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Please be advised before reading this story that it

contains adult content and non-consensual acts.

The you of the second-person narrative represents ZoeDrone, who has given

her consent (and expressed her desire) to be presented in the way depicted.

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Your work week has finally ended. The weekend is before you. It won’t be all rest and relaxation. You do have errands and chores to do, and some social obligations to fulfill. But those all begin tomorrow. Tonight is for you and you alone.

The moment you got home, you shed your shoes. You like wearing fashionable boots and high heels to work, knowing without conceit that you look good in them. But nothing beats being barefoot when it comes to comfort. And you’re all about comfort from now until you wake up tomorrow morning.

You take a luxuriously long shower, throw on a brushed cotton nightshirt, and fix yourself a light supper. After you eat, you open a bottle of wine, grab some chocolate, and plop down on the living room sofa. You put your feet up, sip your wine, nibble on the chocolate, and browse through your various streaming services for something to watch.

A sci-fi serial actioner catches your eye. You decide to give it a try. It runs for seven episodes--totally bingeable in one night, if it turns out to be good and you’re willing to stay up late.

By the end of the first episode, you make a determination that, while not amazing, it is decent enough to keep watching. You don’t decide then and there whether you’ll plow through the whole thing this evening. That decision will ultimately come down to the show’s continuing quality vs. how tired you are in a couple of hours vs. how much wine and chocolate you want to ingest.

Into the second episode, the wine has pleasantly soothed away all your troubles from the week. You sigh contentedly. This night with these luxuries is exactly what you needed.

And then the glitch occurs.

Midway through the third episode, the show goes all wonky. The audio crackles. The video wavers and distorts. But then--just as you sit up angrily, plant your feet on the floor, and reach for the remote--it goes back to normal.

What the heck happened? You don’t know. And it didn’t happen during a scene with dialog or action, so you didn’t miss anything. Still, you remain on edge for a little while, waiting to see if it happens again.

After a minute or so with no recurrence, you begin to relax. You let go of the remote. You ease back into your reclined position and put your feet back up. You take another sip of wine. Now you can sigh away the momentary disturbance and get back into the groove of the show.

As it happens, though, the disturbance wasn’t as fleeting as you think it was. The video distortion contained rapidly flashing lights that strobed at just the right frequency to push visual messages into your brain. Similarly, the crackling audio carried hidden aural signals that wormed their way into your mind.

Essentially, the subliminal stimuli induced you into a flash trance and then programmed you over the span of a couple minutes to carry out a simple set of instructions. As soon as they finished, you awoke none the wiser and very much annoyed at the “momentary” glitch that interrupted your viewing experience.

But all of that is behind you now, both what you do and don’t know of what happened. You’ve sighed away the momentary disturbance and gotten back into the groove of the show. And you’ve done so just in time because the best scene out of the three episodes you’ve watched begins to unfold:

It begins with the main heroine getting into an epic mano-a-mano fight against a slew of thugs. She kicks some major ass, but alas, they overpower her in the end. They bind and blindfold her, and then secret her away to a hidden base. There, the main baddie reveals himself to her. He gloats smugly, as the thugs strip her of all weapons, gear, and footwear.

They then transfer her bound, barefoot, and still-struggling form to an impressively imposing chair that sports all manner of high-tech mechanisms and gadgetry. Once she is placed in the seat, embedded restraints immediately lock her in place. The baddie tells her she can either cooperate with him of her own free will, or with her will taken from her.

She tells him where and how he can stick his options.

Nonplussed, the baddie presses an activation button. From behind and above the chair, an object resembling a nightmarish version of a salon hair dryer moves forward and down to cover the top of the heroine’s head. Lights flare up from inside the device, while a rhythmically droning buzz emanates from it.

The heroine’s eyes widen in shock, confusion, and who knows what else. It’s impossible to tell what the cacophony of sights and sounds is doing to her. What you can tell is that she doesn’t want to be where she is, and she doesn’t like whatever is being done to her.

She pushes with all her might against the restraints, while clenching and unclenching her fists and kicking wildly with her bare feet. It is, of course, to no avail. She is held firmly in place and has no choice but to suffer the insidious effects of the ‘hair dryer.’

Half a minute or so passes. The heroine’s struggles slowly diminish and then cease altogether. Her head lolls. Her eyelids droop and then flutter closed. She sighs. The light inside the ‘hair dryer’ mutes and slows to a cadent pulse, as does the buzzing noise. In time with the eerie cadence, the heroine begins muttering, like a sleeper talking during a fitful dream.

At first, you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then the camera–which had previously looked up at her from below, framing her entire body in the shot, with the soles of her feet closest to the viewer–zooms in on her face. Now, her voice can be better heard. Her utterances tell of submission and obedience to the baddie. Over and over she states these forced mantras.

Now you understand what the ‘hair dryer’ actually is: a brainwashing machine. And the heroine has wholly and completely succumbed to it.

The camera zooms back out to show her entire body again. She trembles and twitches, as she murmurs her programmed pledges to the baddie. Her intermittent shaking shows most noticeably in her feet, the soles of which again face the viewer.

Now the baddie re-enters the shot. He deactivates the machine. The ‘hair dryer’ rises up off the heroine’s head and eases backwards into its original position. Then the restraints snap open, releasing her. He commands her to awaken. Her eyes open and stare blankly ahead. He tells her that she is his slave and must do his bidding. She affirms his statements in a slow, monotone drawl.

And then, with suitably dramatic music befitting a cliffhanger, the episode ends.

Wow, you think as the credits roll, that was one hell of a scene! You continue thinking about it, replaying it in your mind. You liked it. You liked it a lot. But more than that, it did something for you.

Really? Some random scene in a not-bad sci-fi show did something for you? No, it couldn’t have. It didn’t. At least, you wouldn’t have thought so. But, yes, actually, it did.

It aroused you, and not just a little bit. It really got you going.

You ponder that for a moment. You take a sip of wine, then another. Then, you pick up the remote. You press rewind. You go back several minutes to the beginning of the fight scene.

And then, without knowing why, you go a little further back. You press play at the point just before the glitch occurred. Just as before, the audio and video go out of whack. Almost immediately, the distortion clears up--at least that is what you perceive happens--and the scene moves on to the heroine engaging in her losing fight against the thugs.

Quickly forgetting about the glitch, you stare enraptured as the heroine is defeated, bound, partially stripped, restrained in the techno-chair, and then brainwashed.

Near the beginning of that sequence, you semi-consciously slip your hands beneath your nightshirt. One takes hold of your breast, while the other finds just the right spot between your legs.

You begin to masturbate. But the scene finishes before you do. So, you rewind again for another rewatch. You find your rhythm, and your pleasure increases more and more as the scene plays out for your third viewing.

This time, just as the brainwashing machine powers down and the restraints unlock, you climax. Your orgasms continue, one after another, again and again, until the heroine professes her mindless enslavement to the baddie.

The credits roll for their final time tonight. But you don’t see them. Your eyes stare blankly ahead, much as the heroine’s did moments ago.

Without thinking, you reach for your nearby phone. You then absently dial a number. It isn’t one you consciously know. But it is one that you unknowingly saw and memorized during your subliminally induced trance.

“Hello?” someone says on the other end of the call.

“My name is Zoe,” you respond. “I am hypnotized. I must do whatever you say.”

The person orders you to tell them your location. Without hesitation, you give them your address. Then they tell you to make sure your front door is unlocked. You acknowledge the instruction, then you get up to carry it out. With the task completed, you head back to your seat on the sofa, saying into the phone what you have just done.

You are then told one last thing. You acknowledge it, then end the call. You put the phone down and your feet up. You sigh and close your eyes. And then, you fall asleep.

You sleep soundly for a long time. Thus, you are oblivious to the opening of your front door some time later. You neither hear approaching footsteps, nor see the people who move to stand ominously over you.

In a way, it might be a good thing that you sleep through all of that and more. You will, after all, need the rest. That is because, just like the brainwashed heroine in the sci-fi show, your ordeal is just beginning.

Not at all the end….