whether this is an idea she has made
mine or my own, but it does not matter; what pleases Mistress must be. 
"You find now that links between your mind and those parts of your brain
that control your body are being severed; even when the ability to sense
and control the body that now appears to you to be non-existent returns
your mind will have nothing to do with it.  Instead, you find that half of
those memory cells you have not yet used are reforming, becoming the centre
of a new mentality, and the severed links from your body controls now reach
instead to this new mentality; so this area of blank mindscape, now
controls your body.  And as you listen to my voice you will find that blank
mentality begins to emerge.  It will obey me until you set eyes upon your
sister, and when this happens you will realise that your sister is now your
Mistress; you will obey her and only her, and everything that you own will
be hers to use.  You will remain permanently aroused and on the point of
orgasm from now on.  You will never be capable of the slightest movement
without an order from whoever commands you at the time, and when you are
obeying these orders you will find you are incapable of any other motion.
You will therefore never be able to reach orgasm.  You may not speak unless
given strict instructions, and you may never ask someone to bring you off
unless expressly ordered to do so.  "If all of that is understood, you will
find that you can once more feel and control your body, with the exception
of your left arm.  You will be unable to sense your left arm, and will be
unaware that you have one.  If given a command involving your left arm, you
will obey exactly, but will forget the command was ever given and will be
unaware of the contribution made by your left arm." I watch again as her
body shifts slightly as consciousness returns to her limbs, while she
remains immobile, and I smiles, as Mistress had commanded.  I step forward
and take hold of her left arm.  I lift it up and position it so that her
hand iss a pendulum chain length above her eye level.  I open her hand and
place the chain between thumb and forefinger, closing it carefully.  "Begin
to rub left thumb and forefinger together," I say, and let go of the chain.
It's motion doesn't even slow, and her gaze never leaves the crystal.  My
partially liberated mind, awake for the first time since I met Mistress,
wonders about the picture on the card that had first placed Laura in this
strange trance.  It might have been a long-dormant hypnotic trigger left
over from their shared childhood, or it might have been some sort of device
that was capable of inducing such a trance on it's own.  Wary of this
latter option, I decide not to look at it, and tuck it carefully back into
the briefcase's thin pocket.  I take a pair of dressmaker's scissors from
the briefcase and approach her once more.  I begin with her left arm, the
arm she believes does not exist.  I slit the arm of her sweater, slicing
along it until I reach her shoulder.  I continue the cut to the neck of the
sweater and then repeat the cut on the underside of the arm, then down from
the armpit to the base of the sweater.  I slice the underside of the right
arm of her jumper, which at a command is held straight for me, and continue
that cut to the base also.  I take hold of the shoulder that is still whole
and pull.  The sweater comes off easily, without the least resistance. 
Despite the lack of instruction, I look at her breasts, still neatly
contained within her bra; a plain bra, suggesting practicality over
frivolousness.  The breasts themselves are superb; firm, I can tell with a
single touch, and big for her size and build; remarkably so.  I consider
the possibility of surgery for a moment, but then remember that this is
after all Mistress' sister, and Mistress has the same remarkable natural
endowments.  She has told me they are natural and I must believe what
Mistress tells me.  I take the scissors and cut through the shoulder
straps, then reach behind her and unhook the fastener.  The bra comes off
cleanly and I take a moment to relish their revelation before Mistress'
commands are once more uppermost in my mind.  Then I kneel and pull her
socks from her feet.  I undo the buttons on her jeans and pull them down,
and I see the spreading damp patch that threatens to engulf her panties
altogether.  My lips twitch, pulling my mouth into a vicious smile.  A
stray, unplanned glance at a mirror shows me that the smile is the one worn
by Mistress when I received my orders concerning her sister.  I pull her
panties down and step her legs out of them, one by one.  I stand up and
take the crystal from her unresisting hand, and pocket it.  Her eyes have
followed it to my pocket and remain fixed on it.  "Laura, look at me," I
say.  Her head swings back upright, fixing expectantly on my face.  I drape
the panties over her head, her own juices invading her nostrils.  "Kneel."
She slips downward obediently, feet tucked up behind her backside.  I unzip
my trousers.  My penis, permanently erect as Mistress has ordered, springs
free.  I come all over Mistress' sister, take her hand, and lead her from
the house and to the car, on her way to Mistress' rule.