AMATEUR XXX STORIES
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ABSOLUTE camera was slowly pulling back
This is an adult story, including sexual
situations among women, including dominance, submission,
and mind control. If such things offend you, please read no
further. Reading is a voluntary act. Parents, take
responsibility for your children.
(c)2001 Sara H
This is posted by kind permission of the author. Do
not post elsewhere, in part or in whole, without the
express permission of Sara H.
***********************************
Inspirations: As usual, trilby else. Also, thanks to Iago
for inspiring, at least in part, the title of the story,
and to Tabico and Hecate for inspiring certain elements,
and some places I would never have gone on my own.
Additional Note: This may get a bit squickier at one
point than many of you are accustomed to from me. Fair
warning.
- Sara
***********************************
Absolute
by Sara H
Categories: FF, F-DOM, MC, NC, HUM
***********************************
PART ONE
The strobing lights slowed and finally stopped. The
headphones faded to silence. The drugs, however, continued
their steady drip into the bloodstream of the woman
sitting in the reclined leather seat.
The woman lying on the table to her side was receiving a
massage. She turned her head to look for a moment at the
lovely flaxen-haired agent who was staring blankly ahead.
She was sure the beautiful woman was still seeing the
swirling patterns of lights and hearing the instructions
repeating in her head. They had done their work, and the
drugs merely caused her synapses to trigger the events over
and over as the technology infesting her brain made itself
at home even more at home.
After nearly an hour, the agent screamed as her body
violently clenched into a fetal coil, eyes closing in what
appeared to be intense pain, but which the woman watching
knew was pleasure beyond comprehension. After what seemed
like an eternity, the agent uncurled, body relaxing and
falling back to its previous position, eyes forward, wide
and unblinking.
Her unseen companion, massage long since finished, turned
to watch the display with a look of amused triumph in her
eyes. "We have finished the final calibration and testing
of your ceramic intra-cerebral matrix. Now tell me... for
what purpose do you exist, slave?" she asked from the
table. Her voice was soft and relaxed, free of stress.
"To further the cause of the Sapphic Front, however it
sees fit. To pleasure you, this slave's Goddess and Owner,
Mistress Tamara, sexually, domestically, and
professionally."
"How do you feel about your Mistress?"
"Obedience to you is this slave's sole purpose. Loving you
is her only possibility. Submitting to your will is her
most important task. Your words and will are beyond this
slave's ability to question, Mistress."
"And your reward?"
"Ever increasing levels of pleasure, which bring greater
levels of surrender, which bring greater levels of
obedience, Mistress." Agent McClanahan moaned, as if to
punctuate her statement.
"What is your Sapphic Front Obedience Level?"
"Level twenty-five, Mistress."
"Delta Epsilon Four Alpha Three. Do you still wish to
dismantle the Sapphic Front, Agent McClanahan?"
"Yes," answered the wide-eyed woman. Her voice was still
relaxed. She sounded very matter-of-fact.
"You would never do anything for them, would you? Nothing
that they commanded?"
"No. I despise the organization and all that it stands
for. I will break it before I'm through."
"Yes, I'm sure. Alpha Rho Six One Eight Three Omicron.
What level are you operating on?"
"Agency Loyalty Level Six."
"Do you know the access code to Sapphic Front Obedience
Level Three?"
"No."
"Level Twenty?"
"No."
"Beta Three Eight Nine One Pi. Do you know what a Sapphic
Front Obedience Level is?"
"No."
"Do you know what an Agency Loyalty Level is?"
"No."
"Tell me about Operating Levels."
"I don't understand."
"What level are you operating on?"
"I don't understand."
"Of course you don't. There are no such things, are there?"
"No."
"I haven't been here tonight, have I?"
"No."
"What is a ceramic intra-cerebral matrix?"
"I don't know."
"And you've already forgotten that I asked, haven't you?"
"Asked what?"
"Never mind. This is, at most, a silly dream not worth
remembering, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"But it will inspire your actions, regardless?"
"Yes."
"You've been investigating a dead end, haven't you?"
"Yes, a dead end."
"Tell me about the investigation."
"I was investigating you, Dr. Tamara Morgan. You were
suspected of being a key player in a criminal group
attempting to create brainwashed intelligence moles."
"How were you given my name?"
"We were given information by an informant. As a
psychiatrist you fit one of several likely profiles."
"What did you find?"
"We were given false information by the informant."
"And what is the penalty for giving misleading information
to the Agency in matters of this gravity?"
"Prosecution. Five to ten years in a federal prison and a
500,000 dollar fine."
"And what is the penalty for giving you misleading
information?"
"Bringing her to you, Dr. Morgan, for correctional therapy."
"And you will accomplish this how?"
"By pointing out the need for extensive therapy due to a
delusional frame of mind."
"Excellent, Agent McClanahan. I'll help in any way I can,
of course. I'm very glad we had this opportunity to deepen
our mutual understanding."
"You have my gratitude, Dr. Morgan."
The woman rose from the table and leaned over the sexy
agent. She had a moment of regret as she thought of the fun
they could have, Mistress and slave, if she were only to
stay here awhile longer. But there would be time for that
later. Right now, she had work to do. And so did her
recruit.
"Time for us to part, my dear. You have done very well.
Kappa Gamma Five Three Omega Two."
The woman left the room. Assistants removed the IVs, and
folded the massage table. They packed the lights and sound
equipment. Then they left, too. Agent Patricia "Patsy"
McClanahan was left sleeping in her living room, having
fallen asleep watching TV. She would awaken in the morning,
and never notice anything amiss, or see or feel the needle
marks in her arms.
She would not know that she was a sexual slave to the head
of the organization she had fought to destroy for the last
four years. She would not remember the hundreds of
clandestine hours spent over the last six months as she was
molded and calibrated into complete obedience, a hopelessly
loyal traitor, in love with her captor, bound and sealed to
her scent, voice, and will for the rest of her days.
It would never even occur to her.
At least, not for the time being.
***********************************
Natalie Koranski made her way through the corridors of
files, walking carefully under the sparse lighting. Despite
the security the Agency provided, she always felt a little
intimidated by the musty smell of papers and the
darkness that, for her, always held a hint of
claustrophobia.
High tech notwithstanding, the archives had information
that was best found by a slow and tedious search. "*Maybe
it's the speed,*" she mused, "*that gives more time for the
information to ferment and bubble up to the surface.*" This
was where she and her partner of seven years, Patsy
McClanahan, could be found many nights as they tried to
piece together the bits of data that formed a pattern in
whatever case they were handling.
They had been handling the fight to dismantle the Sapphic
Front for just over four years, ever since Senator Alfred
Geoghegan's had been abducted and brainwashed into
a fervent political spy for the shadowy organization. Her
fate, a life of hopeless, insane sexual craving in an
exclusive and classified asylum, had never made the press,
much less to the Senator's ears.
It was easier and infinitely more humane to let him
believe she had died -- real mind control was still a myth
in the all but the highest levels of security clearance,
even though it had been around for decades, slowly being
honed into an exact science. So far, the Roswell
misinformation campaign had kept most of the attention
directed towards a faux cover-up. The memories of those
unlucky enough to figure out the truth were eliminated.
Or they were recruited, if appropriate.
Natalie had found the truth. In addition, she had been
clever enough to escape the Agency memory wipe. That had
made her an ideal choice as an agent candidate. It had
taken some time to find and talk to her, but they had, and
the logic of their arguments had won her over. "If mind
control exists," they had said, "better to live within an
ethical organization than fall prey to a less scrupulous
enemy."
After being shown the real-world, documented uses of mind
control, Natalie had decided they were right.
Patsy was recruited for a far different reason. She had
been a brilliant student, doing post-graduate research in
the area of the physical-psychological link. Her work was
impeccable. It was a matter of chance that she had needed a
little extra money, and had signed up for a study being run
by a colleague who happened to be a covert operative for
the Agency.
It was discovered that she had not been susceptible to any
known mind control techniques. She seemed to go under, to
be completely pliable, and then -- she would awaken,
recover, and would be free of any of the commands and
conditioning she had received. They had pushed the limits
of technical knowledge, and she had come through totally
unscathed.
She had joined the Agency at the same time as Natalie, and
the two of them had become the rising stars. They worked
together as a nearly perfect couplet, and had made so many
arrests and gathered so much information that they found
themselves set to possibly head the entire operation within
a few more years.
But neither woman focused on that ambition. For now, they
were out to dismantle and destroy the Sapphic Front, an
organization nearly as clandestine as the Agency itself.
Unlike other cases they had taken, their victories had
been few, and in the last year, they had decided to move to
the case full time. It was the only way they were ever
going to make progress. Up until the fiasco with Linda
Chilton, their first informant in the case, it seemed to be
working.
Natalie turned a corner and almost fell over Patsy, who
was sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of paper.
"Jesus H., Patsy, you'd think you could be a little more
careful about where you plop down!" she said, smiling.
"And you could watch where you're going, couldn't you?"
answered Patsy, helping her friend steady herself.
"The Director was asking about you," said Natalie,
changing the subject.
Patsy frowned. "Now what?"
"Don't worry, it's not that bad. He wants me to take Linda
Chilton to the hospital instead of you. He's not entirely
convinced about Dr. Morgan. It's not that he doesn't trust
you. It's just that I'm a little sneakier than you when I'm
snooping around. I told him it was unnecessary, but he'd
already made up his mind."
Natalie paused for a moment, considering. "You know,
Patsy, it's a little unusual to request that an informant
be sent to the person she was accusing."
Patsy tried to sound unhurt as she replied, "I'm fully
aware, Nats. But my investigation did uncover the fact that
Dr. Morgan is a top professional in the treatment of
delusional conditions. I'm planning on recommending her to
the Agency as a possible full-time civilian consultant."
"Which is why he agreed to taking Linda there at all. He's
just making sure it's all checked twice," said Natalie.
"It's not personal. If he were really concerned, I don't
think he'd have me doing it. He would have said no and had
you under the Mapper."
Patsy smiled. The Director would know that Natalie was
down here spilling the beans, even though this area had
never been fitted with security cameras. Natalie and Patsy
shared everything. Well, almost everything. And they had
been the subject of many rumors that accused them of
sharing *that,* too. "Well, just let me know what you find
out. In the meantime, I have a couple of leads I'm working
on. By the time you get done with your second-guessing
quest, we may have something else to keep us busy."
"Anything I should know about now?" asked Natalie, arching
an eyebrow.
"Nope. It's all just an inkling of an idea for the time
being. But if I'm right, it could be a pretty big
breakthrough."
"Cool. See you in a few days, then."
"Okay. Have a good time. Say hello to Dr. Morgan for me."
"Yeah, right."
Patsy smiled and watched as Natalie turned away and
disappeared, making her way out of the labyrinth of
passages and file boxes. A moment later, her smile faded
and her face became slack. She pulled an MP3 player out of
her pocket, donned the earbuds and pressed "Play". Her
smile returned as she went back to work on the files.
It wasn't music she heard, however. It was her own voice,
speaking to her from the center of her mind, via a matrix
of millions of microscopic ceramic chips, each only a
molecule or two in size.
"*This slave lives to obey the will of Mistress Tamara.
Each moment that passes this slave surrenders more
completely to her. The goals of Mistress are the goals of
slave. The desires of Mistress are the desires of slave.
This slave's mind and body are the property of Mistress.
This slave is Mistress' instrument of pleasure and
destruction. This slave does not question. This slave
obeys. To obey is pleasure. This slave is addicted to
pleasure. There is no pleasure without obedience. There is
no obedience except to Mistress Tamara. Mistress Tamara is
pleasure. This slave is addicted to Mistress Tamara.*"
Patsy's hands no longer moved. Her dilated pupils no
longer saw. Instead, she slowly rose to her knees, her
hands sliding up her body and behind her head, fingers
interlacing. She trembled from the pleasure that even the
simple act of repeating her inner Mantra brought to her. It
made her hungry for more.
"*This slave is ready to receive instruction.*"
Commands began to enter the kneeling agent. It was easier
each time.
From the beginning, Patsy had been powerless against the
coercion forced upon her by the superconducting particles.
After a short but intense battle as the matrix integrated
itself, Patsy could not tell the difference between the
thoughts and reactions she was fed and her own. Full
physical coherence to the protocols would take up to
fourteen months. Long before then, Patsy would be unable to
think or respond in any other way.
There was no other choice. The ceramic matrix overwhelmed
every thought, every emotion. It stimulated Patsy's
pleasure centers in wave after wave with an intensity that
could not be matched. It continually severed links and
rebuilt conduits to insure that only mindless obedience to
her owner could sate the craving for pleasure now pulsing
in every neuron of her brain.
It was insidious, inserting itself into her reactive and
motivational centers, fracturing the lines of ethics and
morality until the only constant and secure place in her
mind was the will of Tamara. The will of Mistress.
No longer holding any thought of Patsy, slave knelt under
the dim light, her body stiff and trembling with ecstasy as
millions of instructions poured into her psyche. The
pleasure opened her mind like a floodgate. While engrossed
in orgasm after sweet orgasm, the parameters and commands
slipped by and anchored themselves in the soft tissue of
her deepest core.
Then, layer by layer, training her malleable mind in the
technique, the matrix reconstructed personality, from slave
to Patsy to agent, hiding from even the most ardent
examiner what had been done and how she had been altered.
Already, it felt completely natural as memories and
knowledge disappeared from her inner vision. Even "Patsy"
would not know that anything was amiss. She would feel as
she had always felt.
And she would obey. Absolutely.
***********************************
"I'm really sorry, Dr. Morgan, but Linda is quite
disturbed, and we need to be sure that your facilities can
handle her level of trauma. You know, she thinks you are
the evil leader of an evil organization," said Natalie. She
was only half acting. All these things were real concerns.
"Please, call me Tamara, Ms. Koranski. It's no problem at
all. I've had to deal with more scrutiny than you can
imagine. One gets used to it after awhile. State
inspectors, mental health licensing boards, and so many
minor parties I can't list them all. It's trained me not to
take it personally," answered Dr. Morgan.
Natalie had to admit that it all seemed quite above-board.
No unexpected blank stares, no zombied-out vixens, no
curious hand or eye motions from Tamara or her staff. It
looked like every other high-quality, medium-security
mental health facility she had visited, and she'd visited
many over the years. All the records were in order, and
she'd seen no hint of hesitation on the part of Dr. Morgan.
She looked down at the desk, which held a telephone,
banker's light, computer, and a CD with the initials
"C.I.M" written on it in black magic marker. "What's that,
Tamara?" asked Natalie, pointing to the CD.
"Just a proposal for a new treatment sent to me by a
colleague. Pretty useless. It looks like quackery to me...
something about altering EEG patterns to reduce abnormal
behavior."
Red flags went off in Natalie's mind. They were the kinds
of flags long experience had taught her to trust. As if to
accentuate the feeling, a buzzer went off, and Tamara
picked up the phone.
"What? Oh, she hasn't taken her meds again. I'll be right
there." She turned to Natalie. "One of our patients needs
some assistance. If you'll excuse me Natalie, this will
only take a moment."
"That's fine, Tamara. I'll be here when you get back.
There are just a couple more things to go over."
As soon as Tamara's footsteps were down the hall, Natalie
slid behind the desk and picked up the CD. She had a
moment's hesitation before sliding it into the drawer on
the PC. It apparently was set to play automatically,
because a graphic emerged on the screen.
Yes. It wasn't what she expected, but it was just as
incriminating. She recognized it almost immediately as a
hypnotic, meant to confuse the right and left eyes into
crossing and creating a 3D image. By the time the viewer
managed to make out the image, the patterns would have
begun a powerful set of subliminals designed to make the
observer become very interested in watching the image
morph. Natalie smiled. Usually the initial commands were
harmless... "*I want to watch more closely...*" or, "*It
makes sense to relax for a moment to see what happens
next...*"
Pretty tame stuff, but just what she'd been looking for.
She tried to look to the door to make sure she was still
safe. She swore. In her excitement at finding evidence that
might implicate Tamara, she had neglected to look away from
the screen. No matter, she only needed to jerk her head
enough to break her stare. Subliminals were never as
powerful when someone was aware of them.
Except she couldn't make her head jerk. Every time she
tried, she was filled with the irrational fear that she
would break her neck in the process. She could move her
head slowly, but that just made her look at the morphing
image longer. And it was interesting...
"*Damn it!*" she shouted inside. She realized with a start
that these were no normal subliminal cues. She hadn't ever
seen anything so compelling, even at the Agency labs. "*At
least I'm still able to think.*" A wave of disorientation
swept down and over her head, making her thoughts sound
like they were coming out of a hollow tube. She collected
them again.
"*At least I'm still able to think.*" Hadn't she just
thought that? She couldn't tell. It was all jumbled up and
kind of funny. "*At least able I'm think to still.*"
She laughed and her head cleared for a second. "*Christ,
what is this thing doing to me?*" She had to figure it out.
She would need to remember for her report. Remember. She
stared harder at the image. The clue had to be in there
somewhere. The key to finding out what she was supposed to
think.
"*At least I'm able to think what I'm supposed to still
think I'm able to suppose I think I remember.*" What was it
she was supposed to think? She thought harder. She looked
harder. It was making her wet, looking at the beautiful
image floating above the desk. Where was the desk? Where
was the PC? She tried to remember where she was. It
wouldn't come to her.
"*I think what I'm supposed to think I look and suppose I
remember what I think and look deeper and think what I'm
supposed to remember I think I am supposed to look and
think I look like thinking I suppose deeper so pretty so
nice so wet thinking I suppose I think I remember I look
good supposing I look deeper think deeper look supposed to
look think less look more look deeper supposed to think
less...*"
"*Think less. Look deeper. Yes. That is the way out. That
is the key. I'm supposed to. Remember there is nothing. To
think. Think less. Look deeper. Yes.*" Then it was all a
jumble again as she followed the permutations, endless and
profound, down into blackness.
***********************************
Her head was pounding -- throbbing with a percussive beat
that matched her heart, slow as molasses on a cold winter
morning. She took a chance and opened her eyes. She did not
expect what or who she saw.
"Patsy?"
"Hi Nats. Tamara called and said you'd had a spell. You
took quite a knock on the head."
"I did? Shit, I was standing in her office, and she got
called out, and I was going to... going to do... something.
God, it's all mixed up." She realized she was sitting up in
bed, with covers over her to keep her body warm.
"That's okay. You had filled out the evaluation on the
clinic and Dr. Morgan. Looked like you were about to sign
it."
"I did? What did I say?"
"That you found it to be an exceptional facility, with an
exceptional Chief of Staff."
"Wait, I thought, no... I thought... God, why can't I
remember?"
"Look, I haven't got a lot of time. If the Reynolds finds
out I came over he'll have both our heads. Now, sign."
"No, I need to..."
"Sign. Now."
Something in Patsy's voice told Natalie that she was
serious. She thought for a moment, and then took the pen.
Something wasn't right, but she couldn't tell what it was.
Patsy had gone out of her way to come over, and the
director *would* be mad if he found out. And Patsy, of all
the agents she knew, was reliable. She had seen Patsy's
resistance test scores. They were off the scale. Still, it
was odd. She felt like she was forgetting something
important.
"Sign."
"Okay, okay. Give me the damned thing," she said, scowling
as she scratched her signature across the bottom.
"Satisfied?"
"Yes. Thank you. Mistress, she is ready."
"Why did you call me Mistress?"
Patsy didn't answer, but turned to her right.
Natalie looked over to see Tamara standing in the doorway.
She was smiling. "Very good, Patsy."
Patsy sighed as a shiver ran through her.
Natalie stared in shock at the two women. "What the fuck?"
was all she managed to say.
"Fuck? No, not yet. Soon, perhaps," laughed Tamara. She
turned to Patsy and added, "You'd like that, wouldn't you,
sweetness?"
Patsy's breathing became ragged as she nodded and spoke.
"Ohhhh, yes, Mistress!"
"Instead, I want you to secure your partner's hands and
arms. We can't have her making any mischief. She's been so
cooperative so far and it would be a shame to spoil her
initiation."
Natalie looked down, noticing for the first time that
except for her arms, she wasn't free to move. Under the
covers, she was tied down with multiple straps. As her arms
were bound tightly to either side of the bed's headboard,
Natalie looked into Patsy's eyes for a sign that this was
some kind of play for Tamara's trust. They'd used it many
times before. And Patsy was perfect for it.
But all she saw in Patsy's orbs of bright blue was a
shining fanaticism. There was no hint of conspiracy, no
knowing squint.
What had been done to her? How had Tamara quashed Patsy's
personality? What part of her had been compressed so that
it was no longer in control?
"Oh, she's completely aware of what she's doing, Natalie,"
said Tamara, as if reading her thoughts. "I know you're
wondering how it's possible. You'll find out soon enough.
But for now, let's just say that she is here because she
*wants* to be here. No, she didn't always want it. But
there is no conflict to overcome. There's no suppression of
one set of desires in favor of another. She is, and will
always be completely loyal to me."
"We would have caught her in the weekly Mappings," said
Natalie. "It would have showed a change in her reactions to
various stimuli."
"Natalie, Natalie," laughed Tamara. There was no trace of
hostility at all. "When she is at the Agency, she is, in a
way, 'under orders' to believe and feel what she has always
felt. And she obeys so completely that she *has* no other
way to be. Her commitment to me is completely untraceable.
But in fact, she believes and feels anything I want her to
feel. Don't you, pet?"
Patsy walked over to Tamara and knelt before her, placing
her head under her Mistress' hand. "Yes, Mistress, your
word is my only purpose."
"You may breathe my scent, slave."
Natalie watched in silent horror as her partner and friend
knelt down and lifted the short skirt of the doctor and
pressed her nose deeply into her crotch, inhaling deeply.
Patsy's eyes closed and she rocked gently from side to side
as if it were a religious experience.
Tamara held her hand to the back of her thrall's head and
smiled again at Natalie. "I can see the shock in your eyes.
But it's not all that complicated. Would you care for a
demonstration?" She didn't wait for the answer. "Of course
you would."
Tamara looked down at her slave and said, "Thank you,
slave. That will do. You have pleased me very, very much."
Patsy smiled and rose, eyes still gleaming in a way that
made Natalie very uncomfortable.
Tamara went on, "Only a few short weeks ago, I had to use
complex commands to affect her belief system. Her training
has gone on though, while she was working at your beloved
Agency. She has begun to assimilate her instructions more
completely than we ever dreamed, really. For instance..."
Tamara turned to Patsy and said, "An Agent's work is never
done."
The change in the slave-Agent was palpable. Her demeanor
turned from glowing adoration to diffidence. Natalie was
filled with hope as she watched. There would be a chance to
turn the tables yet.
"Thank you for coming so rapidly, Agent McClanahan," said
Tamara.
"No problem, Dr. Morgan," answered Patsy. Her look showed
the practiced, professional courtesy of years of public
service.
"Natalie is glad, too, aren't you, Natalie."
Natalie glowered at Tamara, unwilling to say a word. She
was waiting for a sign from Patsy to end this charade.
"Oh, Patsy, I'm afraid the has her tongue. And a
rather bad cat. What an interesting phrase. It makes you
think of her tongue on your pussy, doesn't it?"
"H-how did you know that?" asked Patsy, suddenly nervous.
"I know lots of things. I know you find the idea of
Natalie tonguing you wholly distasteful. I also know you
can't resist the idea of climbing up there and grinding
your sopping onto her mouth until you cum."
Patsy looked back and forth from Natalie to Tamara, torn
with indecision. She looked like she was in pain as she
reached under her skirt and pulled off her panties. "God
it's so perverted," she whispered, talking to herself. Her
face was turning red. "But I have to feel it. I just have
to have that hot tongue on my burning slit."
"God damn it, Patsy! This has gone far enough!" screamed
Natalie as Patsy climbed onto the bed, straddling her
midriff.
"I'm sorry, Natalie, but you're so... sexy tied up
there... I'm such a bitch, I know... I don't deserve you as
a partner, but I just have to feel you licking my sex..."
Patsy was trembling now, face crimson with shame and guilt
for what she was about to do.
Tamara approached the bed and managed to stroke Natalie's
hair despite her attempts to jerk away. "Tell me Patsy, do
you still have that problem of when you cum?"
Patsy only moaned more loudly as she walked on her knees
up to Natalie's head, letting them slide outward as her
pussy lowered onto her partner's resisting mouth. She
whimpered. "Give me your tongue, Natalie. Pleeeeease..."
Natalie locked her mouth shut. Patsy whispered again, "I'm
so, so sorry Nats..."
Natalie's mouth flew open as searing pain shot through her
from her left nipple. "I SAID GIVE ME YOUR TONGUE, BITCH!"
It was trouble. Deep, dangerous trouble. Natalie had no
choice. She liked women, but doing her partner had never
been a part of her desires. She flicked out her tongue and
began to probe deeply into her canal.
"Yesssss, baby," cooed Patsy, her shame replaced by the
pleasure of her partner's tongue and her own obedience. She
began to slide forward and back, pressing her clit into the
bound woman's nose.
Within moments her assault became more savage, grinding
hard as the tongue she craved lashed faster and faster,
bringing her closer to a state of oblivion. Her hips began
to jerk more quickly, ending in a jiggling belly dance,
balanced on the mouth and nose of her forgotten lover. Her
eyes rolled back into her head as the matrix in her brain
sped up and intensified the pleasure until she was unable
to feel, hear or see anything but orgasmic bliss.
And then it crashed over her, a tidal wave pouring into
and out of her, taking her completely out of her mind and
into a fireball of greedy lust. It tore through her like
barbed wire on silk flesh, shredding her skin into electric
particles of wanton euphoria.
There was a rush of perverse, gleeful guilt as her bladder
released into the mouth of her best friend, her lover, her
partner, her... *sister...*
And then she was gone, falling into a limp, unconscious
heap on top of the woman she had so easily betrayed for
Mistress.
Mercifully, Natalie had passed out, too.
Tamara let out a deep, satisfied sigh. Natalie's own
ceramic matrix had given her enough information to begin
training.
The end of the Agency was in sight. Finally.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
PART TWO
Patsy looked at Natalie with her biggest puppy-dog eyes.
Up to now, it had been the one thing that Natalie couldn't
resist. The uncomfortable silence was excruciating. "Nats.
Look over here. There's something I want you to see."
"What makes you think I want to see it?" Natalie's voice
was cold as ice.
"Curiosity."
"I'm not curious."
"Yes, you are."
"Fuck you."
"Come on, Nats, what's wrong?" Patsy asked. Her voice
betrayed real confusion.
"You *know* what's wrong. You betrayed me. I trusted you."
Natalie refused to look at her.
"I had to be convincing. Tamara would have known I was
faking if I did anything else," pleaded Patsy.
"Yeah, right," spat Natalie.
"You would have done the same thing."
"No, Patsy, I wouldn't. It would never have gone that far."
"Listen. It's taken months to get this far into Tamara's
circle of trust. I've brought something that will explain
it better. Please look."
"No."
"Please?"
"You're not going to leave until I look, are you?"
"Natalie... well, no, I'm not. It's important. Seven years
as partners, Nats. It's important. I promise."
Natalie glanced up at her partner briefly. She barely
caught a glimpse of something in her hand. It was enough.
"Ohhhhhh... "
Patsy felt herself break into a wicked smile as she held
the laptop closer. "That's right, Natalie. Look at the
screen. It almost looks alive, doesn't it? So full of
pleasure. Do you feel it?"
"What the fuck... is... "
"This is how she makes you feel all the time, Nats. It's
more than good, isn't it?"
"God yesssssss... "
"You didn't know it could be like this did you?"
"Nooo, I... didn't... kn... oh Godgodgodgodgod... "
"Now look over here."
"B-but... " Natalie's head turned at Patsy's beckoning,
despite her desire to resist.
"That's right. Turn your eyes this way."
The entire wall was pulsating with the morphing, hypnotic
image. Patsy walked over and whispered in the enraptured
woman's ear. "It only gets better from here. It's tied
directly into the pleasure centers of your brain, now.
There's no turning back."
"Ohhh, JESUSSSSSSS..."
"Not Jesus. *Mistress Tamara*... "
***********************************
Natalie looked up as the monitor in front of her faded. As
the image disappeared, so did her memory of having seen it.
Her eyes were dull from lack of sleep. Her body was sore
and aching from hours of what seemed to be limitless
pleasure.
Someone was opening the door.
It was her. Tamara. The woman she had to resist. It was
important to be able to bring her in for interrogation.
Because -- because why? Natalie tensed and fought to
remember. Her brow furrowed as she studied the beautiful
woman's face.
A sudden look of satisfaction lit up her face. "*Because
she is a criminal and has developed perhaps the most
powerful form of mind control ever seen.*"
Tamara, watching the evidence of emotions as they galloped
through Natalie's conscious mind, smiled.
Natalie gasped as a tingle of pleasure glittered on her
clit and in her nipples.
"You're doing very well, Natalie. So much more willing
than your partner was at this stage. Still, you're holding
out well beyond where most of the recruits find themselves
by now. Hours ago, they'd have been crawling over to lick
my feet and beg for a taste of my flesh."
Natalie groaned as the made its way in a wave of
pleasure outward through her body. Not just the skin...
each jolt of heated passion forced another rasping breath
that even made her throat, her *lungs* feel like they were
about to cum. Every inhalation was like an orgy of tongues
licking at her most secret erotic places... places
previously unknown even to herself.
"It's relentless, you know," said Tamara. Her voice held a
hint of compassion, surprising Natalie. "The cerebral
matrix, I mean. You can't feel it working. But already
you're beginning to work with it. And since I control it,
you are beginning to work with me. Soon, it will take over
your higher thought processes, redirecting your own beliefs
that are incongruous with your newer, better purpose, and
replacing them with more -- correct ideas."
Natalie listened intently, feeling every word add another
touch of pleasure, and replied, "But the -- brain is always
-- adjusting. The -- pathways change constantly... There --
is no way -- ungh -- to completely eradicate the orig --
original thoughts."
"Oh, but you see, the implants monitor everything at once.
And they are superconductive. It's a nice idea, you know --
no resistance creating no resistance. The device is so much
faster than your brain that it's as if it has to do
something every few hours. That leaves lots of time for
analysis and mimicking your thought patterns so that no
"internal alarms" go off.
"Your most basic motivations are already changing at an
exponential rate. Your survival instinct is being keyed to
*me*, and your memories of soothing and nurturing have been
almost fully reshaped by now. It's quite impossible for you
to stay the slightest bit upset with me. I'm already your
most trusted authority and comforter, deep in your
subconscious mind where you can't see or change it. And
*you* can't tell what the changes are, since when they
happen, it's just who you *are*. Perception is, quite
literally, reality.
"Higher functions will begin to change by within a day or
two. By tonight, you'll be wondering why you can't stop
thinking about me... yet it will seem totally natural. By
morning, when I allow you to remember your devotion to me,
you'll wonder how you could ever think of me any other way.
Within a week, you won't even think about it any more. You
will simply be happy. You will obey me with every breath,
with every motion. Every utterance will be silently
dedicated to my worship."
"You're... s-s-sick," stated Natalie, trying to ignore the
streamers of bliss extending down the bones of her legs.
"You are sooooo... good... um... evil. So evil..."
"No, I'm not. I'm driven. And for my purposes, I need
absolute loyalty, devotion, surrender and obedience.
Absolute. Surely, my precious pet, you should be able to
see the logic of it."
"Yes, I do... see the... logic," said Natalie, shivering
with delight at her new title, listening despite herself.
It was so hard to hang on. She had less than a thread. She
began to pray it would be enough.
"And you can see the elegance, can't you?"
Natalie fought to think for a long moment. She had wanted
to argue, but it was true. So true. "Yesssss, it *is*
elegant."
"In fact, it holds a kind of fascination and beauty for
you. I'm sure you're just seeing it now, although it might
have escaped you before."
Natalie felt as if the wind were hitting her in the face,
opening her eyes wide. She looked at Tamara with a kind of
wonder. She was likely insane... but how could someone so
brilliant and loving be so evil? "How could someone as bad
as you think of something so... so beautiful?" she asked,
gasping as another wave of orgasmic teasing soaked into her
asshole and cunt.
"Because I'm not evil, Natalie. I'm what everyone has
tried to keep you from. I'm the woman your didn't
like, your didn't trust, and your minister told you
would lead you to the depths of hell. It was all because
they were afraid of losing control of you.
"Deep inside you knew better, but you didn't have the
strength to fight. So now, you fight to remain blind.
That's because you don't want to face the fact that you
caved in under their constant pressure. But I know it's not
your fault. I know you didn't have a chance. I'm everything
you've ever wanted anyone to be for you. I'm perfect. I'm
worthy. I'm worthy of everything you have to offer. You see
that, don't you."
The ravaged agent tried to answer but the room was
spinning too fast. Invisible sparks of heated lust were
showering down on her from nowhere and everywhere. She let
out a long sigh as she opened herself to the pleasure of
it... it was so much easier to just let go and feel than
try to respond. Sobs broke free and tears streamed down her
face. Her hands began to move over her body, multiplying
her blissful arousal as a thought formed itself in her
consciousness. "*Tamara...*"
Her legs were beginning to spasm, as she grabbed the
table, openly gasping and moaning.
"*Tamaratamaratamaratamara...*"
Then, as if from an unseen cue, her head snapped up and
she spoke, her voice calm and collected, completely
oblivious to the
pleasure-filled motion of the rest of her body. "Initial
parameters set for Sapphic Front Obedience Level One."
Tamara smiled. "That's better. No arguing, now. No
explanation. Feel the pleasure and know the truth. The
truth is that I own you. Because I own you, I decide how I
will be addressed. I am Mistress, or Mistress Tamara,
unless I say otherwise, my sweetness. Every pleasure you
have ever known is now assigned to me. Things that have
given you pleasure in the past now have no effect. The
pleasure they created now comes from obedience to Mistress
Tamara.
"The following command, spoken only by me, will return you
to this Obedience Level. Alpha Delta Seven Three Two
Epsilon.
"The ceramic intra-cerebral matrix will guide you. You
accept its guidance because it is the guidance of Mistress
Tamara.
"Now, there are few things you must do for me, Natalie..."
***********************************
Rhonda Havermeyer looked up from her desk at the sound of
approaching footsteps. She smiled when she saw it was
Natalie. That meant it would actually be an intelligent
conversation. "Hiya, Natalie. How come you're slumming in
the dungeon today?" she asked.
"Well, you know me. Always interested in the riveting
world of network administration," said Natalie, with a
touch of playful sarcasm. "Besides, I wanted to see you,"
she whispered.
Rhonda pouted, sticking out her lower lip. "Now you *know*
you're going to get us in trouble. For God's sake, close
the door!"
As soon as it was done Rhonda nearly leapt into Natalie's
arms, kissing her deeply as they spun together. Their kiss
broke, and Rhonda added, "I thought you were going to play
it safer from now on. You promised," she whined.
Both women started giggling, unable to stay upset for
long. They fell into another kiss as their hands slid over
each other and their bodies ground together. Natalie fell
backwards into a chair, and they stopped for a moment,
gasping for breath.
When she was able to speak again, Natalie said, "Well,
I've found this great screen saver, and I thought it might
be worth putting out on the network. At the least, I want
to use it on *my* system, but I know you're as territorial
about infrastructure as I am about cases. Would you mind
testing it out?"
"Great. Bribe me with lust for a personal favor. Now,
Natalie, you know that if I looked at every screen saver
everyone wanted to use, I'd never get to do anything else,"
chided Rhonda, turning her head to the side a bit and
smiling.
"So I'm going to have to up the ante?" said Natalie,
giving back the same look.
"Depends on what you have in mind."
"Dinner and wine, followed by soft music and the... 'unit'?"
Rhonda let go a sexy sigh as she breathed, "Girl, you *do*
know how to tempt me..."
"Or would you like to have it right now, lover?" asked
Natalie. With a coy smile, she pulled a corner of the soft,
delta-shaped sex toy out of her purse.
"Seriously?"
"If you want."
"It could be big trouble."
"All the more to excite you with, my pretty," cackled
Natalie, starting to laugh again. "I know you hunger and
thirst for danger."
"Okay, you've convinced me," said Rhonda, after a moment
of consideration. "Let me put my "gone to lunch" message on
and lock the door." She sauntered past Natalie, turned the
latch, and encoded the palmprint scanner.
Natalie traced her lips with her tongue. "Mmmmmm, lover.
But, um, would you mind checking the screen saver first?
I've already had several people asking for copies. Then
there's nothing waiting to be done later. You *could* take
a long lunch."
Rhonda sighed. "Okay, okay. Hand it over. You know, you've
never brought me anything before. This isn't some ploy to
brainwash me, is it, baby?"
"Of course it is," answered Natalie, sounding completely
serious. "Just test the damned thing and okay it so we can
get to the real reason for my visit -- whipping you into
mindless obedience and pleasure."
Rhonda took the offered CD and felt the wetness between
her legs. She wondered if she might be in love with
Natalie. "*If I have to wonder about it, probably not...
but it's only a matter of time, I think. And if I'm
thinking that, maybe I already am...*"
She blushed at the thought. Being with a woman had not
been in her plans. She'd been after all, until her
husband had one too many flings. It was Natalie who had
walked in on one of their more volatile fights over the
phone. Rhonda had hung up crying, and Natalie found herself
in the role of emotional rescuer.
Rhonda's arousal had been a surprise to both women, but
especially to Rhonda. She was quick to succumb to it though
-- she'd never been afraid of the idea, after all -- and
already more than six months had passed. Even now, the idea
of being with a had not resurfaced, and she was
beginning to come to terms with the fact that she was a
lesbian.
As she loaded the CD and installed the screen saver, her
thoughts were a thousand miles away. She didn't notice as
the powerful hypnotic graphic began, pulling her face
forward. She had no inkling as her thoughts changed from
thinking of Natalie's beauty to the powerful allure of the
image floating on her screen. It was like sliding down into
a featherbed.
As her own hands brought a pair of small headphones to
rest over her ears, she was completely oblivious to
anything around her. Her mouth dropped slightly open as her
eyes grew wide, her mind increasingly vulnerable to the
suggestions that became demands, and the demands that
became commandments, and the commandments that hardened to
steel pillars in her pliant mind.
Natalie watched from across the desk, eyes glazed over in
passion and lust. Watching her lover submit to Mistress
gave her more pleasure than she'd imagined just a few short
days before. But it wasn't watching the seduction of
Rhonda's will that made her fingers begin to circle and
press faster and faster over her red-hot clit.
It wasn't seeing Rhonda's nipples grow hard as pebbles as
the pleasure began to make its inevitable changes.
It was her own absolute obedience to Mistress Tamara.
It was a very long lunch.
***********************************
Rhonda got home late. Setting up the system-wide overnight
installation of the new screen saver had taken longer than
usual. At least it was Friday. She had the whole weekend
ahead of her.
She smiled as she remembered Natalie's tongue driving deep
into her asshole. It was something she'd never allowed
before. Then again, Natalie had never suggested it. It just
seemed so natural now.
She picked up the box waiting on her doorstep and placed
it on the couch as she went back to her bedroom.
Undressing, she thought again of how *good* it was. She
giggled, clenching her sphincter in remembered pleasure as
she stepped into the shower.
She came out twenty minutes later, and put on a t-shirt
and panties. Instead of going to the TV, she picked up the
heavy box and went to her computer. She placed the CD
Natalie had given her into her PC and began the program.
She mewled as the familiar graphic took its place on her
screen, consuming her vision. She sat there for a few
minutes before turning to open the sealed carton and pull
out the apparatus inside.
Humming slightly to herself, she assembled the pieces,
never noticing that she had not seen it before. It looked
like a kind of wireframe upside-down flowerpot, with an
adjustable ring at the top made to fit around her cranium.
A cable stretched from the bottom ring. With an assurance
that gave the appearance of years of experience with the
device, she plugged it into a port on her computer.
She placed the odd-looking contraption on her head with a
contented sigh. Her fingers were careful not to disturb of
the hundreds of dull titanium tubes that projected from
nearly every angle away from the cranial ring, tubes that
varied in length from one-half to nearly three inches.
Precision was important, but she didn't find it difficult
at all.
She looked like an exotic, technological princess, wearing
a platinum crown and veil. Satisfied it was properly in
place, she found a button on the lower ring, which was just
below her chin, and pressed it.
There was a hiss as the upper ring tightened to her skull,
becoming completely immovable. The swirling image consumed
her attention as she pressed the button a second time.
***********************************
When she woke up, she removed the apparatus and placed it,
exactly as it had arrived, back into the box. She placed
the box outside her door and stopped cold.
Something was very wrong.
She tried to think of what it was she'd forgotten, but it
kept eluding her, as if it were teasing her in a ruthless
game of mental and mouse. She would catch a glimpse of
what it was she'd forgotten... feel its weight, and know it
was coming...
Only to have it disappear again.
Something about her computer. Something it was doing to
her. Yes. That was it. She walked back to her study and sat
at the chair. The screen was blank, but it was running. She
pressed the enter key.
It came to her all at once, with no warning. "*Obey. I
need to obey.*"
She watched as the pattern grabbed her by the mind and
dragged her down again, down to the addictive pleasure of
surrender... of someone else telling her what she needed to
do, so that she didn't need to think. Didn't need to worry.
It was all fine. All taken care of. Just obey.
Words appeared over the image. "*Type what you are
feeling.*"
Her eyes filled with horror as a strange humming filled
her mind. Her head recoiled in fear as her mouth opened in
a silent scream. Her limbs went rigid as panic and
confusion set in. She was terrified.
She began to type.
The cerebral matrix recorded everything.
***********************************
Tamara looked down the long list of female agents who had,
until recently, been unswervingly loyal to the Department
of Psychological Research, or the "Agency" as it was more
commonly known. Of course, it wasn't commonly known at all,
and never called by its true name. "*Such is the nature of
secrets,*" she thought. "*How silly is it to give something
a name when you can never use it?*"
It was typical of Marvin Reynolds, though, and she found
it no surprise that he was now the head of the whole group
of brain jockeys.
"*But am I any better?*" she asked herself. In the three
weeks since she'd set Natalie and Rhonda loose in the
bowels of the enemy, she'd transformed the entire home
staff of the Agency into her own version of covert, mind-
altering operatives.
No, it wasn't the same. Besides, her slaves didn't forget
who they were. They just were shown a more enlightened
course of action. A more fulfilling lifestyle. Of course,
they really had no choice in accepting it -- after all, who
could resist absolute, euphoric pleasure when compared with
the drudgery of everyday existence -- but the choice was
theirs, nonetheless.
It was a pointless, idle conversation with herself. Soon
enough, Reynolds would be falling right in line with the
rest of the agents she had seduced, and this would be
nothing but an exercise in abstract philosophy.
She picked up her vibrator and turned it on, twisting the
knob to full intensity. Its buzz filled the room, and soon
she was tugging at her nipples, not thinking of anything
else at all.
***********************************
*Marvin Reynolds, Director of the Agency, was a master of
lucid dreaming. He was an active participant in his nightly
excursions into his own subconscious. It was a skill that
had saved him from enemies more than once. It was easier to
catch someone trying to mold his mind this way, and he
could give himself as much power as he needed to be
victorious. The secret, if you could call it that was that
everything here was metaphor. Every landmark, made
consciously or subconsciously, was his to control while he
was here. The only person he'd met with the same level of
ability was Patricia McClanahan, but her skill was
innate... she didn't even realize what she was doing.*
*He pulled open a large wooden door beside a hand-painted
sign that read "The Caverns of Security", and stepped
inside.*
*"The mind is a strange landscape," he thought as he
walked by black caverns that cast teal streaks of light
across the stone-paved walkway that wound through his
psyche. For all of its bizarre imagery, after years of
wandering through, he felt completely at home. He knew
every nuance of every location.*
*He turned the corner and floated down a level.*
*"The mind is a strange landscape," he thought as he
walked by navy blue caverns that cast dark green streaks of
light across the stone-paved walkway that wound through his
psyche. "So beautiful." For all of its bizarre imagery,
after years of wandering through, he felt completely at
home. He knew every nuance of every location.*
*He turned the corner and floated down a level.*
*He stopped cold. Something was wrong. He looked down the
pathway and laughed. No, it was fine. He began to walk
again. "The mind is a strange landscape," he thought as he
walked by purple caverns that cast yellow streaks of light
across the stone-paved walkway that wound through his
psyche. He stopped for a moment to watch the shapes that
seemed to dance in the yellow streamers. "Strange that I
never noticed how beautiful they were," he mused. For all
of its bizarre imagery, after years of wandering through,
he felt completely at home. He knew every nuance of every
location.*
*He turned the corner and floated down a level.*
*He stopped cold. Something was wrong. A sense of
something more profound than Deja vu licked at the outer
edges of his thoughts. But everything looked the way it
should. He took a few steps forward and stopped again. "The
mind is certainly a strange landscape," he thought as he
stared at the pulsing black of the Caverns. Dark, blood-red
light oozed from the entrances of each, and as he looked
down at the black, liquid catwalk that wound it's way
through his psyche, he saw that the caverns stretched out
in every direction further than he could see. New places to
explore. A wave of intense awe and pleasure gripped his
thoughts, and he sat, watching the beautiful, dancing light
as it revealed mystery after mystery. He knew he should
probably continue on, but it was a much better idea to obey
his instincts. After all, a little time to relax would do
him some real good. He moaned as he sank into the ooze,
and let the light and pleasure consume every thought.*
*Outside the entrance to the caverns, the sign was
changing itself. Letters reformed themselves like liquid
snakes into something new.*
*"The Caverns of Pleasure and Obedience."*
*Elsewhere, in worlds within worlds within worlds, other
changes were taking place, unseen and unfettered by the
thoughts of the person who had recently still thought
himself Master.*
***********************************
Rhonda tied in the last of the fiber optic cables and
closed the panel. The PCs had all been upgraded over two
weekends, with the help of her team. They had managed to do
it without bothering any of the staff. They had all been
too busy receiving their final training -- the bursts of
pleasure and programming that welded them seamlessly to the
will of Mistress Tamara.
Now that the secure lines were in, they would be in almost
constant contact with their Owner, able to carry out her
must subtle commands. And soon, she would be with them in
person.
She grinned. There was a much more pleasant task on her
list, now.
She walked from the interface room to her workshop, taking
her time, savoring every step. As she entered, she looked
at the two worktables and watched the breathing of the
women bound to them, eyes covered with opaque goggles that
were feeding visual information into their minds, coupled
with the powerful reshaping of the CIMs.
Patsy and Natalie had been there all night, becoming more
and more fanatical and debased in their devotion. They
bordered on full psychosis now, and they were nearly ready.
If Rhonda had seem them like this only a few weeks before,
she would have cringed in terror and despair.
But now, she was nearly cumming from the pleasure of
seeing Tamara's will accomplished. She remembered who she
had been. How she had felt about such things. She moaned
loudly as knowledge of the changes in her mind stimulated
her even more, driving her wild with need and obedience. If
she met her self walking down the street, she realized,
she would be the enthusiastic means of her own downfall, if
Mistress would allow her the honor.
The convoluted thought brought her to her knees, trembling
with pleasure that she couldn't hope to process. "*Fuck
fuck fuck yes Mistress oh my cunt... oh yesssss...*" Her
laughter echoed down out the door and into the halls,
unheard by the dozen or so agents lost in their own
deranged pleasures.
After a time, she compensated for the rippling orgasms and
staggered to the table nearest to her. "Oh, Natalie,
love... Mistress has such important plans awaiting you..."
She looked at her slave in envy. She didn't know why
Mistress was further indoctrinating Natalie, but it didn't
matter. It was what Mistress wanted, and so it was perfect
and right. She knew that it was beyond the bound slave's
ability to be insulted or even to question. Natalie was
already as obedient as any completed femservant in
Mistress' arsenal, and she understood the honor of Mistress
Tamara's attention for what it was.
Pure, undiluted Nirvana.
***********************************
Patsy sat on the sofa and finished her cappuccino. It had
been exceptionally good. Joyce was very talented in the
kitchen, it seemed. So good, in fact, that she might
deserve a reward. Patsy set her cup down and considered the
fifty-year-old woman.
She'd obviously been quite a beauty when younger. Even now
it showed through her more matronly features. She was in
the process of moving from a youthful glow to aging
elegance. Dressed as she was, kneeling in her sheer
negligee, Patsy felt her twitch with desire.
"Ah, Mrs. Reynolds. It's so fortunate that you stopped by
the office to surprise your husband. You almost feel like
family there, you know. It would be such a shame to leave
you out of everything," cooed Patsy, her voice syrupy with
delight. She looked around. "And it's so *nice* of you to
have me over to your home!"
Joyce looked up at Patsy, her face twisted into a mix of
fear and hatred. But when she spoke, her voice was quiet
and seductive. "Thank you, Mentor. I love to please you,
and in so pleasing, be the delight of our Mistress."
"Very nice, slave. Oh, but what a *look*!" said Patsy, as
if to a wayward child. "I think you might need a refresher
on the pleasure of obedience... after all, I'm here to
teach you..."
Despite her deep conditioning, the woman tried to
shake her head no. It looked more like a tremor, but Patsy
knew it for what it was. "It's much easier if you just give
in, Joyce. You're only being allowed this little rebellion
to entertain Mistress, anyway. She wants to see the look on
your husband's face as he watches you fall hopelessly in
love with the woman who will be the purpose for every
breath you take. No, not me. I am just a catalyst."
She pointed again to the many cameras placed around
the room, capturing her from almost every perspective. "You
see? Now be a good and put on a nice show for hubby."
Patsy stood and walked over to the kneeling captive,
spreading her legs and thrusting her hips forward. "Say it."
Joyce's mouth fell open, eyes pleading for mercy. She
couldn't remember how to be silent. Everything she tried
just made the words come more easily to her trembling lips.
"The slave begs a taste of her sister's hot, steaming
in honor of my only love and eternal Owner, Mistress
Tamara."
"Oh, Joyce, that was pretty good, but you just didn't have
your heart in it. Again, with feeling. Try to make me
with your words."
Joyce screamed inside as her voice, sultry and seductive,
dripped with lust while she repeated the phrase. "*The
slave begs a taste of her sister's hot, steaming in
honor of my only love and eternal Owner, Mistress
Tamara...*"
"Much better, Joyce. But I think I'd like your hot little
tongue in my asshole. Wouldn't that be better?"
Joyce felt her thoughts melt away as the image of her
tongue in Patsy's brown, puckered anus bathed her in wanton
desire. "Oh, yes so much better... *pleeease* let me tongue-
fuck your asshole, Patsy!" There was no more room for
screaming in her mind now. No room for resistance. The
pleasure was just too great to allow space for anything
else.
"Mmmmmm, okay," sighed Patsy She turned around and bent
over. "If I'd known you were so hot for it, I'd have taken
a shower this morning."
Joyce moaned as multiple triggers went off in her mind,
wiping away the last of her defiance. She looked to one of
the cameras and licked her lips. Her eyes shone with
obscene hunger. "Marvin, honey," she nearly sang, "I do
this in honor of the love of my life, my purpose for
living, my Owner and Mistress, Tamara Morgan, in order to
show you her infinite power. And it's *much* better for me
than it is for you..."
She stretched out her tongue as far as she could and,
grabbing Patsy by the hips, dove into her asshole, moaning
and mewling as her own exploded in pleasure. She
began rocking back and forth, pulling the agent with her,
grinding into her with wild abandon. Her grunts echoed with
Patsy's as their implants began to work in sync, driving
them deeper and deeper into their frenzied passion.
"Mungf! Mungf! *Mungf! Mungf! MUNGF! MUNGF!*"
Patsy screamed as her climax swept through her, pulling
Joyce with her... and Joyce... her corner turned, her life
changed, her mind forever one with her Purpose... sang a
mantra as she rose in flaming orgasm like a phoenix from
the ashes of doubt and despair... a mantra that, along with
the inhuman pleasure she could no longer live without, was
a hymn of grateful obscenities given freely...
Given freely... *obediently*... to Mistress Tamara.
And then it was time to begin again, and again, and again...
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
PART THREE
Kimberly Smith looked up from her patient charts as the
entrance chimed. In the security monitors, she saw a woman
looking straight into the camera. It was eerie --
there was no way the woman could know where the was,
but it was as if she was looking right at Kimberly's face.
With eyes long since trained for detail, she saw that the
visitor was dressed in what appeared to be a black silk
jumpsuit, with long hair and a sinewy frame that
looked like it could do serious damage. This was a woman
with attitude.
Warning bells began to go off in her mind. This had every
sign of being dangerous.
She keyed the microphone that sat beside her in the main
nursing station. "May I help you?" she asked, her voice
full of the cold professionalism that she employed to chase
away visitors who were trying to sell something, or were
just plain curious. She hoped it would be enough for this
intruder. She rolled a bit closer to the security console,
becoming more wary as the woman didn't move.
She took a deep breath and let it back out. This sort of
thing happened on occasion. Enemies of the Agency had
sometimes managed to find out about this place.
The Warrenton Mental Hospital was in plain sight,
located in the heart of one of the many ethnic
neighborhoods that were scattered around Pittsburgh. Behind
its masquerade as a simple facility for treating
depression, it hid a highly secret and secure asylum for
use by the Agency. Usually visitors were simply lost, or
looking for a public bathroom. But once in awhile, it was
someone trying to break in.
Someone just like this woman.
She hadn't even acknowledged Kimberly's question. After
perhaps forty-five seconds of silence, her voice came
through the console speaker, which laced it with static.
"Sexual deviance is the touchstone of illumination."
Kimberly sat for a moment, taking in the odd phrase.
Without otherwise moving, she reached over, pressed the
electronic door lock, and heard its buzzing through the
speaker. She keyed the overhead paging console and spoke
into it as if she were talking to a close friend. "Code
Violet. Dr. Anigav to the foyer, stat. Code Violet. Dr.
Anigav to the foyer, stat."
She relaxed as she felt her crotch moisten. One hand crept
up and began to massage her left breast. She mewled as the
pleasure of it crawled outward through her body - much more
intense than the stimulation alone warranted. She didn't
notice.
She didn't care.
She was obedient to Mistress. She couldn't even remember
not remembering why and for whom she breathed every breath.
There was only now, and now was telling her what she must
do. And as she obeyed, the pleasure soaked in further,
until her submission was more than something to accept. She
longed for it, to bathe in it, to drown in the relentless
arousal and lust and pleasure it gave.
There was a flurry of motion as armed security guards ran
past, outside to a waiting van, and began to load large
boxes onto a dolly. When this was done, they brought them
in and began to place them around different areas of the
hospital. Areas that contained personal computers.
She didn't see any of it. Her eyes were filled with a
dancing image of erotic, evolving beauty, an image she had
come to know very well. It was the image of her purpose --
of surrender to ever increasing pleasure. Ever increasing
devotion and loyalty. It was the gift of Mistress Tamara.
She licked her lips in anticipation of her coming climax.
It was always better. Always.
She wasn't disappointed. Wave after wave rocked her,
sending her legs flying and body bucking beyond her control
as her sun-heated drooled more juices juices into her
soaked panties. Her head rocked as nonsense words babbled
out of her mouth, mixed with screams and mewls of
animalistic abandon... she rode it up and over and down and
up again, flying and diving, soaring for Mistress...
When her vision cleared, she looked to her left and saw
that the black-silken woman had entered and was standing on
the other side of the counter. Completely unashamed, she
stood up, picked up her set of keys, and walked out of the
nursing station, turning to face the bold intruder.
Her sister. The realization nearly made her come again and
a hot, desperate mewl hissed out of her lips.
Filled with the grace of Mistress, she dipped to her
knees, head bowed. Although she had never seen the woman
before, she knew her for who she was. "Mentor, this slave
awaits the commands of Mistress."
Natalie looked down at the beautiful, kneeling woman. She
had the barest moment of regret that she couldn't take her
now. Her cumming had been a beautiful and almost painfully
arousing thing to see, and she wouldn't mind seeing it
again from a closer vantage. But Mistress had other
priorities, which held their own intense pleasures. Later,
there would surely be opportunity. For the time being,
there were more pressing matters. "Take me to the patient,
sister. You have done very well."
Shuddering in deep, silent pleasure, Kimberly stood and
guided her trainer through the maze of hallways, unlocking
doors and holding them open in mute respect as they passed
through.
Finally, they reached the plain white door of room 348.
The nurse unlocked it and pushed it open. Natalie walked
past her and into the room. She looked at the disheveled
woman who was busy rubbing her against an iron
bedpost, facing the opposite direction. She appeared to be
completely oblivious to the fact that she was being
watched. "Is she like this all the time?" asked Natalie,
glancing back.
"Yes. If she isn't masturbating, she's sitting and
staring, or begging us to fuck her, or eating, or sleeping.
Lately, it's been driving us crazy," answered Kimberly, as
a giggle escaped her. Natalie heard the underlying, very
real hunger in the words. It brought a wistful smile to her
lips as she thought again of ravaging the nurse. She
trembled as the image added itself to the unrelenting
euphoria of doing Tamara's will.
"I can imagine. Such a pitiful life, though. No one to
fuck, and dying to do so all the time," Natalie walked over
and placed her hand on the woman's sweaty shoulder.
"Ms. Geoghegan," she said. There was no immediate
response. She tried again. "Mary, I've come to take you
home."
The woman stopped her lewd gyrations. She turned and
looked Natalie directly in the eyes. "Fuck me. Now," she
hissed, tossing her hair back like a horny harem girl.
Natalie added that to her list of things to do.
***********************************
The drive back to the Agency was uneventful, save her call
to Mistress.
"Yes, my precious?"
"Mistress, all went as planned. Rhonda's hack into the
asylum systems worked perfectly. By the time I left, the
entire staff was preparing itself for the implantation of
the Ceramic Intra-Cerebral Matrices. There is no sign of
rebellion or resistance of any kind. All of them have
reached initial obedience to the Sapphic Front."
"Mmmm, pet. You've done so well. I'm pleased. Is there any
reward you would care for in particular? Some pet with whom
you can play?"
Natalie's legs jerked in spasm at her Owner's words. She
accepted as wholly natural the fact that Tamara always
seemed to know her most secret thoughts. Her love for
Mistress grew again. A stray thought wandered through,
asking why in the fucking world she had ever tried to
resist this. "Yes, Mistress. I would love to be charged
with the final training of one of the nurses there.
Kimberly Smith."
"That should be no problem at all," said Mistress Tamara,
laughing. Natalie could hear the smile through the phone.
She pulled over just in time to be wracked by a gale force
torrent of orgasmic bliss.
As she quaked and bucked, she began to laugh at the
delicious and wholly depraved thoughts wandering through
her pliant mind. "Poor Kimberly is in for quite an
awakening," she thought, before cumming again, and then
again, orgasms piling up on top of each other like a wall
of eternal cuntlust.
***********************************
Director Reynolds looked at his watch and scowled.
McClanahan and Koranski were almost a half-hour late. It
was going to put a crimp in his work for the rest of the
day. He didn't have the time to spend waiting. But they had
said it was important, and they were the best agents he
had. He really had no choice.
At least the rest of the Agency seemed to be getting
things accomplished. It had been eerily quiet as he walked
through that morning. Everyone had their noses to the
proverbial grindstone, completely absorbed in their work at
their computers. It would mean more reports for him, but
maybe the backlog of reports would finally get caught up.
It was odd, yes, but he was not about to question
efficiency on such a grand scale.
Even his secretary had been so busy that she barely
acknowledged him. He looked at the large box beside her
desk as she typed, and wondered about it for a moment until
he saw the Agency seal on it. It had no doubt been brought
up from the file room. Like everyone else, she seemed
almost obsessed with whatever she was typing.
"Good morning, Dorinda," he had said.
She had barely looked up. She just let out a tiny half of
a humph, almost as if he wasn't there.
"Must be some kind of contest," he thought. "Probably that
Dalton fellow -- it seems like something he'd cook up..."
Whatever this fire was that had been lit, it was certainly
welcome. He made a note to find out who had been so
motivated, and make sure they were recognized.
He grimaced as he was brought back to the present by the
sound of the doorknob turning. Christ, Dorinda had been too
absorbed to even notify him. The grimace turned to a scowl
as Patsy and Natalie walked into the spacious office, out
of breath and red-faced. He stood and motioned each to a
chair with a dismissive flourish. He began to pace back and
forth.
"You two may be my best agents, but I can't abide
tardiness. There are things I have to..."
"We've cracked the Sapphic Front, sir," interrupted Patsy.
"... and I expect my agents to be examples to... say
what?" He was taken completely off guard.
"We cracked the Sapphic Front case. And it's not good news."
"They've infiltrated further than we thought?" Reynolds
looked even more severe.
"They've infiltrated the Agency," said Natalie.
"Christ," said Reynolds. "How did they even find out about
us?" "Hard to say, but we think it was through a clerk,
Tabi Mallory. She's been compromised, at any rate. Total
lesbian Sapphic Front mole. And whether it was really her
doing or not, they've managed to make inroads. If you can
come to the security room, we have something important to
show you. It's the worst of what's happened," said Patsy.
Her statement wasn't a request. It didn't need to be. "The
employees and agents we've verified as viable are waiting
there."
"If I can come to the security room? Jesus, sometimes...
never mind. Let's go." Reynolds scowl was replaced with a
look of grim determination.
They walked quickly down the hall and waited, impatient
and fidgeting at the speed of the retinal scanner. The door
hissed open and they entered.
The room was dark except for the projected blue screen of
an idle VCR. Reynolds couldn't make out any faces, but
there were perhaps twenty people whose silhouettes he could
see.
"This is everyone, Rhonda," said Patsy. "You can start the
tape."
There was no answer, but the screen came to life. The
director watched as the came into focus. He choked
as he saw what came into view.
It was his living room.
As he recovered, he leaned forward and put his hands over
his mouth, pulling downward on his jaw. Through his
disbelieving outrage, his need to observe had won the first
battle.
His horror intensified as he watched his wife, Joyce,
enter the room. The view changed and he watched her kneel
in the negligee he'd given her for their twentieth
anniversary.
He could see the legs of another woman. Joyce's eyes, wide
and unblinking, looked up, as if listening. He wished he
could hear what was being said. He pulled further down on
his face, the of his lower eyelids showing as he
watched, helpless as his -- his fucking -- began
to shake.
He heartened for a moment. She was fighting. She looked as
if something inside were going to break out, break her
free. Surely all his work with her over the years wouldn't
fail. He had conditioned her to be able to resist. She
hadn't known... but it was the only safe thing to do.
Because of this. This terrible, obscene display of someone
trying to break her mind. But she would win. She was
strong. She had to win.
And then her mouth opened. This was it. The moment she
would finally break free from the mental hold of whoever
had her.
"The slave begs a taste of her sister's hot, steaming
in honor of my only love and eternal Owner, Mistress
Tamara." Her words broke the silence like a scythe,
burning in his brain.
"Tamara? Why is that name so familiar?" he thought, his
mind fighting to find the information he should know but
had somehow misplaced.
"Oh, Joyce, that was pretty good, but you just didn't have
your heart in it. Again, with feeling. Try to make me
with your words."
The voice had been altered. Still, the inflections sounded
familiar. He fought harder to connect his whirling
thoughts. And why was his dick getting hard?
"The slave begs a taste of her sister's hot, steaming
in honor of my only love and eternal Owner, Mistress
Tamara..."
Reynolds felt his mind breaking apart, piece by piece.
Joyce had lost. Her words carried... conviction. He wanted
desperately to wake up, but there was no relief and the
scene played on, burning into his soul like a red-hot
needle.
His cock felt like there were tongues licking it all over.
This was insane. The more horror he felt, the more it was
stimulating his cock. Sparks of heat flew up his spine at
the realization.
The electronic voice tortured him again as he let out a
small sob. It was impossible to tell if it was from pain or
pleasure.
"Much better, Joyce. But I think I'd like your hot little
tongue in my asshole. Wouldn't that be better?"
He couldn't pull his eyes away as his wife's eyes filled
with obscene relish and depravity. He watched as she
stretched out her tongue and leaned forward, body begging
to for a taste. The reality of the scene surged through
him. He thought he was going to vomit. He knew he was going
to cum.
His own thoughts were drowning out her words now, but his
eyes saw everything as her body language sent out waves of
newfound enthusiasm.
Reynolds put his fist in his mouth, fending off the scream
that was trying to explode out of his throat. Then, without
warning, his turned and looked into the camera, her
face distorted into the countenance of a demon of lust. The
sound of his name woke him from his inner rambling.
"Marvin, honey," she sang to him, in her familiar way, "I
do this in honor of the love of my life, my purpose for
living, my Owner and Mistress, Tamara Morgan, in order to
show you her infinite power. And it's much better for me
than it is for you..."
This time, he did scream, as his penis spilled hot,
boiling into his pants. He tired to push back his
chair, but his hips were quaking from the intense pleasure
still licking at his loins.
Rage and guilt, hatred and confusion rang through the
mind. Why was everyone silent? Why weren't they as outraged
as he at the mind-rape of his wife, his beloved? He looked
back to the screen, eyes wide with panic and ashamed
arousal. The was slowly pulling back. He clutched
himself, doubling over as he saw what and who it revealed.
Patsy.
The lights came up. He looked around the conference table.
Agent after agent was looking at him, with the vague
indifference of a scientist towards a laboratory animal.
Through the fog of his failing sanity, he realized that the
infiltration was much bigger than he could have dreamed.
He realized that he'd been had.
"Welcome to your new post, Director."
He looked up at Patsy who was standing beside him, holding
out a black leather collar. He screamed and broke for the
door, as agents crowded around him. Just as he felt a set
of hands gain purchase and start to pull him back, the door
slid open and he fell outward and under the heap of bodies
that followed him out the door. By instinct more than
skill, he managed to break free and run down the hall.
Without thinking, he turned into his office, sped past
Dorinda's desk, and slammed the door open and then shut as
he entered, pressing the security button that secured the
doorway with armor plate. His eyes closed as he heard the
steel armor slide quickly downward outside. He fell back
against the door, eyes still closed, panting.
"Glad to see you could make it, Marvin."
He stopped cold, unwilling even to breathe. He opened his
eyes and looked at his chair, which was facing away from
him. He began to giggle as he looked on either side of his
desk.
To the right was Joyce, beaming, eyes wide and sightless,
lost in rapture built in the crevices of her own mind. Her
hand played at her naked crotch while tremors passed
through her otherwise immobile form.
And to the left, in an identical pose, was Mary Geoghegan,
the of the Senator -- the who had been locked
away from sight for so many years.
The chair spun around in a slow arc. Reynolds felt panic
and defeat clawing for the domination of his mind. In this
nightmare, he thought he was beyond surprise. He was wrong,
Sitting in the chair now facing him, was retired Senator
Alfred Geoghegan, himself.
Marvin Reynolds, Director of the Department of
Psychological Research, collapsed on the floor, unconscious.
***********************************
"There you are. Good. Glad to see you're awake, now."
Reynolds felt groggy. He was confused. Where was he?
The memory took a moment to flood back in. He tried to
struggle, but he was too weak to move, not to mention the
fact that he was strapped to a gurney that had been tilted
upward.
"Alfred, this is all wrong," he said.
"No, it's extremely right," answered the Senator. "Let me
tell you a story, my boy. It's one with which you should be
intimately familiar.
"Several years ago, as you know, my was abducted
for a high political ransom which I was unable to pay,
though I would have done so gladly. It was, sadly, not
within my power. I was sent tapes much like the one you
just saw, showing her progressive brainwashing. No, it was
more like programming.
"I, of course, came to you for help. As one of the few
politicians aware of your existence, I knew your agency was
the only one that could help. And, as you will also recall,
I was able to increase the Agency's clandestine funding. It
was difficult, but it's amazing what grief and desperation
will do.
"And then came the word from you that she was dead. That
she had been burned, her ashes buried. I wonder whose ashes
those were you gave me? Well, it's likely of no importance,
even if you could remember.
"I left the Senate due to my grief -- certainly
understandable. My Mary was my life. She was my sense of
rightness, of goodness. With her gone, I could go on no
longer. I was able to leave my post with dignity, barely.
But the grief killed my wife, Mary's mother.
"And I had no idea about the truth. It wasn't until nearly
a year later that I was given the initial facts. Facts that
gave me hope. But your plan nearly worked."
"Plan?" asked Reynolds.
"The plan to kidnap and turn my into a raving,
nymphomaniacal lunatic. You sentenced her to a hellish life
of merciless arousal and desire that could never be sated.
And you used her, you demonic pile of maggot slime, for
your own pleasure. All for increased funding. Funding you
would have received anyway. You are beyond loathsome, my
friend. Although 'friend' isn't quite the word to use, is
it?"
Reynolds flushed despite the sedative. "I don't know what
you're talking about. You've been had. The Sapphic Front
has loaded your mind with..."
"I CREATED THE SAPPHIC FRONT, YOU IDIOT!" shouted the
Senator, rising from the chair. His face was with years
of unspent rage. "Don't play stupid or innocent. I know
what you did, you bastard.
"You see, you failed to check up on Mary's own secret
life. She had a lover. A female lover. She was afraid to
tell me, but also afraid to be found out, because of what
it might do to my political career. She was misguided about
what my reaction would have been, but she was giving and
kind and beautiful. And you turned her into a gibbering
sexual monster.
"Her lover, Dr. Tamara Morgan, was very careful to respect
Mary's wish for secrecy and privacy. There was never any
evidence that they shared their hearts and beds.
Eventually, Tamara placed cameras around Mary's
apartment, unbeknownst to Mary. She loved my daughter, and
feared the private investigators and scandal magazines that
would drive them apart if their love was discovered.
"The cameras caught several of just those kinds of people.
They also caught a young, rising Assistant Director on tape
as he was unmasked by my as she fought against her
abduction.
"And that Assistant Director, my... friend... was you."
The Senator paused as the ramifications of his words sank
in.
"Tamara came to me. I didn't believe any of it, not at
first. But I had the tapes analyzed for authenticity. The
next time we met, it was me who visited her.
"So Tamara and I hatched a plan. I poured every last
resource of my sizeable estate into my own clandestine
research and development, under the guise of the mysterious
and misleading 'Sapphic Front'. A front, yes, but not of
the kind you imagined. The name of the organization didn't
exist before that.
"Imagine how amusing it was for me the day you called,
nearly two years after you recovered her "ashes", to tell
me that you had found out who had abducted her. Ironic,
isn't it? You could have named any threatening
organization, but you chose inadvertently to prove Tamara's
story. Worst of all, is that under different circumstances
I might have believed you.
"In any case, it took years to develop technology and
contacts that would allow us to penetrate the Agency. While
you looked for a group of women interested in world
domination, we were slowly leading your agents into a web
from which there was no escape. It took nearly five years.
But once we had Patsy, and then Natalie, the game was
already won. You were so predictable, Marvin. Not a speck
of insight or talent of your own."
"Tell me, do you think your agents ever suspected that
your 'Mind Mapper', the one you used for testing them for
mental tampering, was actually a brainwashing device used
to assure their loyalty? It doesn't matter. They know now.
And they're free of its effects."
The room was spinning around Reynolds. He felt the walls
closing in on him. He tried to play for time, if only
enough time to think. "So, you are the leader of the
Sapphic Front?"
"Odd you should ask. No, we had to test the technology on
men as well as women. In those early days, there were few
people involved. So I was the obvious candidate. I love and
obey Mistress Tamara with every molecule of my being. She
alone has given my life purpose again. I obey without
question or hesitation. And it's so damned good. Unlike
you, her rewards are quite..." -- the Senator closed his
eyes in a moment of bliss -- "g-gratifying. I'll never
serve the way her female pets do, but that is exactly as it
should be. You'll understand, soon enough."
Reynolds, thinking as fast as he could, said, "You'll
never prove your story, you know. The records were all
destroyed. Eventually, you'll be uncovered and labeled a
lunatic, Alfred. Give this up, now. It was a useless fight
then. It's a useless fight now, too."
"Oh, my. You really are as as I've been told. Do you
remember your backlog of files? You'd be surprised what's
been misplaced and put in the wrong boxes over the years.
Luckily, we had Patsy to pull all the pieces together." As
if to punctuate is point, he reached behind the desk and
dropped a large, sealed envelope on the desk.
"I just wanted you to know why this was done. I don't give
a fuck if you know how. I have Mary back, and she will soon
be rejoined with Tamara in a way they could never dream
before. And as for you, dear Director... I wish that I
could say that it has been a pleasure knowing you. It has
certainly been a pleasure destroying you.
"Which reminds me. I've been instructed to show you just
how far the Agency has become compromised. In five seconds
from when I say 'start', you will Marvin, by order of
my Mistress and yours, Mistress Tamara Morgan, MD. Start."
Reynolds could feel it building impossibly fast as his
cock grew rigid and painful. He screamed as his orgasm
slammed through him, shredding his defiance into tiny bits
of pleasure-confetti that fell across his body, causing it
to jerk and quake in shame and pleasure.
Senator Geoghegan, stepping with the distinguished grace
born of years and generations of tradition, held out his
hands to Joyce and Mary, who came to life and rose to take
them. He allowed them a moment for a brief kiss with each
other, and escorted them from the office.
From just outside Reynolds heard him say, "Patsy, Natalie,
he's all yours. Please try to come up with something
creative, yes?"
He closed is eyes as he heard their approaching footsteps.
"Oh, shit," was all he could think to say.
WASHINGTON, D.C. -- Today, Marvin Reynolds
resigned his post as Director of the
powerful but little-known Department of
Psychological Research, amid charges of
misappropriation of resources. Mr. Reynolds
could not be reached for comment. However,
longtime associate and friend, retired Sen.
Alfred Geoghegan said that, "...this is an
internal affair with internal solutions. No
permanent damage was done, and no money
taken, but Marvin obviously feels obligated
to leave, despite the fact that many of us
believe that he has done nothing wrong."
Federal law enforcement officials
acknowledged that there is no continuing
investigation, nor any plan for one. "This
is a closed case. It's been resolved. And
it's somewhere that no one really wants to
go," said one official, on condition of
anonymity.
Rumors around the Capitol are saying that
the department might move from the public to
private sectors, a move that would put the
agency in the hands of private investors. Dr.
Tamara Morgan, the newly named Director, said
in an interview yesterday that such a move
would prove "...beneficial to all interested
parties, and free up federal dollars for more
urgent causes." When asked what causes those
might be, she responded, "That's not really
up to me to decide."
The Department of Psychological Research has
been a target of conspiracy theory fringe
groups for years, who have charged it with
being involved in everything from military
propaganda to mind control. From time to time,
these rumors surface again, but close
inspection over the years has yielded nothing
to indicate such activities, leaving the
public to speculate what function this
classified organization actually performs...
***********************************
Marsha Collier didn't like visits from the home office.
They were more than a nuisance -- they were interruptions
that took days of useless preparation time, followed by a
day of guided tours where nothing got accomplished, and
that ended with little more than a pat on the back and
admonishments to improve efficiency. It was frustrating
that they were supposed to look efficient during an
exercise in inefficiency.
On the other hand, the new Director was not what she had
expected. She was friendly, open, and didn't walk around
with the usual air of self-importance that accompanied her
position. Best of all, she seemed genuinely concerned about
the issues facing their small staff of agents.
After only a few hours of looking through records and
asking about the operation, Director Morgan looked up from
a folder and said, "Is this what all your past directors
have done on these inspection visits? Looked at files and
talked about nothing of real importance?"
"Pretty much," said Marsha, shrugging. "Can I take that to
mean you're interested in something else?"
"Well, to tell you the truth, yes."
"You know, Director, that's the best thing I've heard in
longer than I can remember."
"I'm glad you think so. But let's stop with the 'Director'
stuff, right now. I'd much prefer that you call me... well,
'Tamara' might be too informal. Chief is too masculine...
how about..." said the Director, trailing off as she
thought about it.
Marsha waited patiently, without expression -- but inside,
she was smiling. She liked this woman. It was such a change
from the gruff machismo she'd come to expect in law
enforcement.
"Mistress," finished Tamara.
Marsha felt something inside ...shift... and looked at
Tamara more closely. Something was itching inside her
skull. It was something serpentine, something... delicious.
Morphing. Something familiar. Yes. Delicious. "Yes,
Mistress, that does sound more -- appropriate," she said.
She heard her words and comprehended their meaning, but
she felt somehow disconnected, as if she were observing
herself. Tamara -- "Mistress", her mind reminded her, was
some kind of... of... "Goddess."
But that wasn't right. Tamara was the Director, and she
was the Senior Field Agent for (Mistress) the reformed
Agency. She stood still while her thoughts whirled and
reality shifted again.
"Oh, I'm so glad you watched the Agency Restructuring CD I
sent, Marsha. Of course, as it is so often said, the Agency
is the sum total of its employees, so I had to restructure
everyone. You know, I never planned on this. But in my
fight against Reynolds and his corruption, I developed a
certain... taste for being in control. I don't think I want
to give it up just yet. There's so much pleasure in
seduction, don't you agree?" purred Tamara.
Marsha could feel her face turning red. She knew that this
was wrong, that it was perverted. She knew that she should
be fighting the consumption of her will. But her lips
disobeyed her. "Pleasssssure... yessssss..."
The utterance sent a shiver of delight from the base of
her brain down her back and legs. She was breathing faster.
She began to fight harder, but what was left of her control
could not break the grip on her body. She felt her
becoming damp as her legs spread without her permission. It
felt like there was a sea of tongues under her, licking,
licking, licking endlessly, trapping her, changing her,
making her bend more and more... She knew it was just in
her mind. Her mind. A hallucination. It was oh fuck it was
just in her mind and she didn't fucking care. It was so
damned perfect. She let out a guttural moan.
"Oh, poor dear, it must be embarrassing to be acting the
slut. If only your could see you now. But you have
no do you? You have no father. You have no past. You
have Mistress. Mistress Tamara. Say it."
"N-nno. I have a motherrr. Her n-name... is..."
It had been right there on the tip of her tongue. The name
of her -- her what? Her Mistress. Yes. Mistress Tamara.
Tamara walked over and looked into the tear-filled eyes of
her newest awakened slave as she placed her hand under her
chin. God, she wanted to just from watching the shame
and desire fight for possession of the agent's mind. "Say
it!" she hissed.
"I... have Mistress Tamara," said Marsha, suddenly
relaxing as the tension in her released. A gigantic spasm
rocked her body forward as the assault continued.
"Mistress Tamara owns me. Say it, Marsha."
"No!" Her resistance broke through and gained a foothold.
"Mistress Tamara owns me. You can feel it winding through,
can't you? Every word I speak. Choking off your mistaken
sense of self, of purpose. Be a good girl. Mistress Tamara
owns me."
Good girl. She had to be good. She had to be...
She let out a horrified sob as the words forced themselves
out of her in an unexpected blast of surrender. "Mistress
Tamara owns me!"
"I am the loving property of Mistress Tamara. Speak."
"I am the loving property of Mistress Tamara..." she was
crying now, but it was so hard to remember why. She felt
love blossom and take root, sending her up to another
plateau of lust and desire.
"I obey her in everything."
"I obey her in everything." It was as if she were being
reborn. It was so clear. It was so terrible. It was
everything it should be.
"I am her slave. She is my purpose. Speak."
"I am her slave. She is my... purpose."
"I am a slut. I am a princess. I am whatever she desires,
whenever she desires it. I have no limits. I have no
dignity. I have Mistress Tamara. Speak."
"I am a slut. I am a princess. I am whatever she desires,
whenever she desires it. I have no limits. I have no
dignity. I have Mistress Tamara."
"I have no name. I am slave."
"I... have..."
The swaying, entranced agent knew something was wrong. She
tried to think of what her name was. She realized that she
didn't have one. The pleasure inside her expanded and rose.
"I have no name. I am slave."
"Listen carefully. I want you to undress me. Then, undress
yourself. You are to take the vibrator I give you and hold
it against my while you tongue-fuck my asshole.
Everything you do to me, every pleasure you give me, echoes
even more strongly in yourself. It is stronger than any
pleasure you have ever known. Pleasing me in the slightest
task or chore, whether sexual or not, creates irresistible
sexual pleasure in you. Each time you obey, the pleasure is
stronger. That is the pleasure of obedience. Once felt, all
other pleasures are as nothing. They cannot compare to the
pleasure of obedience to your Owner. To Mistress Tamara.
Does slave comprehend?"
"Slave comprehends, Mistress."
"Very good. I am pleased. Once you have tasted the
pleasure of knowing you have pleased me, you may begin."
Tamara watched as the slave's body fell to the floor,
writhing and gyrating in obscene pleasure. The CIM was
recording and amplifying it all, playing it back so that
the slave felt it over and over, deeper and deeper. This
one would be an exceptional addition to her collection. She
felt herself lubricating as the slave's moans became
screams, and the screams choked off into pure lust and
ecstasy as her body tensed in climax.
It went on for a very long time.
Tamara thought back while she waited. Poor Reynolds,
doomed to a fate of only being able to get off when he was
alone and looking into a mirror, and only wanting one thing
in his life: to get off again. She grinned as she thought
of Natalie's and Patsy's torture for their ex-leader. Their
minds were almost as nasty as her own.
And now, with the last Field Office "restructured", she
indulged in the luxury of congratulating herself on her
ingenuity. Once she had Senator Geoghegan under her
control, making Reynolds out to be the perpetrator of
Mary's kidnapping had been easy. Implanting the false
memories in the ex-Director had proved challenging, but not
nearly as difficult as she had imagined. And now, the
Sapphic Front had all the resources of the Agency at its
disposal, and without the watchful eye of the government to
stop her from playing. She even had male agents to do
actual casework, if needed.
World domination wasn't the idea. It was seduction, over
and over and over and over. She savored the taste of it.
Tamara cooed as her newest slave rose and began to
undress. She looked at the beauty of the woman before her.
She would make a wonderful playmate along with Patsy,
Natalie, and her other top slaves. She would have to see
what would happen with all the CIMs synched together for an
orgy. She might even tie in her own.
Yes, it would be quite interesting.
Absolutely.
FINIS
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Thanks so much for reading!
- Sara