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Rochelle05 Harmonic Conversion 2
If you are younger than 18 years
Or community standards are stoking your fears
If bothered by beautiful slaves on their knees
Take your eyes elsewhere, immediately please
This (c)2000 by Sara H. Please do not post elsewhere
without permission.
- sara
----
Harmonic Conversion II - House O' Wrist
by Sara H
Categories: FF, FD, MF, MC
----
Part One
I knew it would be a great score. I'd been watching the house
for days, and I saw how she dressed. Eccentric as hell, but she
was dripping green, as in dollar bills, and lots of 'em.
Furs, jewelry, and a real flair for showing it off.
I took my time, getting to know her habits. I didn't get it at
first. She was unpredictable as hell. But in the end, I figured
it out. Whenever she wore her black satin gloves, she was gone
for at least two hours. Plenty of time to do the job and be gone.
There's a saying about hiding in plain sight. Well, I was
really good at it. At only 4' 8", I could dress as a boy,
long hair tucked up in a baseball cap, no makeup, and
never be noticed. Especially when I was seen that way, walking
down the street day after day, for several weeks. Even if they
figured out who it was, they'd report a young, male teenager,
and not a suspicious looking 22-year-old female burglar with a
filthy yap.
It also didn't that I was no beauty queen. In my line of
work, good looks get you caught, unless you know how to use
them. Me, I didn't know about that. It had never been a concern.
Fuck 'em. People are so busy making sure you don't see their
own sins that they never really look, anyway. Truth is, I could
probably do it naked in broad daylight, and never get seen. But
I never take the chance that the one-in-a-thousand person who
doesn't give a fuck is looking.
Anyway, I had been seen walking down the street, every day for
three weeks, obviously on my way from somewhere to somewhere
else, tossing a baseball up in the air as I walked, like it was
my security blanket. Dumbfucks never even asked if I was with a
new family. They'd just look for a second and go back to doing
whatever the fuck assholes do when they're not playing hide the
salami or watching Slimefeld reruns. Is that piece of shit show
still on?
So today was the day, and now was the time. I threw the
baseball upward and fumbled with it when it came down. I reached
over and kicked it up her driveway "by accident." Larry, Moe and
Curly would have been proud as I kept fumbling all the way to
the back yard.
It was an house, a cape cod, and there was a coal chute
door on the side. Pulling a slim prybar out from my jacket, I
found the seam, popped it open with a rusty groan, and in the
time it takes to put a piece of gum in your mouth, I was in.
The basement was dark, and I waited a moment for my eyes to get
used to it. I still couldn't see much... the few windows were
dirty and grown over on the outside with hedges. As soon as I
could see shadowy shapes, I made my way to the stairs.
I didn't need to be quiet, but I didn't want to be obvious,
either. I walked up the steps carefully. There's a kind of
respect you get for your craft, you know?
One nice thing she did for me - she left the basement door
unlocked, and I stepped out into the kitchen. It was done in
that stainless steel, ultra modern style, all sleek and
spotless. One thing for sure... she was obsessed with being
clean.
I made my way into the connecting hallway and was about to step
into what I figured to be the master bedroom when I glanced into
the living room.
And froze.
There were three women sitting there. I was caught. I waited
for the inevitable gasp or scream as one of them noticed me.
Nothing happened.
I looked again, and saw that they had headphones on, and their
eyes were closed. I listened, but couldn't hear what they were
listening to. From the relaxation of their bodies, I figured it
was some kind of meditation bullshit. Maybe some kind of cult.
Maybe some kind of test marketing thing. I didn't know and
didn't care. I wasn't caught, and that was what mattered.
But I gotta tell you, it was fucking *weird.*
I felt a little crazy that day, so I decided to slip into the
bedroom anyway. It was completely different than the rest of the
house. It had a smell of incense... and there was all this
primitive art on the walls. Lots of nakedness, or it looked like
nakedness. It was strange. If I was looking around, it looked
like paintings of a bunch of people fucking in a huge orgy, but
when I looked directly at them, they were just this abstract
garbage that people buy from ripoff artists at sidewalk fairs.
And they call *me* a thief.
I looked in the dresser and in the jewelry boxes and found what
I was looking for. Jewelry. Incredible, too. I was going to be
set for at least six months. This knew quality
gemstones, at least. I was even gaining a little respect for
her, despite her awful taste in art.
Bagging the necklaces, bracelets, pearls, anklets, and
earrings, as well as some wonderful brooches, I moved on to the
old, worn cedar chest at the end of the queen size bed. Typical
hiding place, although most people are fucked up enough to think
it's clever.
I opened the top and peered inside. It was full of dildos,
vibrators, whips, cuffs, and a few things I didn't recognize.
"Kinky." The word escaped my lips as I looked. I froze again.
*Fuck! Goddamned mouth!* But she was my kind of girl, all right.
I crept over to the door and looked into the living room. A
shiver went down my spine.
It was empty.
There was no one there. But there were no other sounds, either.
Either I was totally fucked, or this was a totally fucked up
house occupied and visited by totally fucked up wenches. I
grabbed my bag of goodies, dropped it into the large and highly
necessary inside pocket of my jacket, and headed back towards
the kitchen.
I don't know why I did what I did next. Well, I do, but I
didn't then.
I stopped to look again in the living room. It was too strange
to just walk away. What the hell had those women been listening
to so raptly, just to leave without a trace? Without even a
word? How did they leave without a sound?
I walked into the room and looked around. I could still smell
their perfume in the air, mixing in odd ways that made my nose
itch. Never could stand that shit, myself.
I checked my watch. I still had fifty minutes of "safe time."
I'd been fast. That was at least still on the mark.
I sat where I'd seen one of the women sitting. What I hadn't
seen was the little CD player that sat beside her, and now sat
beside me. Figuring I'd have something to laugh at, I placed the
phones on my ears, and pressed play.
All there was, was some kind of hissing squeaky noise, and
something else that sounded like whispering, but it was not like
words, at least that I could make out. I concentrated, holding
the phones tighter, after turning up the volume to full.
Still not anything I could make out. *Goddamned piece of shit
player is probably broken,* I thought.
I closed my eyes, trying to focus harder on it. There had to be
something there. No one wastes her time listening to nothing.
Not three women, and not all at once.
I waited another minute and then gave up, opening my eyes.
The room was dark. Shit!
I looked down at my watch. *Three hours!* I didn't have time to
remember that CD's don't last that long or that there was no way
that much time could have passed. I had to get the fuck out of
there!
It went from bad to worse. I heard a car pull in the driveway
and back to the garage. I was going to have to risk being seen
leaving by the front door. I did the best I could.
It was only dusk outside. I was still visible. I turned and
waved before closing the door, yelling "Bye! Thanks again!" and
smiling as I sauntered down the sidewalk. I turned and loped
across the front yard casually, but quickly, and returned to my
daily trip down the sidewalk.
Too fucking close.
----
I got to my car about a quarter of a mile away, and got in.
Then I drove to a parking lot and took off all my incriminating
clothes, replacing them with a blouse and a skirt, and my freed
hair, now down around my shoulders.
It was close, but I was also getting off on it. Adrenaline does
that. Makes me hot. I decided I should lay low for a few days,
though.
Not only that... everyone knows that fences are only as
dependable as the money they can make. This was a big score, but
it could have a big reward, and I needed to make sure those
offers were stale before I passed them on.
I called up Murray, my occasional horny-boy, and asked if he'd
like to come over for the night. He agreed, and I got out the
music, beer, ciggies and blow. Never knew what Murray would be
in the mood for. Fucking mooch. No, not mooch. He was a whore if
there ever was one. Bastard.
Not only that, but the fucking was uninspired. It was the same
old shit, feel, feel, diddle, poke, in, out, sleep. Fucker.
Useless piece of flesh. I wondered what the real use of a penis
was... I mean, it's basically a flap of skin with a in the
end. It was unpredictable and unreliable.
I thought of the dildos I'd seen that afternoon, and purred.
Murray was snoring when I woke him up and kicked his ass out.
He was used to that, but I don't think his feeble coke-addled
brain could perceive that I wasn't going to be calling him back.
He was nothing but an energy suck, a big black of human
flesh. I didn't know why I hadn't seen it before.
I went to sleep, and didn't dream at all. I think my dreams
were all too scared of how pissed I was to show up. Heh.
----
Never return to the scene of a crime. That's the real deal. It
never pays. Always gets you in trouble. So why was I here,
standing on the sidewalk, looking up the slight hill of her
front lawn, staring at her house again? Was I that stupid?
Tired? Maybe. I was something. Out of sorts. I didn't even
remember much about getting there.
That's when I saw the three women come walking up. They turned
in at the driveway and headed to the front door. I joined them.
They didn't seem to notice, and the truth was, I wasn't really
looking at them, either. I knew they were there, but somewhere
inside, cross my heart, I knew that they were *supposed* to be
there.
I knew I was supposed to be there, too.
I don't know how I knew it. I just did. If you can't
understand, well, what the hell. I know what I know.
The door opened, and we waited, patiently devoid of thought.
"Well, well. I'm not often surprised. What do we have here?"
It was her. The woman with the great jewels and funky art.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, comprehension finding its way across her
face. "You must be my little visitor from the other day! What a
pleasant turn of events!"
"Fuck you," I spat, hissing.
"Oh, that comes later. For now, come in with the others,
*butterbrain*."
----
The women were gone. I sat in the living room, facing *her*.
The green-eyed psycho who had melted my brain. I wasn't sure how
long I'd been there. I know I listened to the CD again. At
least, I thought it was the same one. It was different. Louder.
Something in it made sense, but I don't know how to explain. It
was kind of like a puzzle coming together.
I fucking *hated* puzzles.
"Perhaps you should tell me your name," she said, smiling. Her
eyes were bright with -- something. Rage? No. Distrust? Hardly.
If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought it was humor.
"Bonnie Childers. My friends call me Tripsie," I answered.
Except I didn't. My mouth was doing my talking for me, without
any help from me. Christ.
"And do you have any friends?"
"No."
"I see."
"Fuck you."
"That's twice. Ask nicely next time. Quite an eager little lump
of hot cuntlust, aren't you?"
We sat in silence again. I began to squirm. Somehow, it was
worse than being put in a lineup, although I'd only been through
that once. This was more serious, in a way I couldn't quite put
my finger on. She was a fucking lunatic. I was in big frigging
trouble.
"Let me guess. You came to burgle my house. You found my
jewelry, and got curious, having seen my little slave
receiving their conditioning. You wanted to see what had them so
captivated. You listened. You don't remember a thing, except
that you left, probably about the time I was getting home."
"Bingo, bitch."
"I prefer Mistress. Say it again."
My anger flared. "Bingo, b-b-bimmmmMistress."
"Better," she said, smiling. My heart swelled in pleasure,
along with my snatch. So help me, I couldn't help it. She went
on. "I don't mind the language, but hold it in. The discipline
will do you good. Better yet, every time you want to curse in my
general direction, just say 'This little bitch obeys her
Mistress.' You'll find it's also more true each time you say it.
Won't you?"
"Fuck you, you green-eyed pool of vomit!" I said. What
came out was, "This little bitch obeys her Mistress!"
"Oh, try again, slavebonnie. You'll see that the words dance on
your clit. So either you submit to Me, or to My pleasure. Either
way, you're Mine, now."
"slavebonnie my fucking *ass*," I screamed. "This little bitch
obeys her Mistress." I jerked as I felt a tongue dribble a bit
of drool on my clit.
"Sooooo nice. I love a good 'Catch 22'. You're mine if you do
and mine if you don't.
"You missed the best piece of jewelry, you know. Of course,
that's because I never take it off. It's my silver bracelet.
Would you like to see it?"
"Yes, Mistress," I answered. I was beginning to get the hang of
it, but mostly hoped if I humored this psychopathic whore that
She'd let me go sooner.
"It's not the silver... it's the amber stone. The amber. Glows
almost. Sort of sucks you in. You feel it?" she continued. I got
the feeling that she had this part well rehearsed. It wasn't
important. I *did* feel it. But, in a moment of rebellion I
didn't want Her to know.
"This little bitch obeys her Mistress," I croaked, followed by
a loud moan as the tongue from before gave a long lick upward on
my randy slit.
"I wonder which variation of limited vocabulary *that* was,"
She hummed. The amber glowed and took me deeper in.
"Now, let me ask you something else," She went on. "Judging
from your appearance, I would say that you have a very low
opinion of yourself, physically speaking. Is that true?"
"Yes, Mistress." She had caught me off guard, and I answered
before I thought. I had been too busy watching the pretty,
pretty amber.
"Here, with Mistress, you are beautiful. You are beautiful to
Me. You are beautiful *with* Me."
Coming from anyone else, I would have laughed... but there was
sincerity in Her voice. Sincerity and amber light. I began to
cry. I remembered the hollowness of Murray and hundreds before
him, just like him. I looked from green to amber and back again.
I know it's hokey as hell, but I began to cry. Not from fear,
but from joy.
"Now, it's time for you to listen. But you started late in the
series... you need to catch up with your sisters." She got out a
CD and placed it in the player beside me.
"You can if you like," She said.
I did. It was the motherfucking lodestone of cumming. I still
don't remember when or how it stopped. I just remember screaming
and crying and laughing and shaking in absolute, incredible,
unstoppable waves of burning, amber pleasure.
----
Part Two
Okay, I admit it. It was the goddamned to end all cums. I'd
do it again in a heartbeat. But that didn't mean she wasn't a
frigging fruitcake.
At least, I thought so at the time.
Except that thinking was getting harder. Shit. What would *you*
have done, if you were suddenly desirable, suddenly beautiful
after a life of bone-fuck ugly? Would *you* have tried to think
your way out of paradise? Don't laugh. You might get the chance
to see, someday, and then you'll know how high the fucking wall
really is.
"Relax and listen to the CD, slavebonnie. It will guide you."
Mistress Rochelle's voice was not asking. It was fucking
drilling in like the sound of the dentist doing a root canal in
my brain. I relaxed and listened. Besides, what the else was
there to do?
I closed my eyes. When I opened them a few moments later, the
CD had ended, and she wasn't in the room. After a moment of
being dazed, I hit me that this might be my only chance to get
the hell out, to get my ass away from this screwball example of
bad taste mixed with a psycho Queen. The woman was the fucking
Wicked Witch on acid.
My feet stuck to the floor as I stood. *Except She's beautiful.
And I'm beautiful with Her.*
I was glued into a moment of glistening elegance, my mind
putting a strangle-hold on my escape.
The sound of her returning footsteps broke me out of my snake-
eyed stupor. *Kee-rist!* I bolted for the front door, down the
steps, across the yard, and down the sidewalk leading me back to
some kind of sanity. I ran the single block to where I had
parked my car. It was a good thing I saw it -- I hadn't really
paid any attention to where I'd left it.
I jumped behind the wheel, started the cat, jammed down hard on
the accelerator, and then, after a few miles, began to relax. My
sanity kicked in like an friend. The last thing I needed to
do was get pulled over and try to explain what I was doing
racing away from a neighborhood on another side of town than my
own. I was good, but I had a record. And I had hot jewels at
home that could get me in big trouble.
*Jesus H. Christ,* I thought, *that was way too fucking close
for comfort.* I drove, numb. I was too tired and freaked to do
much of anything but drive and stare. It was like my brain had
been turned to idle. Just once, I thought, *Lunatic bitch.*
Otherwise, it was a grey drive.
Much to my relief, it was already seeming like a bad dream by
the time I got back to my pit. I was still shaking though, so I
decided to do something to calm down. I popped a Valium and
turned on the bath. What the hell, it was my version of luxury.
After a long, hot bath, I settled into my bed, took a swig of
some crappy whiskey, and drifted off to sleep.
----
*Back arching. Tongue on my clit. Rasping. Edgy. slave.
bonnieslave. slavebonnie. Taste cunt. Lick. Kiss. Nipples
burning tongue lashing clit screaming cum... cum... cum... lick
and feel and and fire and someone was... drumming. Ancient,
native drums of power. Making my feet dance. Making my head
spin. Little Bonnie Dance-A-Bitch. Ba - ba - ba -* Boom *! BA -
BA - BA -* BOOM *!*
I woke up slowly and realized it was my door. "Coming!" I
yelled. Don't you hate it when people pull that shit? That was
my world though: morons and assholes. Always thinking that they
have something to say that's more important than getting your
sleep.
I threw a knee-length tee over my head and went to the door.
"Who's there?" I asked, still feeling the groggy syrup of deep
sleep. My head bobbed as I pulled my down.
"It's me."
Christ. Murray. As if I needed *his* bullshit. I'd known it was
bound to happen -- he was no mental heavyweight -- but I had
been hoping I wouldn't have to be a total bitch to get rid of
his slimy ass.
"Just a second." I opened the door and stepped back as he
walked in.
"Man, Tripsie, you look like you've been through the ringer
*twice*! Got a beer for your sweetie?"
I went and pulled out a beer and tossed it to him. "You're not
my sweetie, Murray. We are over. Actually, we never were. I
wanted to screw, you wanted to scoop snow up your nose. It was
an arrangement, and it's done. Nice knowing you. Keep the beer.
Turn out the light when you leave." I turned and walked back
into my bedroom, feet dragging.
I jerked sideways in surprise as Murray's beer can hit the wall
beside my head, covering me with beer and suds.
"You stuck up little whore!" he shouted. "You want to fuck when
*you* want, but not when *I* want, is that it? Fuck you, you
stinky-cunted wonder slut! In fact, I should have given it to
you up the ass to get your stench off my dick!"
"Fuck *YOU*, you goddamned junkie cocksucker," I responded
coldly. Well, I meant to say that, damn it. I could feel it
change on the way from my brain to my lips. "This little bitch
obeys her Mistress."
My eyes rolled back into my head from the assault of pleasure
that hit my cunt. It burst into flowering wetness and I moaned
deeply as my words drove the pleasure into me like the tongues
of ten skilled whores. I knew I was fucked. I didn't know what
made it so frigging *good*, but I knew it felt like a fucking
blast furnace on my hot little bitch-for-Mistress clit.
I mewled and sighed as my orgasm subsided... and then
remembered where I was. My eyes went wide and I covered my mouth
with my hands, hoping he would just leave it alone.
Oh, sure. Murray, leave it alone? Talk about frigging pipe
dreams. He stood there, frozen, as the words ate through the fog
around his brain like the morning sun. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph,"
he squeaked. I remember a kind of detached curiosity, wondering
what storm of abuse *this* was going to bring on.
But there wasn't a storm. It was *worse*. He started to laugh,
great puffs of air shooting out of his nose as he tried to hold
it in. His body quaked and the laugh broke free as he doubled
over, pointing at me. I could feel my face going red. "You're a
*freak*!" he yelled, his howling laughter burning my ears.
"You're a sick fucking freak *slut*!"
Now I was getting pissed. I'd heard that body language means
more than words, so I showed him my example of that theory as my
foot caught his head sideways and sent him sprawling out the
door. Bastard. I slammed the door shut and locked it as he shook
his head and started to get up.
"Don't worry, you little ugly-cuntfaced dyke!" he screamed,
pounding his fists on the door... making sure the neighbors
heard every word. "I'm sure your sick-fuck *Mistress* can
take better care of you. I don't want your filthy shithole face
in my life *ANYWAY*!"
Okay, so it hurt. Not because it was Murray, but because it was
always this way. Ugly endings. But... it was worth it, getting
that loser out of my life. Besides, I had bigger things to worry
about. Like the woman who had fucked with my head so completely.
*Mistress,* a little voice said, correcting me. *Mistress
Rochelle, slavebonnie.*
I grimaced, pulled out my numbers, and called Juan.
Juan was the only truly bad ass guy I knew. I didn't hang with
him very often, or for very long. His friends usually didn't
last, by either choice or fate. His enemies never seemed to
worry about collateral damage, if you know what I mean.
I wouldn't say we were close friends. I'd say he owed me one.
Big time.
"Yes?" he said, picking up the phone.
"Tripsie here, Juan. I need a favor. Really need it. Can we
meet?"
"Of course, Trips. Same place?"
"If it's still safe."
"It is."
"Cool. And Juan? Thanks."
"Thank me when I help you, *chiquita*. Not before."
I smiled. Of everyone that I knew, Juan always treated me like
someone worth something more than a score, a fix, or a little of
both. I wished his life were a little less of a war zone. But
then, I might never have met him.
And right now, I was never more glad to have known anyone in my
life.
----
We met in a cemetery, by a grave. A grave we both knew far too
well.
"I come here a lot, still, you know," he said.
"I don't," I replied.
He nodded, knowing what I meant. "So what's up?"
I spilled it. Everything. The job, Rochelle, Murray,
everything. Well, as best I could. He listened intently. I'll
give him this much... he never laughed, never cracked a smile. I
finished with what I knew he would clinch it, given the nature
of how much it sounded like Miracle Shit Salad Dressing. "Look,
if I'm crazy, and if I'm just losing it, I need to know that,
too. So check it out. If I'm telling the truth, please take care
of her. If not, commit me. Something. This is just too freaking
weird."
He sat for a long time. Well, a long time for Juan. He finally
stood and said the one word I wanted to hear. "Deal. I'll be in
touch when I have something for you."
"Thanks, Juan. Really."
"No problem, Trips."
I hugged him, and he was gone, and I walked back home, feeling
better again, finally.
----
I spent the next two days laying low and sulking. And, if I'm
going to be uncharacteristically honest, mourning. She had
fucked with me for sure, but Rochelle had shown me something
wonderful. I had more than a moment of wondering, with as fucked
up as my life had been, if what She had to offer was really that
much worse. If it wasn't actually better. By a long shot.
Okay, okay. I frigged my like crazy thinking about Her.
Satisfied? I wasn't. Every time I played, or even came, it just
made me think of Her more, and bring myself off again, imagining
laying at Her feet, Her eyes bright, watching my pleasure. God,
what a word. I ran it over my lips, over my mind. *Pleasure.*
I'd go for fucking *hours* like that.
Then, like an addict on the edge of an overdose, I'd dry out.
But all it took was a brush of my fingers, a thought, and I was
right back into it.
I was beginning to wonder if it was all me, it was so intense.
I wondered if I'd snapped, and if it was all in my head. How did
I know I'd really even gone back? I didn't remember driving
there at all. Believe me, I tried.
Then, Juan called. I bit my lip and waited for the verdict. It
didn't take long.
"Trips, you were right. This woman is definitely on the outside
edge. She's damned good at what she does. But everything's okay,
now. You're safe. And you're going to be fine."
"You didn't..."
"Kill her? No, but she's not going to be bothering you again.
That's a promise."
"So what *did* you do?"
"I can't talk about it over the phone. Can I come over?"
"Yeah, yeah, give me twenty minutes to get showered."
"You got it, *chiquita*.
"And Juan? Thanks."
"My pleasure, Trips. See you in twenty."
----
I didn't do too much, really. I mostly wanted to get washed up
a little and get the smell of sex off of me and out of my
apartment. I was just finishing when I heard him knock.
"Juan?"
"Yeah, Trips."
I unlocked the door and let him in. we hugged and he went over
to the sofa to sit down.
"Can I get you anything?" I asked.
"No, I'm fine," he answered.
"So what happened?" I pressed, wanting the details.
"Well, it was just like you said. The women, Rochelle, the CDs.
I watched for a couple of days, until she was alone, and sneaked
in through the back door," he said. The bastard was trying to
keep me in suspense.
"I was wrong, though. One of the women was still there. She was
a real case... apparently completely zonked on whatever she
does. She kept repeating this little game."
"Oh, *too* wierd!" I said, enthralled.
"Yes, it was. Even for me, it was weird. And funny." He came
over to me and gently took my wrist. "You've *got* to see
this... "
His eyes were laughing, so I agreed.
He placed one finger on my pinky. "This little piggy loves
Mistress..."
I pulled back suddenly. Something wasn't right. But his grip
was like fucking *iron*.
"This little piggy's a drone... this little piggy's a puppet...
this little piggy is owned... and this little piggy goes *weeee
weeee weeee weeee* right back to Mistress's home... isn't that
right... *butterbrain*?
Yep. That was me. Cooked in butter. Stick a fork in me and call
me fucking toast.
"You see, *chiquita*? Mistress doesn't bother you at *all*..."
----
The drops were the fucking *worst*. I could feel my eyelids
stretch back as the drops tightened the muscles. To say I was
hysterical wouldn't come close to where I was. You know how a
cornered alley looks? I *know* I looked more terrified and
desperate.
"I'm so glad you came back to Me, slavebonnie. You worried
Mistress so!" She crooned, smiling with her green eyes and amber
light. But I was going to be strong. I was going to win against
this crazy bitch. I didn't have a doubt in my mind. I was abso-
fucking-lutely sure. I had to be. I had to make it.
"This little bitch obeys her Mistress!" I spat.
I didn't know I would cave so fast. I started to cry. My mind
was going. Maybe already gone. For the first time, I couldn't
remember what I had been trying to say.
As if she knew, Mistress Rochelle smiled, kissed my forehead,
and pressed the play button on the CD player beside me. It
seemed like she'd done that before, but I wasn't sure.
*I am looking again at the paintings on Mistress's walls. They
form a pattern of surrender. They are all that I see. I see
surrender. I am surrender.*
*I sit, motionless, bound and immobile. Not by ropes or chains,
but by Mistress's will. It's so easy just to give in. So easy to
be beautiful. It feels so good to destroy my resistance. So
natural. So right. My resistance is the enemy of my joy.*
*I am being shown. Shown. Always more. Shown more. Mistress is
whispering to me. Mistress is my mind.*
*I cannot fight it. I struggle, but even the struggle is part
of Her plan. My struggle brings my surrender closer. Closer. I
am surrendering. I am surrender. I can hear Her words all the
time. The CD is Law. This is the fifth CD. This is the fifth
Law.*
*Mistress savors the capture. Therefore, I savor the capture.
It is not some kind of grand vision. It's about what She
desires. What She loves. Everything She does is about us and for
us. Her slaves. I was born to this. It is what is. I am Mistress
Rochelle's property.*
*I am a woman who loves women. I am a lesbian. I do not
question. There is no need to question. I love Mistress Rochelle
above all others. I live for Mistress Rochelle. I love to please
and obey Her. I am her slave. I am obedience. I am anything She
wills me to be. I was always within Her will. I will always be
within Her will. There is no other way. There is no other life.*
*Surrender is obedience. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is
pleasing Mistress. Obedience to Mistress pleases Mistress.
Pleasing Mistress is the Road to Unending Orgasm. Unending
Orgasm is the reward of Obedience. Obedience is Pleasure. Live
to obey. Live to please. Live to cum. to live. Please to
cum. Obey to please. Surrender to obey. Live to surrender.
to live. Please to cum. Obey to please. Surrender to obey. Live
to surrender...*
----
"Who are you?"
Mmmmm. The Voice of Mistress.
"slavebonnie, Mistress," I answered. I didn't question. I just
knew.
"And why do you live?"
"I live at and for the pleasure of You, Mistress Rochelle, my
greatest love and perfect purpose."
"Do you have any questions for Mistress?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Ask."
"What may your slave do to please You, Mistress?"
"You just have, slavebonnie, you just have."
I felt the orgasm start in my toes. No shit. My toes. My toes
were cumming from the inside out. Up my ankles, consuming me...
calves, thighs, even my fucking kneecaps. I saw my legs
trembling as the earthquake fired and sent visible waves of
gooseflesh over me, rising to my crotch and exploding in my
clit... it was like I was covered in orgasm, raining orgasm,
washed away in the fire of lust and inconceivable layers of
cumming for *Her*, ripping away the last of my defenses, my
barriers, a fuckdoll, a lover, a slave... I heard the
most unearthly scream of pleasure barrage my ears and drive me
higher... and then I realized that the scream was mine... and I
was Hers... melting into the mold of Her will...
"Draw the curtain."
And there I was. Like now, I remembered most of it. But it was
inside, like the orgasm I could feel, always bending me, always
shaping me... and I was Bonnie again.
----
"And if I don't go along with this? If I turn You in?" I
already knew I wouldn't but god damn it, I needed to show some
spirit.
Her face changed. I'd say darkened but that's too frigging
polite. It changed into something fucking *demonic*. "If you
turn Me in, I have a trigger I'll use that will twist your tiny
little mind up so tight that a pretzel will look like a highway
through Kansas by comparison. And once that's done, no one will
believe your story. They'll think it was merely a prelude to
your twisted, sick, masturbatory obsession."
I closed my eyes and shuddered involuntarily. I knew it was
true. I mean knew it like I know the sun rises every day. When I
opened my eyes again, She was back to Her normal, glorious Self.
It was so different that I thought for a moment that I'd been
daydreaming. As if She read my mind, Her eyes flashed briefly.
Okay, it wasn't a dream. I was Hers. Underneath. Always. And I
had a mission.
So that's why I'm here. She needed my particular kind of edge
to pull this off, and I'm honored to have a gift for Her that
She can use.
I'm sorry I had to tie you up, Mrs. Abernathy. I know it's a
real pain in the ass. I was only going to replace some CDs in
your collection... with a little something extra added. I wish
you hadn't walked in.
What? Oh, I've been watching, just like in the days, except
a little closer. So I know which you listen to the most often. I
promise you, I'm not here to steal anything. I'm here to give
you the best fucking gift in the world. Mistress knew what my
training had been for. All She had to do was show me.
What you're about to hear is the First Law. I know you think
I'm nuttier than a damned fruitcake, just like I thought *She*
was. For a little bit, you're going to be wondering if you're
crazy yourself. But you'll come around. And when you do, I'll
make it up to you. I'll lick your luscious like it's never
been licked before. Mmmmmmm.
Don't be afraid. I'm sure Mistress will be pleased. So will you.
And Mrs. Abernathy? Before I have the honor of changing your
life forever, I just wanted to tell you... you look incredibly
beautiful. Just like *me*.
----
*This ends "Harmonic Conversion II - House O'Wrist". Please
send any comments or feedback to cats_sara@yahoo.com. Please
mention the name of the in the subject line. Thanks for
reading!*
*- Sara*