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"What are you doing here?" I muttered. It's too hard to talk straight, an acute pain searing my neck and vocal chords.

"I came to check up on you, of course. You're my greatest success. You did well coming to pick me up just like I told you."

"I don't remem..."

"I know." She chuckles. "You were not supposed to, but now you do."

"What do you want, Olya?"

"Basic respect, for starters. Is that any way to address your creator, Subject 410? Let's try this again."

As she adjusts the settings of my programming on the fly, I discover deferential words coming out of my lips. God, how I loathe them so much! "How may I serve you, Mistress?"

"That's more like it. Tell me what you've been up to."

"I've been having dreams. I remember everything you did."


"For the most part, yes. What you did to me, this..."

"... gift?"


"You're being disrespectful again," she growls.

Have you ever masturbated in public, your hands moving independently from the rest of your body? I did, the humiliating rush as obnoxious as irresistible. Strong strokes. Vigorous strokes. Alternating hands and thoughts as defiance grew soft. "Fuck!"

"This is so much fun. It's unfortunate you're remembering things you shouldn't but you'll be happy to know there are more of you out in the world now."


"It's true. Mass production is real, new slaves are being created every day. I wouldn't be surprised if you already met one or two during your trips."

It's the worst thing I could hear, the nightmare blown out of proportion. If I could stop jacking off, I would have killed her on the spot but instead...

"I think that's enough," Dr. Black concludes, his pen talking louder than my memories.

"But I haven't even got to the worst..."

"Steven, if I allow you to continue, your delusion will keep on growing. Ever heard of the snowball effect? It's what's happening right now. Misery loves company and so does folly. The thought of you being the only one that believes in the existence of submissive skin is too much to handle so your psyche is fracturing itself to accommodate a deeper level of insanity. The worst part is that look on your face that tells me you will continue to fight the obvious. I understand that a mind control conspiracy is fun to consider but actually giving it credence? No, this must stop now."

"What are you saying?"

"You'll have to be committed to an institution, of course. I thought I was helping you but it's growing fairly obvious I'm not for if I was, you would have accepted how ridiculous your claims are instead of the opposite. I know it's cruel, but it has to be done."

"No, you can't..."

He can, he will, I'm sure. I'm punished for lying, punished for telling the truth. I didn't ask to be a guinea pig; I didn't ask to be turned into something other than a human. I need to break this sequence right now, I need to...

"Wake up!"

It's 4 am and I can't sleep. Memories, fantasies, obsessions, and a burning itch conspire to keep me awake. I blink in bed, the red numbers on the alarm clock perfectly still. I'm in my house, or a dream-like replica. I don't remember ever having yellow pillows and I wouldn't buy coriander candles even if they were the only thing left on sale in the world. At least, all of my Star Wars posters still embellish the walls. I should have got rid of them a long time ago but too strong is the fandom in me, I guess.

"Wake up!"

I don't know who said that although the woman straddling my chest is the most obvious choice. She has delicate Asian features and a cute little mole by her lower lip. The pink negligee she's wearing leaves little to the imagination and I already know my imagination can go places. Her breasts are small but just about right for a good groping. Instinctively, I go for them, and I'm slapped on the spot. A dream slap hurts as much as the real thing. I feel she's upset with me but why?

"You can't scream like that.

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