Mind bondage

I used to be able to sleep. I used to look forward to bed time, a time for relaxation and rest and recovery from the stress of the day. I would fall into bed and drift off, leaving the day behind.

Now, I am almost afraid to go to bed. No matter how exhausted I am, when I get into bed I just can't shut down. My thoughts race, I worry about the day past and the day to come, and neither breathing exercises nor attempts at meditation have aided me.

I don't want to use drugs. I think it's unhealthy to have a dependence on a taken substance in order to sleep. Besides, whenever I cave in and take an anti-histamine or melatonin the sleep that I get isn't restful. I just blank out and wake up groggy. As opposed to the rest of the time when I get fitful spurts of rest that barely enable me to make it through the day.

I want, I need, something that will help me reset my sleep cycle and get back into being able to sleep. I can't afford a new bed. I can't afford anything expensive. The decision to step into the herbalist shop that I used to sneer at is one of pure desperation.

A tinkling bell heralded my entrance into the ill-lit shop. Most of the light came from the sun streaming through dingy front windows. It smelled musty and stale, a faint hint of marijuana and tobacco immediately finding my nostrils. I almost walked right back out again, rather than explore this dump, but it was too late. I had been spotted by a clerk appearing from the back. I was now firmly trapped by politeness.

She had fair hair, wrapped up into a multitude of braids, which was in turn swept up into a pile atop her head. Shorter than me though I'd say at least 5'2" tall. She wore what I thought of as hippie clothing, all natural looking fibers and dull colors, flat sandals on her feet. Her face was adorable though, elfin and sprightly were the words that popped into my head at the mischievous glint in her hazel eyes. A smile that I couldn't help but return drew my eyes to her very red lips. Despite my prejudice, I felt myself wondering what she looked like out of all that baggy clothing. Would she be curvy or athletic? I thought she had a good sized bust, but it was hard to tell. I had no idea why I wished she were showing some cleavage so that I could see more of her creamy skin.

When I realized she had been talking to me, I started and shook myself.

"I am sorry, I haven't been sleeping well lately and I tend to zone out a bit. That's actually why I came in. I don't want something that will just put me to sleep, I am looking for something to help me regain a natural sleep cycle. Do you have anything like that?" My voice raised into a pleaful yet skeptical tone at the question. I didn't think they would, or if they did, that I'd be able to afford it.

Still smiling, she replied, "I might have just the thing. First, I want to ask you a few questions to determine if we can help you. First of all, my name is Pamela. What's your name?"

Her presence was relaxing to me, and even the smell of the store wasn't getting on my nerves anymore.

"My name is Adele. Adele Brown."

"Nice to meet you Adele. Come with me, we'll go sit down and talk about what we can do for your issue."

She led me to the back of the store where there were two threadbare couches upholstered in a ghostly red shade. I almost didn't sit, fearing the couch would be home to rats or mice or spiders even, if not cockroaches, but I was, unsurprisingly, quite tired and they did look soft.

It helped that Pamela sat gracefully down on one and nothing came skittering out.

I sat on the other couch and faced her. She leaned towards me and I found myself inexplicably wishing that she were wearing a shirt with a lower neckline.

"I think it is wonderful, first of all, that you don't want to become dependent on drugs to help you sleep. Sleep is a natural part of our lives and we should all be able to do it, without any extra chemical aids beyond what our own bodies produce. Besides, adding extra chemicals into our bodies never really lets us have the right kind of sleep, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," I agreed and stifled a yawn. The couch was quite soft and comfortable and, at this moment, felt a whole lot better than my bed had in months.

"How much sleep are you getting each night, on average, without any added chemicals? I use the word chemicals rather than drugs, because most people don't realize that alcohol, for example is a drug. Anything that we ingest into our bodies can be considered a drug. What we ingest, whether it be chocolate or morphine, has a real chemical effect on our bodies. So, what I am asking is how your sleep is on nights that you neither drink alcohol, nor take anything specifically to aid your sleep."

Following her words was difficult. Partly it was that she spoke quickly and her voice was low pitched. She also jumped from subject to subject, explaining one clause before she finished the whole thought. Yet another aspect was my ever present tiredness that seemed to be getting worse each passing minute. I took a moment to think about what she had asked.

Then I woke up. I knew from painfully gotten experience that I hadn't been out for long, but it was still embarrassing.

"I am sorry about that," I said. "Um, I think I've been getting like four hours per night, but it is all in little spurts like that where I drop off and wake up. At least, I feel like I am awake at least one minute for every minute I manage to sleep."

"No worries," Pamela replied, her face reflecting concern. "I think from that vivid demonstration I can recommend something for you.

"The owner of this shop holds sleep retreats on weekends when there are enough people interested to fill a class. Usually we have a long wait time as we gather enough participants, but I just had a last minute cancellation for the one he is holding this weekend. Since it is a cancellation, I can give you a great deal on the price, and truly Hun, I think you need this."

I asked what was most important to me first. "How much is this great deal going to cost?"

"$100, which is discounted from the normal price of $400. It includes meals from Friday dinner to Sunday lunch, lodging, activities and a money-back guarantee that your sleep will begin to improve immediately," she explained. I knew a sales pitch when I heard one, but the money-back guarantee did make it a relatively safe bet. Maybe.

"What does the workshop involve? Like, what would I be doing there?"

Her eyes crinkled as she grinned.

"Well, I can't tell you everything of course as it is a proprietary method, but you will be learning how to sleep. You'll be getting in touch with the side of yourself that knows how to fall asleep and rest and renew yourself. He guides you through finding the key to your sleep issue," she exhaled and looked a little embarrassed. "He did it for me. At one point in my life I was getting two hours of sleep a night at most. But Mr. Mendoza changed all that for me. He can do it for you, too, Adele," she reached over and touched my hand, holding eye contact.

She looked so sincere. I had a tinge of worry about the worshipful way she spoke of this Mr. Mendoza character, but I had confidence in myself as well. Sure, I had a problem, but I wasn't some naïve child to be recruited by some cult, if that's what it even was. She might just have a crush on him for all I knew.

$100. It was about the limit of what I could afford after trying so many things to get to sleep. Her hand was cool and dry on mine. It felt so good simply to be touched by someone. My love life had taken a dive with this sleep problem. But I was sure she didn't mean anything in that way, she was just one former sufferer comforting a current sufferer.

"Alright, I'll do it," I replied heavily. She squeezed my hand and bounced in place.

"You won't regret this, Adele, I promise you!" she squealed at me. "Follow me to the counter and I'll get your information. Our shuttle will pick you up from your work or home Friday evening, you don't even have to drive yourself! It is all part of the service, so not a word of protest," she grinned back at me as she led me by the hand to the front of the store.

I gave her my information and requested to be picked up from home. I got a list of what to bring and what to leave behind for the weekend. She told me that the payment should be in cash and that they could collect it when they picked me up in two days.

***

After two more fitful nights, I felt ready to try anything, no matter how silly or new age it might seem. I had my cash, and my bag, which included no "extraneous distractive devices, such as cell phones, music players or video game systems." The shuttle would be arriving any moment now.

Sitting on my couch in the front room, I kept nodding off, but never for long. A knock on the door got me to my feet and when I opened it, Pamela was there grinning at me.

"Surprise!" she yelled to my dumbfounded look. "I forgot to tell you that I am Mr. Mendoza's assistant now at the workshop. Oops," she told me, sounding not at all sorry.

"Oh, that's cool," I replied lamely as she enveloped me in a big hug. Her breasts felt huge and firm against my stomach. Her height put her face almost directly into my cleavage and her face was cool against the sudden heat of my skin.

"Come on, the sooner we get there, the sooner you'll be learning how to sleep again," she said in a more serious tone. She grabbed my bag and led me away, cash still clutched in my hand. Bemused, I followed her to a nice looking though non-descript shuttle bus of the type I always saw on ride share ads.

I must have been the last one to be picked up, as all but two of the seats were filled with women who looked like I felt. I assumed the empty driver's seat was for Pamela, and took the empty front passenger seat beside her. Pamela took the cash I was still clutching from my hand and smilingly placed it into a deposit bag.

"Alright ladies, our next stop is the workshop location. Being out in nature is the only way to get back to your natural sleep rhythms, so the drive will be about two hours from here. For now, enjoy yourselves, talk, relax, sleep if you can, and I'll put on some soothing nature sounds for us all to enjoy," Pamela spoke with authority now, none of the sprightliness coming through in her official announcement. She touched a button on the dash and the, to me, highly irritating sounds of nature began to play.

I never liked listening to the nature sounds CDs, in part because they felt fake to me, and in part because the idea of trying to force relaxation on myself rubbed me the wrong way. This one was no different from any other I'd ever overhead and I wanted to talk to Pamela instead.

However, she looked utterly absorbed in her task of driving, which made me feel disinclined to disturb her. Instead I turned to look at the other insomniacs. They all looked... the same. Haunted eyes, make-up barely making a dent in the dark circles under their eyes. Different hair colors, skin tones and clothing, but it was as if they were all based on the same template of sleeplessness. I am sure I looked no different, but I couldn't see myself to compare.

No one was talking, most were staring out the windows. I saw one woman jerk up in a familiar motion. I knew just what it felt like to do that fall-asleep-wake-up thing, and now I got to see how I looked to others. No wonder I got so many pitying looks.

I turned back to the front and looked out the windows as the nature sounds played on and the scenery rolled by. We were headed out into the forest and I hoped that the facilities wouldn't be too primitive. I hadn't even thought to ask about that. I was too desperate for a cure to care at the time, but now I was fiercely hoping for flush toilets.

I nodded off for a few minutes during the ride, but most of it was just spent looking at trees and listening to ocean waves. I had no idea where we were, other than in a forest on a road that hardly deserved the appellation. I now didn't want to disturb Pamela for fear that she would crash if she took her attention off the road.

The fear of going off the road and flipping over and dying kept me wide awake for the last half hour of the ride, so I got to see the workshop facility as we drove up. A cluster of cabins surrounding a barn-like structure, all made of wood, were in the middle of a cleared area. I could see a water pump, and I hoped it was merely decorative.

The cabins did at least look clean in the waning light, and the clearing wasn't overgrown though it was natural looking. Pamela pulled up close to the barn-like structure and stopped the van. The abrupt end of the nature sounds got everyone's attention.

Pamela turned and addressed the group. Sitting in the front passenger seat, I felt a bit left out of her attentions as she explained that she would be taking our bags to our assigned cabins and that we should proceed into the central meeting room where Mr. Mendoza would be waiting for us.

Doors popped open and we all trooped out through open wooden double doors to what appeared to be a single large room inside the "barn." I felt myself relax at the sight of carpets and cushions in cool soothing colors arranged in various sized groupings. There was a sideboard laden with food and several urns, probably coffee though I didn't smell any. There was a central light hanging down and brightly illuminating only the center of the room, which would explain why I didn't notice Mr. Mendoza in the back of the room until he stepped forward and greeted us.

"Welcome ladies. For the first part of our retreat, we will be in a large group. Please find your name card and have a seat here," he gestured to a semi-circle of cushions and trays directly under the light.

Looking at him, a cliché came to mind immediately. He was tall, dark and handsome. His voice had a light trace of an accent, but was clear and articulate. It was the kind of voice that a news anchor might have, authoritative, persuasive and trustworthy. For the first time, I really believed that this might have been a good idea.

There were eight of us insomniacs, and nine cushions set up. I felt distanced again when I discovered that I was seated at the far left on the other side of Pamela, according to the name cards. We sat, and Mr. Mendoza stood at the center of our semi-circle. Pamela slipped in beside me before he began to address us again.

"Now, I know that all of you are here because you refuse to become dependent on drugs for the natural process of sleep. I commend you all, and I believe as you do, that sleep should be natural. For some reason, each of you has forgotten how to find your sleep. Your minds are refusing to allow your bodies the sleep that they know how to get. To that end, we will be taking a 'drug' this evening, but not one that will force us to sleep. Instead we will be drinking this herbal tea that will put off our bodies need for sleep. We are staying up all night tonight."

His words were compelling, and I found myself agreeing. What better way to reset our sleep schedules than to really break them off and start fresh? Pamela brought over a teapot and poured everyone a cup.

"You can drink as much of this as you like, but you should drink at least one cup every two hours in order to stay completely awake," Pamela explained as Mr. Mendoza stood back and sipped at his own cup.

"Now, for introductions. My name is Hector Mendoza, and I must insist that you all call me Hector," he said as Pamela finished pouring. "I have a degree in naturopathic medicine with an emphasis in sleep studies. I have been holding these retreats for five years now, and I haven't had to issue a refund yet," he continued with a smile. "You all have different reasons for being here, and we will get into them tonight, but for now please just state your first names. Let's start over here," he pointed at the woman on the other end from me.

As the women to my right stated their names I found myself zoning out. I realized I needed to start drinking the tea, and managed to get the cup to my lips just as it was my turn to state my name. I gulped, sputtered, turned red in the face and spoke my name three times before it came out clearly.

Hector smiled at me anyway, and I felt a rush of a different kind of warmth. I firmly attributed it to the gulp of tea and paid attention to Hector's lecture. He was talking about different reasons that we learn how not to sleep and the various things in our modern culture that contribute to insomnia.

I listened to his words, but I was also preoccupied with how awake I felt. It had been a long time since I had felt anything but tired. Now, my mind was calm and alert; my body felt relaxed but also ready. Hector's words made sense to me, and I could see the other women nodding as well. We were all interested; we all agreed.

There were no clocks, and, per the instructions, I wasn't wearing my watch. I had no idea how much time was passing. At one point Hector invited us to go get some food, and to continue to do so as the we felt the need. I reveled in how delicious the strawberries tasted. They were perfectly ripe, sweet and juicy. Practically orgasmic.

Where had that thought come from?

Hector began to ask us questions. What did we think about when we tried to sleep? When had our insomnia started? He skipped randomly through the group, not letting anyone talk for longer than it took to answer his question. I found myself revealing that I hadn't had sex for months. No answer was lingered on, we simply spoke and then he asked another question.

I found myself feeling as if the words the other women spoke were my own. Their answers were so similar to what I myself would have said. I realized that we were all related in a way. We had a common culture and a common reaction to it.

"Julie, how have your masturbation habits changed since your insomnia?" Hector asked. I froze at the mention of masturbation. To me, it was one thing to talk about sex in a vague way, but to talk about sex with oneself was wrong. I never even liked to think about the fact that I had ever masturbated, even when I was doing it. I felt myself withdraw internally.

"Well, I used to masturbate regularly, but not a lot. Now, I find myself lying awake in bed and just touching myself. The weird thing is that it doesn't feel good anymore," Julie answered without a trace of self-consciousness. My discomfort increased at her matter-of-factness. Even though Hector turned on to other subjects, I still felt stiff and awkward.

The talking session, as promised, went on all night. I never felt as connected as I had before the things turned so frankly sexual though. I felt aloof from the group. It was as if I could see them all bonding, shutting me out in the process. I kept drinking my tea to stay awake and answered questions when I was asked. I got caught up in dreading being asked something so sexual that I wouldn't be able to answer, but somehow Hector never asked me those questions.

"We have been awake, aware and alert all night ladies. We have discovered that we are not so alone as we might have thought. Each of you has discovered that it is our modern culture that causes us to forget how to sleep. Today we will have some group activities outdoors as well as some one-on-one sessions. Feel free to talk with each other and counsel each other. You all know how to sleep; help each other relearn." Hector finished speaking and walked to the back of the room, disappearing into shadows.

Pamela hopped up and grinned at us. "Alright, go to your cabins, get showered and change clothing. When you're done come back here for breakfast. Your room numbers and keys are on the reverse of your name cards."
We scattered to our tasks. I was in cabin number 8. I found it and saw my duffle bag on a large, at least queen sized, quilt-covered bed. The cabin was practically all bedroom, with a door at the back opened to reveal a sink. It was rustic, but it was also comforting. I didn't see any bugs, and the bathroom was spotlessly clean. I laid out an outfit from my duffle on the bed and took my clothing off to go shower.

The body wash and shampoo in the shower smelled of flowers, a light delicate scent. I felt the tension of the previous night melt away under the hot water pounding on my back. I finally convinced myself to leave the shower and dried off on a big fluffy towel, also provided by the retreat.

My skin felt delightfully soft, and I wondered if the shower water was from a mineral hot spring as I carefully put on my sensible black cotton underclothes, a brown short sleeved blouse and a khaki colored knee-length skort. I pulled my dark wet hair back into a bun and slipped on my sandals.

The sunlight outside felt like a warm kiss on my exposed skin for the brief walk between cabin and barn. I was almost feeling that connectedness again.

Then I walked in and saw the other women finishing breakfast. I was late. They hadn't waited for me. I grabbed an apple and walked over to the table.

"Next on the agenda is a special treat. We've got a real natural hot spring here at the retreat and it is time to go and relax in the soothing outdoors!" Pamela announced as she stood up. The women squealed in excitement and followed her out the door. I felt invisible as I watched them troop out the door. I put my apple carefully down on the table and followed them. It was a short hike down a clear trail to a beautiful scene of fallen rocks and trickling water. But by the time I arrived, everyone had shed their clothing, and also, apparently, their inhibitions. Wet women were kissing in the water, caressing slick breasts and tweaking hard nipples.

I didn't even pause. I pivoted on one foot and turned back the way I had come. I heard footsteps behind me and walked faster, my arms swinging stiffly as my speed increased. I didn't have a plan, I just couldn't believe what I had just seen. So much for being part of the group.

A hand caught my arm and spun me around.

"Adele, stop," Pamela said.

I couldn't meet her gaze, knowing that she had seen what I had seen, that she must have approved of it. Otherwise she surely would have stopped it.

"Pamela, I will take care of this," Hector's voice brought my head up. I saw him standing in the doorway of the barn. Pamela dropped my arm and left, presumably going back to supervise the orgy. I strode towards Hector, ready to give him a piece of my mind.

"Do you know what is going on back there?" I demanded of him. "What kind of retreat is this anyway? I didn't sign up for some kind of sick lesbian orgy!"

He stood his ground in the face of my verbal assault. His calm expression and lack of response killed my momentum. I began to feel silly as he just stood there. I didn't have anything else to say.

"Adele, come inside. I think it would be better to continue this conversation in more private surroundings," he said to me. It seemed perfectly reasonable, and I followed him without thinking. He led me to that shadowy back area in the barn and through a door. The door opened onto a circular stairwell going down. It wound down three or maybe four times before another door led us to a small well-lit room. There were several closed doors, but the center of the room was some kind of couch. A massage table perhaps. Hector sat on one end of it, and gestured me to sit beside him.

I sank into the soft white covering. Where my skin touched it I felt a warm furry caress. Again, a relaxation invaded my mind. Why had I yelled at Hector?

"Adele, there's nothing wrong with releasing sexual tension after an intense night of group therapy. I could see that the mentions of sex made you uncomfortable last night, Adele. I know that you are not quite the same as the other women. Your insomnia doesn't have the same root as theirs," his voice was soothing to me. So reasonable. So right. Every time he said my name I felt warm and special. I hardly noticed as he stood up, moving my body to recline on the fur covered table. He slid my sandals off my feet and I wriggled my toes happily in the fur.

"You need to start by totally relaxing, Adele. I am going to help you relax. I am helping you, Adele," his voice crooned, softer and softer. I had to strain and focus to listen to his words, his important words. He produced furry straps and restrained my wrists and then my ankles. I felt the pressure of the straps, it was okay, because Hector was helping me.

Warmth enveloped my body and I drifted.

"All women are inherently sluts, Adele. You are no different from the others in that respect."

At those words I jerked. I realized that I was tied down. I couldn't move. How had that happened?

"The difference comes about in that your mind rejects your nature," Hector continued, seemingly oblivious to my sudden struggles. "Your mind tries to tell your body that it is not a slut. Your mind is fighting your body, fighting its own inclinations. That is the root cause of your insomnia Adele. You are a slut, and you deny yourself."

"I am not a slut," I mumbled.

He caressed my face and I looked up into his eyes. They were filled with pity.

"Oh, Adele, yes you are. You, like all women, are ruled by this," he placed his warm hand on my crotch. "More than any man, you are ruled by lust."

I wanted to protest again, but at his touch I felt a flash of heat between my legs. I couldn't talk; I couldn't focus. My being was centered on the warmth of his hand.

"I am going to let you think on this, Adele," Hector told me. "I have other things to attend to at the moment."

I lifted my head, and watched him leave the room, leave me bound onto the soft furry table. Panic began to spike in my chest, but it was supplanted by thinking of his words. Was I a slut? Was that why I couldn't sleep? Between my legs I felt myself heat and moisten at the thought that I might be a slut. I don't know how long I laid there, thoughts swirling like molasses through my brain.

Without warning, the door slammed open and Pamela bounced in to my field of vision.

"My turn!" she said. "Oh, here," she said and put what felt like a giant fruit snack in my mouth. It tasted of strawberries, and distracted me for a moment from the fact that she had grabbed a pair of bandage scissors from somewhere. My mouth was too full to protest as she began to snip my clothing off of my body.

I tried to chew faster but it didn't really help. I just ended up with a mouthful of juice in addition to the bolus of chewy fruity sugar. She was tugging my blouse and skort off already and I felt the cool touch of the scissors by the heat of my crotch as she started on the underwear. I tried to twitch out of the way and she scolded me.

"Careful there, Adele! There are safe scissors, but if you move too much I might get you anyway. Don't worry, the fur will feel a whole lot better once your skin is totally bare," she chattered. "Nothing bad is going to happen, Adele! Relax already."

She was right. Once the fur was touching all of my skin I felt deliciously caressed all over. Pamela strapped down my hips and my shoulders. I felt my legs being spread as she manipulated the table somehow. I felt the lack of the fur on my rear and wondered vaguely what she had done.

"I am here to show you something, Adele," Pamela said. She was bustling about the room, but with my shoulders restrained I couldn't life my head to see what she was doing. Then she set up a mirror and I had a view. Another fur covered table filled my field of vision. Pamela laid upon it, naked.

"I was like you Adele. I thought that I wasn't a slut. I fought the idea of being sexual. I hated talking about masturbation. I never used words like 'cunt' and 'cock' and 'fuck.' I drove myself to insomnia because I thought being a slut was a bad, sinful, evil thing," Pamela said. As she spoke she caressed herself. I watched her touch her breasts, cupping them and squeezing them lovingly before teasing her nipples. They were as large as I had suspected now that they were freed from her formless hippie clothes. Her body was all curves. She wasn't fat, but neither was she skinny. A full bodied woman with delicate hands teasing sensation out of every inch of herself. I couldn't look at anything else. I didn't want to.

By the time her hands reached her shaved crotch, I was mesmerized.

"Don't you see, Adele, that this is natural? Submitting to your slut nature is the only cure for your insomnia, but it will also make you happier. It will allow you to become more fully yourself. You need to stop rejecting what you are," she told me. Her voice was becoming more and more breathy as her fingers flicked wetly around her ... clit. She angled herself so that I could see her vaginal opening, her cunt. One hand began to penetrate it. To fuck it. In and out, a smooth rhythm. She continued to speak, but I wasn't listening. My hips tried to twitch in response to the beautiful woman before me about to orgasm, but I couldn't move them much. I was trapped. No sensation touching my ... cunt.

I wanted to feel something besides aching heat throbbing through me, I needed a touch, a caress. My hands pulled at the straps, but they were tight. I couldn't move. Her voice continued to communicate with my subconscious as her orgasm grew nearer. I just watched, absorbed, fascinated, hungry as she went faster and faster.

She came, screaming, liquid squirting out of her cunt, her limbs thrashing. The ache between my legs became painful. A burning pain that only increased as I watched her recover from her massive orgasm. When her breathing was nearly normal, she stood, vanishing from my sight.

Her face reappeared above mine.

"Don't you see Adele? And that was with no vibrator, no cock, no porn. Embracing my slut nature has given unto me the greatest pleasures that I have ever known. You can have them, too," Pamela said. She brought her slick fingers up to her lips and licked them clean. I could smell her pleasure. It only made me ache worse.

"Embrace yourself, Adele. Create harmony within yourself. You'll be able to sleep, and you'll orgasm more and better than you could even imagine right now. Trust me, Adele."

Her earnest eyes bore into mine; the smell of her cunt was making me salivate. I no longer questioned my reactions. I was consumed by a lust like none I had ever felt before. I wanted her to touch me. I wanted her to fuck me.

I had, at some point, finished the fruit snack. I wanted to ask her to touch me, but I couldn't figure out the words. She smiled at me, compassion filling her face.

"Don't worry, Adele. I understand," she said. She leaned down, and kissed me, a brief press of pussy scented lips upon mine.

Then she was gone.

The kiss, if anything, had only sharpened my hunger. I licked my lips, but I could only taste the strawberry goo. I lay there, unable to move, and became reacquainted with my body. I began to understand. My body couldn't be ignored. My body was a slut.

When I thought that word I felt a spike of pleasure that momentarily relieved the ache in my cunt. Yes, that was the way. I had to ... submit to my body. Another spike of pleasure.

"I can see that you have begun to understand, Adele," Hector's voice broke into my thoughts. "Tell me your thoughts."

"My body is a slut," I replied, speaking slowly. I paused at the jag of pleasure those words brought me before continuing. "I have to submit to my slut-body." Another shudder of pleasure rocked me.

"Very good, Adele," Hector told me, and I felt yet more pleasure at his praise. He removed the strap across my hips. "So, Adele, aren't you your body? When I touch your body, am I not touching you?"

He laid a hand on my arm. His hand was hot, and his touch electric. He was right. Touching my body, he was touching me.

"Yes," I sighed. "I am my body."

"What does that make you, Adele?" he asked.

I sighed again happily. Everything was starting to make sense. The ache in my cunt to be filled made perfect sense, because my body was a slut. And I was my body.

"I am a slut," I said proudly. The words brought my hips up as I felt yet more pleasure encompass my being. It was right. He was right. I was a slut. My body needed to be fucked.

Hector undid the strap across my shoulders, leaving only my wrists and ankles restrained. He stepped between my legs and I craned my head up to look at what he was doing. I saw his penis, no, his cock, standing out from his pants, nearly touching me. He began to speak and while some part of me thought that I should look at his face as he spoke, most of me couldn't contemplate looking away from his gorgeous cock. It was a light brown in color, at least 9 inches long, strainingly erect and ready to fuck a slut. A slut like me. I could feel myself get wetter and wetter as my body began to beg for penetration.

"You are different from the other girls, Adele," he told me. "They drank the tea and did not resist the call of their bodies. Though they are sluts as well, you are actually a deeper sort of slut. You can't control your lust once it is released. So you resisted. You have tried for so many years not to give in to your body, but now the call of lust has become stronger than your will to resist."

His hands hovered over my skin as he spoke. I knew I had to listen to the words, that listening would eventually lead to my being fucked. It was hard to concentrate but I knew I had to. Focus. I could feel a heat and a spark where his hands almost touched me, especially when they glided over my cunt.

"Once you completely give in to your slut-self, you won't be able to turn back. More than that, you won't be able to control yourself. This," he finally put his hand over my cunt, cupping it, and my breath shuddered out in a low moan, "will control you utterly."

His hand blocked my view of his cock, so my gaze drifted up to his face. Those trustworthy brown eyes were brimming over with sincerity.

"You won't be safe, Adele. This will lead you to die young and unpleasantly if you totally give yourself over to it." He moved his hand and turned away. "I can't let that happen to you, Adele," he said mournfully. "It would be wrong of me to lead you down that path."

I felt a confused sort of panic bubbling up at the sight of his back. He couldn't leave now. I hadn't been fucked. Sluts should be fucked.

"Help?" I said. I didn't want him to leave. I didn't want to go back to the way I was before. I was a slut now, and I wanted it, craved it, needed to be fucked and filled. "Please?"

He turned back to me, a serious expression on his face now. I could see that his cock had been put away in his pants, but there was a serious bulge hinting at his continuing readiness.

"I can help you, Adele, but you have to really want it. I am going to send Pamela in to explain what we can do for you," he said and left.

My body was sweating, heated and ready to be fucked and the cock was gone. I couldn't touch myself, there was nothing touching my cunt to stimulate me at all. I waited for what felt like forever before Pamela entered the room. She entered quietly, without her usual bounce and I saw an echo of Hector's serious expression in her eyes.

"Adele, I am here to explain your options to you," she said slowly. "There are only two directions that you will be allowed to take from here, for the sake of your own safety. Your first option is to go back to the way that you were. Mr. Mendoza can arrange for you to get a supply of sleeping pills on a regular basis to treat your insomnia, but there will be no cure."

My head was shaking already. I didn't want to be like before. Stressed out and undersexed and not sleeping was not the way I wanted to spend my life, especially now that I knew that I was a slut. She smiled down at me. She was wearing a shapeless shift, which prevented me from seeing the distractions of her breasts. I found myself wanting her to be naked again. Sluts should be naked. And fucked.

"Adele!" her voice broke me from my reverie. "Listen to me. Your second option is to submit to your body, but safely. The only way to submit to your body, your need to be a slut, is to be a slave."

I was having trouble processing anything beyond submitting to my body. I wanted orgasm. I wanted penetration.

"Adele, focus," her voice whipped me back into the present. "The cunt between my legs does not belong to me. Because I am like you, I cannot safely be a slut by myself. In order to be happy, to be a slut, I serve Mr. Mendoza. This is his cunt," she said, touching herself between her legs. "He decides who or what uses it, and when. I am free to be a complete and utter slut, because I don't have to think. He controls this cunt, and this cunt controls me. That is your second choice, Adele. Join me in being a slut-slave."

I blinked up at her. I had a flare of clarity and realized that I had been drugged, but the moment passed and I didn't care anymore. The only thing that I wanted was to be fucked. Just as they had planned, there was only one choice for me.

"Okay," I said, smiling up at her, the ache in me easing slightly at my decision.

"You have to say it, Adele. Tell me what you want to do," Pamela crooned, lowering her face towards mine.

"I want to be a slut. I'll do anything to be a slut," I assured her.

She kissed me.

Her tongue parted my lips, thrusting hard into my mouth. I sucked on her tongue and licked at her mouth. Being kissed so fiercely as I lay bound on a table made me hotter and hotter. I couldn't have imagined such an act twenty four hours ago.

Pamela pulled back.

"I am so happy that you're going to be my sister, Adele," she said. Then she left, practically skipping to the door. Having watched her exit, I didn't notice that Hector had entered another way until he spoke.

"I respect your decision, Adele. I understand that it is a great responsibility that you entrust to me in this matter, and I assure you, I will not let you down. You will be safe," he told me. My hips were thrusting again of their own accord. I just knew that once he fucked me, I would be his slut, and I wanted that so badly now.

He moved to stand between my legs, and I watched hungrily as he pulled out his cock. It was hard, ready and beautiful. I squirmed, trying to reach it, trying to engulf it. He stayed just far enough back to prevent me.

"Be still, Adele," he told me. I relaxed and waited. He stepped in closer and I felt the first touch of his cock on the cunt between my legs. He brushed it over me, teasingly sliding it over my clit and over my slit. I could feel how his cock got wet with the juices my cunt was making.

He just kept going, teasing me, building the ache inside me to a peak that wouldn't spill over into orgasm. Finally I had a breakthrough moment.

"Please?" I breathed. "Please fuck me. Please take my cunt as your own. Please take me. Please?" I continued. The words came to me as natural, the only words that I could have said in this situation. A smile blossomed on his face and I felt a spike of pleasure, not orgasm, but close to a release.

He thrust his cock inside me, filling me up completely as he buried it inside my body. I moaned and shuddered and came once, hard, around it.

As my orgasm retreated, he remained. He was completely still inside me, hard and filling me. Then he began to withdraw, pulling almost all the way out before going back inside at a slow and steady rate. In and out, in and out, his rhythm never wavered.