They found the last escapee behind a barn, out on an abandoned farm half a mile away from the compound. She did a good job of hiding, but her moans gave her away–it was five o’clock when they began searching, and at six she began to masturbate as per her conditioning. She managed to resist reciting her mantras while she rubbed her pussy, an impressive enough feat in and of itself, but she wasn’t strong enough to fight off the secondary imperatives on top of that. Within minutes, she was giving the kind of impressive, enthusiastic vocal performance that the Management programmed her to give, and they tracked her down within moments.

When they found her, she was sitting with her back against an old piece of sheet metal, her eyes closed and her mouth open in a cry of pleasure. She was dressed–that explained a lot to the Head of Acquisitions, access to clothing was strictly controlled during the conditioning process for that very reason–but she’d pulled aside her panties to give her fingers full access to her slick, hungry cunt. She didn’t notice their approach; the combination of overwhelming arousal and the constant undertow of her programming had forced her to retreat into her own head to maintain even a semblance of self-control. It was easy to get the helmet on her. She probably never even opened her eyes.

Nobody was particularly concerned by the escape attempt, although Acquisitions did order a comprehensive review of security procedures in order to avoid a repeat. Despite its name, the compound was never really intended to be an inescapable fortress or a maximum-security prison with high stone walls and guard towers. That kind of thing attracted attention, even situated miles away from any city on land that the Company bought and allowed to go fallow. These days, any nutbag with free time could pull up satellite photos. The Company put its trust in the prison of the mind, instead.

It worked perfectly. Out of the thirteen escape attempts they’d experienced since the conditioning program was instituted, three were only notional–two women and one man, each reporting to the security office to explain in detail their plans for sabotaging their neural reprogramming helmets in order to make the hypnotic strobes easier to resist. A further four ended before the search could even mobilize, with the brainwashed slaves returning voluntarily to the compound and apologizing for their disobedience.

The old farm generally marked the furthest point that any escapee ever managed to reach; they made it to what looked like a place of safety, their confused and groggy minds needed a rest to before they could try to make plans, and usually the urge for either sleep or sexual pleasure did the rest. In many ways, the Company was glad to see people trying to escape–when the strongest-willed people self-selected themselves for extra treatment, it became a lot easier to ensure that they wouldn’t break their conditioning at a later, much more inconvenient time. The woman behind the barn might have thought she was resisting, but she was really only helping the Management refine their technique.

She was rewarded the same way all the other escapees got rewarded. A special place in Sub-Basement 13, extra restraints to keep her all snug and cozy, and the personal attention of the Head of Acquisitions. Every night, for as long as she needed, until she understood that good girls got with the program and obeyed. It only took a few days before she got the message, but they kept her in Intensive Training for a solid week. The Company might not have been concerned… but they were very thorough.

(Like this flash fiction? Want to see more? Visit https://www.patreon.com/Jukebox, or drop me a tip at https://ko-fi.com/jukebox!)