It Can't Be That Strong
Posted: Sun Jan 25, 2026 1:01 am
Kimberly can never be wrong. To win an argument with Vicky, she steps into an off-brand enslavement machine.
--
"It doesn't work. I'm telling you, it doesn't fucking work. How could it?"
Kimberly had that cocky, self-righteous smirk on her face. She got that a lot when she was arguing. Little miss can't-be-wrong. Vicky shook her head.
"What makes you think it does not work?" asked the Indian woman. "It does not look broken. It appears to be in one piece and in serviceable condition." Her British accent and formal word choices made everything she said sound a bit more refined.
"Because this place is out of business. How can a company go out of business if they've got a working enslavement machine? Besides, look at the manufacturer name. SlaivTech? With an 'i'? Have you ever heard of them?"
Vicky shook her head no.
"It's an off-brand. Some knock-off piece of junk. Probably made in third-world shithole somewhere."
Vicky frowned.
"You know what I mean. It's gotta be a piece of junk. If it wasn't, they wouldn't have left it here. They'd have sold it when the company went under."
That was a good point, Vicky had to admit. Except she didn't. She couldn't admit it, not to Kimberly. Not when the other woman was acting like this.
"Well I think it might work," said Vicky flatly. "I certainly would not get inside of that thing. Who knows what the consequences could be? It is very risky. I would not do it for a million dollars."
Kimberly laughed.
The two women ran a small property management company. Well, technically Kimberly owned the company and Vicky was the general manager. KimCo Property Rentals had another half dozen office employees, but none had come out on this particular trip.
The object of their current discussion was in the back room of an empty store in a strip mall. The place had been one of those cheapo fly-by-night enslavement operations, a little bit shady. Kim had seen their kind before, and she wouldn't have rented them the space except this particular strip mall wasn't exactly in the best part of town, and she had a hard time keeping the spaces filled.
"These places are all the same. They do voluntary enslavements for trailer park people, and debt enslavements for small claims court. For two hundred and fifty dollars, Bubba brings his girlfriend in and she becomes his real official slave for the next six months. All legal and everything. They shoot her up with some horny juice, lock a dog collar on her, and give her some long-lasting slut makeup. You know, the stuff that doesn't wear off for like a year? Then he takes his little tramp home and fucks the shit out of her."
Kimberly was mostly talking to herself, explaining how right she was as she poked through all the boxes of material that had been left in the storeroom. Vicky was somewhere behind her, probably not listening.
"Or somebody owes a thousand bucks and gets sued in small claims. Any reputable enslavement operation will charge more than that. Or they'll give you a bargain rate and then take a bigger cut on the sales price. But who is gonna bid even a thousand bucks on some fifty year old housewife with a big fat ass? So places like this will do it for a hundred bucks. Horny juice, dog collar, slut makeup. And she ends up sold to some roadside whorehouse for a year or two. These are volume places. But there's definitely a market for it."
Vicky continued to stare at the machine. It really didn't match the description that Kimberly was giving. It was obviously an off-brand, but it looked well put together. It looked too real to be taken so lightly.
"So why would they have this device, if they operate as you say?" asked Vicky. "They would not need such a machine if they are simply injecting some unfortunate with horny juice, and painting their face with whore makeup."
Kim stopped digging through a cardboard box and turned to look over her shoulder. Apparently Vicky was listening, after all.
"Probably a gimmick. Charge the customer extra, maybe? But clearly it doesn't work, because they went out of business. Those bottom-dollar places can make good money. These guys were here barely longer than a year." Kim resumed her inventory. Since they hadn't paid rent in the last two months, everything that had been left behind belonged to the property company. In other words, to her. At least some of this crap might be worth selling at auction.
After a long silence, Vicky spoke. "I do not believe it. This machine frightens me. I do not wish to be in the same room with it."
Kimberly sighed, and threw her clipboard onto a folding table.
"I told you it doesn't fucking work."
Vicky looked at her like she was a spoiled child, and shook her head. "Miss Moore, I believe you are exaggerating your knowledge of these things. I know that you are a good businesswoman, but you handle commercial property rentals. This..." she held her hands out to the machine and waved them around, as if to indicate the entirety of the thing.
"This device is beyond your area of expertise. And mine as well. You and I do not know of such things. We are not educated in matters of technology and *enslavement machines.* You should bring in someone who can verify that this equipment is safe for us to be near."
Kimberly stared at the older woman, amazed by her naivety. Vicky was 45, about ten years older than Kim herself. Pretty, but very reserved. Dowdy. The word was dowdy. But surely she hadn't always been a middle aged librarian, right? Enslavement technology wasn't exactly highly classified material. There was stuff all over the internet about it.
"How do you know that this will not activate with us simply nearby? Transform the both of us into these, these roadside whores you mention?" Vicky was edging back towards the storeroom door.
Kimberly broke into laughter. "Vicky! Vicky look, it's not even plugged in!" Kimberly picked up the power cord and waved it in the air.
Seeing that, the Indian woman breathed a sigh of relief. Her shoulders relaxed, and she set about the business of cataloguing everything in the back room. She ate half a sandwich as she went, a working lunch. But her thoughts didn't leave the large machine that sat ominously in the center of the floor.
"I still think you should have an expert inspect that... that device," Vicky said after half an hour had gone by. "Perhaps it is valuable, and worth something significant. We are counting reams of printer paper and toiletries, and here is a machine that could fetch hundreds of thousands of dollars if it is in quality condition."
The truth was, despite her dowdy exterior, Vicky was titillated by the contraption. And to the contrary of Kimberly's assumptions, Vicky had read quite a bit about these machines. Yes, most of her reading was of the naughty story variety, which wasn't necessarily all that technically accurate, but she had looked into them enough to know that the purported capabilities of those devices were not wholly fictional.
It was the size of a commercial refrigerator, with a large glass window in the front so that you could look inside as the machine performed its function on the individual trapped within. What would it be like to be enslaved? To be forced to follow the commands of another? Your libido skyrocketing out of control? She squeezed her thighs together. It had been quite some time since she had been with a man. No, she was not the sexless middle aged librarian that others saw, but she preferred to keep her professional life separate from personal.
If only she had had a personal life lately.
Kimberly turned and glared at her. While Vicky was her friend, she was also her employee. Her best employee, but an employee nonetheless. And if there was one thing Kimberly hated, it was being second guessed when she 100% knew what she was talking about. Which was most of the time, honestly.
"You're not going to shut up about this, are you?" Kim asked. "Look, *I guarantee you* that this thing doesn't work at all. I have rented to higher end enslavement companies, and THIS is not what those machines look like. It's fake. No ifs, ands, or buts."
Vicky opened her mouth to respond, and Kimberly interrupted her.
"You want me to prove it? You want me to prove it? Here." She walked over and plugged in the machine. The interior lit up, and a whirring sound could now be heard within, almost like an air conditioning unit.
"It's all showmanship, Vicky. Like a magician that saws a lady in half. They put somebody in here, a bunch of lights flash, some smoke billows around in there or something. And when they come out, it's horny juice, dog collar, slut makeup. I'm 100% certain."
"You want me to prove it? Here, I'll get in. Go ahead and activate it. It won't do anything." Kimberly walked over and opened the front door of the machine. The inside was white molded plastic, a contoured chair with thick Velcro straps for a person's arms and legs.
"But what if there is something more? An aspect that you have not accounted for? What if it has one of those hypnosis screens inside?" Vicky had an image of Kimberly sitting in the chair, eyes vacant, mouth slack, colored lights dancing across her face. Her breathing became more shallow and she started to perspire. Vicky was not a lesbian, at least she didn't think so, but her boss was a very attractive woman. And as people said, enslavement transcends orientation. Slaves aren't gay or straight, they are simply slaves.
"So what if it does? Look, look here it is." Kimberly pointed to a flatscreen panel on the inside of the door, mounted just above the glass window. "This is just a regular TV. No super technology. Even if they have some spiral display, come on. *It can't be that strong.*"
"Kimberly, you are my friend. If I were you, I would not tempt fate as you do. I would not risk my freedom and the contents of my mind upon such a gamble. These machines, they are designed to overcome the willpower of even the strongest woman, to exert control at the deepest level. Do not do this."
Kimberly just shook her head, and then climbed inside the machine. She sat down in the molded plastic chair and looked at Vicky.
"Go on, close the door and turn it on. I'll prove it right this fucking second."
Kim certainly *seemed* confident. But Vicky recognized one thing wrong, and she smiled.
"You aren't completely sure, are you? You got in with all your clothes. Are you not supposed to be naked when you enter?" There was no way. Kim was as hard-headed as they come, but there was no way she would...
And then Kimberly was taking off all her clothes. She hopped out of the machine and began stripping out her shoes, her jeans, and the checkerboard flannel shirt she had worn. Kim really was an attractive woman. Long brown hair. Short, only about 5'3", with big wide hips and absolutely enormous breasts. Vicky, who was quite slender, was actually very jealous of her friend's figure. She understood what Kim's two ex-husbands had seen in her. She also understood why they were the stubborn woman's *ex*-husbands. Kim could never ever, under any circumstances, be wrong.
The now-naked woman turned and climbed back into the chair. She slid her feet down through the Velcro loops, and did the same with her hands.
"Oh, I'm not confident? I'm not sure? Close the door and turn it on. I told you, this thing won't fucking work." Kimberly smirked in triumph.
Sighing, Vicky closed the door. There were some dials on the front, like in some of the stories she had read. Hypnosis, Arousal Control, Obedience, and several others. She turned the dials, fascinated. Vicky could no longer deny that she was *extremely* aroused. Had she baited Kim? She didn't think so, but was she sure?
"Hey as much as this thing doesn't work, I think we should call it The Vicky. That'll show just what a waste of ti..."
Vicky hit the large red power button. Kim's words died in her throat.
It was just like in her imagination. Kimberly sat in the chair, colored lights dancing across her face. The woman's eyes were glassy, and her mouth hung open. A long trickle of drool ran from the corner of her mouth, down her chin, and slowly dripped onto one of her huge tits.
The window was big enough you could see Kim from the waist up. The flash of colors was beautiful. Reds and blues and purples and greens, and colors she couldn't describe. Vicky watched as they made art across Kimberly's body, and reflected in her eyes. Vicky watched for a while.
She jerked out of it with a start. How long had she been staring at Kimberly? Had the machine hypnotized her too? Part of her was afraid it had. Vicky reached into her pants and found she was soaking. She glanced down and saw a damp spot on her jeans, right between her legs.
'But if I can turn away and not stare at it, I'm not that hypnotized, am I?' she justified. Vicky purposefully looked down at the ground. She walked over to the front door of the machine, grabbed the handle, and yanked.
It was locked. Vicky pulled again. The door did not open.
"Well Kim, it looks like you're in there for the duration. I hope it was worth it." The thought of unplugging the machine never entered Vicky's mind.
She went over and sat in a chair, and waited. She looked down at her phone to respond to an email, but before she had finished typing, the colors caught her eye. Vicky's gaze rose and she found herself staring into Kimberly's eyes. There was a beautiful pattern flashing there, so deep that it seemed to pull you in. Reflections of infinity captured her.
Vicky watched the process. Sometimes she would jerk awake, and would idly wonder how long she had zoned out for.
And then she would wonder what was being so deeply written into her friend's mind. Vicky's body was alive with need. Her nipples hard as rocks, her skin tingly with sensation, and between her legs she was melting. Vicky resisted the urge to masturbate. Every part of her wanted to just hike up her gray tweed skirt and plunge her hand down her panties. But she knew she wasn't *supposed* to do that. Wasn't *allowed* to do that. And then the colors would reflect off of Kimberly's empty, vacant eyes and Vicky would lose her train of thought again.
Some time later, the cycle stopped. It was very dark outside now. Vicky stood in front of the booth, waiting for Kim's release. She was antsy, squirming. What had happened to her friend in there? Was she still a friend, or was she... something else?
Vicky had no awareness that her own clothes had long since been discarded. The dowdy gray tweed business suit lay thrown into a corner. Her thighs were slick with her arousal, and more than anything she needed to masturbate. Instead, Vicky waited. It would be better if she waited.
The door to the machine cracked open on its own, and a hissing sound filled the room. A few moments passed and then the door slowly swung open. A thought drifted through Vicky's mind, then left as soon as it came. Kimberly had been right about one thing, at least. The business woman's face was completely plastered in whore makeup.
Kimberly stepped out of the pod. Vicky looked down and saw her friend was leaking like a faucet. Then her gaze shifted and she saw the emptiness of the pod. Blank white plastic, and a place where her arms and feet should go. The colors danced in her eyes, and her cunt throbbed.
--
"It doesn't work. I'm telling you, it doesn't fucking work. How could it?"
Kimberly had that cocky, self-righteous smirk on her face. She got that a lot when she was arguing. Little miss can't-be-wrong. Vicky shook her head.
"What makes you think it does not work?" asked the Indian woman. "It does not look broken. It appears to be in one piece and in serviceable condition." Her British accent and formal word choices made everything she said sound a bit more refined.
"Because this place is out of business. How can a company go out of business if they've got a working enslavement machine? Besides, look at the manufacturer name. SlaivTech? With an 'i'? Have you ever heard of them?"
Vicky shook her head no.
"It's an off-brand. Some knock-off piece of junk. Probably made in third-world shithole somewhere."
Vicky frowned.
"You know what I mean. It's gotta be a piece of junk. If it wasn't, they wouldn't have left it here. They'd have sold it when the company went under."
That was a good point, Vicky had to admit. Except she didn't. She couldn't admit it, not to Kimberly. Not when the other woman was acting like this.
"Well I think it might work," said Vicky flatly. "I certainly would not get inside of that thing. Who knows what the consequences could be? It is very risky. I would not do it for a million dollars."
Kimberly laughed.
The two women ran a small property management company. Well, technically Kimberly owned the company and Vicky was the general manager. KimCo Property Rentals had another half dozen office employees, but none had come out on this particular trip.
The object of their current discussion was in the back room of an empty store in a strip mall. The place had been one of those cheapo fly-by-night enslavement operations, a little bit shady. Kim had seen their kind before, and she wouldn't have rented them the space except this particular strip mall wasn't exactly in the best part of town, and she had a hard time keeping the spaces filled.
"These places are all the same. They do voluntary enslavements for trailer park people, and debt enslavements for small claims court. For two hundred and fifty dollars, Bubba brings his girlfriend in and she becomes his real official slave for the next six months. All legal and everything. They shoot her up with some horny juice, lock a dog collar on her, and give her some long-lasting slut makeup. You know, the stuff that doesn't wear off for like a year? Then he takes his little tramp home and fucks the shit out of her."
Kimberly was mostly talking to herself, explaining how right she was as she poked through all the boxes of material that had been left in the storeroom. Vicky was somewhere behind her, probably not listening.
"Or somebody owes a thousand bucks and gets sued in small claims. Any reputable enslavement operation will charge more than that. Or they'll give you a bargain rate and then take a bigger cut on the sales price. But who is gonna bid even a thousand bucks on some fifty year old housewife with a big fat ass? So places like this will do it for a hundred bucks. Horny juice, dog collar, slut makeup. And she ends up sold to some roadside whorehouse for a year or two. These are volume places. But there's definitely a market for it."
Vicky continued to stare at the machine. It really didn't match the description that Kimberly was giving. It was obviously an off-brand, but it looked well put together. It looked too real to be taken so lightly.
"So why would they have this device, if they operate as you say?" asked Vicky. "They would not need such a machine if they are simply injecting some unfortunate with horny juice, and painting their face with whore makeup."
Kim stopped digging through a cardboard box and turned to look over her shoulder. Apparently Vicky was listening, after all.
"Probably a gimmick. Charge the customer extra, maybe? But clearly it doesn't work, because they went out of business. Those bottom-dollar places can make good money. These guys were here barely longer than a year." Kim resumed her inventory. Since they hadn't paid rent in the last two months, everything that had been left behind belonged to the property company. In other words, to her. At least some of this crap might be worth selling at auction.
After a long silence, Vicky spoke. "I do not believe it. This machine frightens me. I do not wish to be in the same room with it."
Kimberly sighed, and threw her clipboard onto a folding table.
"I told you it doesn't fucking work."
Vicky looked at her like she was a spoiled child, and shook her head. "Miss Moore, I believe you are exaggerating your knowledge of these things. I know that you are a good businesswoman, but you handle commercial property rentals. This..." she held her hands out to the machine and waved them around, as if to indicate the entirety of the thing.
"This device is beyond your area of expertise. And mine as well. You and I do not know of such things. We are not educated in matters of technology and *enslavement machines.* You should bring in someone who can verify that this equipment is safe for us to be near."
Kimberly stared at the older woman, amazed by her naivety. Vicky was 45, about ten years older than Kim herself. Pretty, but very reserved. Dowdy. The word was dowdy. But surely she hadn't always been a middle aged librarian, right? Enslavement technology wasn't exactly highly classified material. There was stuff all over the internet about it.
"How do you know that this will not activate with us simply nearby? Transform the both of us into these, these roadside whores you mention?" Vicky was edging back towards the storeroom door.
Kimberly broke into laughter. "Vicky! Vicky look, it's not even plugged in!" Kimberly picked up the power cord and waved it in the air.
Seeing that, the Indian woman breathed a sigh of relief. Her shoulders relaxed, and she set about the business of cataloguing everything in the back room. She ate half a sandwich as she went, a working lunch. But her thoughts didn't leave the large machine that sat ominously in the center of the floor.
"I still think you should have an expert inspect that... that device," Vicky said after half an hour had gone by. "Perhaps it is valuable, and worth something significant. We are counting reams of printer paper and toiletries, and here is a machine that could fetch hundreds of thousands of dollars if it is in quality condition."
The truth was, despite her dowdy exterior, Vicky was titillated by the contraption. And to the contrary of Kimberly's assumptions, Vicky had read quite a bit about these machines. Yes, most of her reading was of the naughty story variety, which wasn't necessarily all that technically accurate, but she had looked into them enough to know that the purported capabilities of those devices were not wholly fictional.
It was the size of a commercial refrigerator, with a large glass window in the front so that you could look inside as the machine performed its function on the individual trapped within. What would it be like to be enslaved? To be forced to follow the commands of another? Your libido skyrocketing out of control? She squeezed her thighs together. It had been quite some time since she had been with a man. No, she was not the sexless middle aged librarian that others saw, but she preferred to keep her professional life separate from personal.
If only she had had a personal life lately.
Kimberly turned and glared at her. While Vicky was her friend, she was also her employee. Her best employee, but an employee nonetheless. And if there was one thing Kimberly hated, it was being second guessed when she 100% knew what she was talking about. Which was most of the time, honestly.
"You're not going to shut up about this, are you?" Kim asked. "Look, *I guarantee you* that this thing doesn't work at all. I have rented to higher end enslavement companies, and THIS is not what those machines look like. It's fake. No ifs, ands, or buts."
Vicky opened her mouth to respond, and Kimberly interrupted her.
"You want me to prove it? You want me to prove it? Here." She walked over and plugged in the machine. The interior lit up, and a whirring sound could now be heard within, almost like an air conditioning unit.
"It's all showmanship, Vicky. Like a magician that saws a lady in half. They put somebody in here, a bunch of lights flash, some smoke billows around in there or something. And when they come out, it's horny juice, dog collar, slut makeup. I'm 100% certain."
"You want me to prove it? Here, I'll get in. Go ahead and activate it. It won't do anything." Kimberly walked over and opened the front door of the machine. The inside was white molded plastic, a contoured chair with thick Velcro straps for a person's arms and legs.
"But what if there is something more? An aspect that you have not accounted for? What if it has one of those hypnosis screens inside?" Vicky had an image of Kimberly sitting in the chair, eyes vacant, mouth slack, colored lights dancing across her face. Her breathing became more shallow and she started to perspire. Vicky was not a lesbian, at least she didn't think so, but her boss was a very attractive woman. And as people said, enslavement transcends orientation. Slaves aren't gay or straight, they are simply slaves.
"So what if it does? Look, look here it is." Kimberly pointed to a flatscreen panel on the inside of the door, mounted just above the glass window. "This is just a regular TV. No super technology. Even if they have some spiral display, come on. *It can't be that strong.*"
"Kimberly, you are my friend. If I were you, I would not tempt fate as you do. I would not risk my freedom and the contents of my mind upon such a gamble. These machines, they are designed to overcome the willpower of even the strongest woman, to exert control at the deepest level. Do not do this."
Kimberly just shook her head, and then climbed inside the machine. She sat down in the molded plastic chair and looked at Vicky.
"Go on, close the door and turn it on. I'll prove it right this fucking second."
Kim certainly *seemed* confident. But Vicky recognized one thing wrong, and she smiled.
"You aren't completely sure, are you? You got in with all your clothes. Are you not supposed to be naked when you enter?" There was no way. Kim was as hard-headed as they come, but there was no way she would...
And then Kimberly was taking off all her clothes. She hopped out of the machine and began stripping out her shoes, her jeans, and the checkerboard flannel shirt she had worn. Kim really was an attractive woman. Long brown hair. Short, only about 5'3", with big wide hips and absolutely enormous breasts. Vicky, who was quite slender, was actually very jealous of her friend's figure. She understood what Kim's two ex-husbands had seen in her. She also understood why they were the stubborn woman's *ex*-husbands. Kim could never ever, under any circumstances, be wrong.
The now-naked woman turned and climbed back into the chair. She slid her feet down through the Velcro loops, and did the same with her hands.
"Oh, I'm not confident? I'm not sure? Close the door and turn it on. I told you, this thing won't fucking work." Kimberly smirked in triumph.
Sighing, Vicky closed the door. There were some dials on the front, like in some of the stories she had read. Hypnosis, Arousal Control, Obedience, and several others. She turned the dials, fascinated. Vicky could no longer deny that she was *extremely* aroused. Had she baited Kim? She didn't think so, but was she sure?
"Hey as much as this thing doesn't work, I think we should call it The Vicky. That'll show just what a waste of ti..."
Vicky hit the large red power button. Kim's words died in her throat.
It was just like in her imagination. Kimberly sat in the chair, colored lights dancing across her face. The woman's eyes were glassy, and her mouth hung open. A long trickle of drool ran from the corner of her mouth, down her chin, and slowly dripped onto one of her huge tits.
The window was big enough you could see Kim from the waist up. The flash of colors was beautiful. Reds and blues and purples and greens, and colors she couldn't describe. Vicky watched as they made art across Kimberly's body, and reflected in her eyes. Vicky watched for a while.
She jerked out of it with a start. How long had she been staring at Kimberly? Had the machine hypnotized her too? Part of her was afraid it had. Vicky reached into her pants and found she was soaking. She glanced down and saw a damp spot on her jeans, right between her legs.
'But if I can turn away and not stare at it, I'm not that hypnotized, am I?' she justified. Vicky purposefully looked down at the ground. She walked over to the front door of the machine, grabbed the handle, and yanked.
It was locked. Vicky pulled again. The door did not open.
"Well Kim, it looks like you're in there for the duration. I hope it was worth it." The thought of unplugging the machine never entered Vicky's mind.
She went over and sat in a chair, and waited. She looked down at her phone to respond to an email, but before she had finished typing, the colors caught her eye. Vicky's gaze rose and she found herself staring into Kimberly's eyes. There was a beautiful pattern flashing there, so deep that it seemed to pull you in. Reflections of infinity captured her.
Vicky watched the process. Sometimes she would jerk awake, and would idly wonder how long she had zoned out for.
And then she would wonder what was being so deeply written into her friend's mind. Vicky's body was alive with need. Her nipples hard as rocks, her skin tingly with sensation, and between her legs she was melting. Vicky resisted the urge to masturbate. Every part of her wanted to just hike up her gray tweed skirt and plunge her hand down her panties. But she knew she wasn't *supposed* to do that. Wasn't *allowed* to do that. And then the colors would reflect off of Kimberly's empty, vacant eyes and Vicky would lose her train of thought again.
Some time later, the cycle stopped. It was very dark outside now. Vicky stood in front of the booth, waiting for Kim's release. She was antsy, squirming. What had happened to her friend in there? Was she still a friend, or was she... something else?
Vicky had no awareness that her own clothes had long since been discarded. The dowdy gray tweed business suit lay thrown into a corner. Her thighs were slick with her arousal, and more than anything she needed to masturbate. Instead, Vicky waited. It would be better if she waited.
The door to the machine cracked open on its own, and a hissing sound filled the room. A few moments passed and then the door slowly swung open. A thought drifted through Vicky's mind, then left as soon as it came. Kimberly had been right about one thing, at least. The business woman's face was completely plastered in whore makeup.
Kimberly stepped out of the pod. Vicky looked down and saw her friend was leaking like a faucet. Then her gaze shifted and she saw the emptiness of the pod. Blank white plastic, and a place where her arms and feet should go. The colors danced in her eyes, and her cunt throbbed.
