The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Meow.”

Josie broke her stride and looked in the direction of the noise.

The cat was perched on a low stone ledge which fronted one of the apartment buildings that lined the street, an extremely long, fluffy, tail wrapped neatly around his(?) front paws.

She studied him in the fading light as the other human pedestrians hurried past, all headed home from work. He was very large and very furry, his color a few shades darker than her own hair, and shaggy instead of her own smooth shoulder-length gloss. Pitch black, with splashes of pure white here and there; a particularly large one washed its way across his chest and stomach. An off-white collar, complete with dangling city pet licence tag, was wrapped around his neck and almost completely enveloped in a thick ruff of fur. His yellow gaze met her brown one, calm and regal and deeply aloof. There was a long moment of silence. Finally...

“Yes? You want something?” Josie asked aloud, her eyebrows raised. She smiled. “Or are you in the habit of accosting women in the street for no reason?”

Sphinx-like, the cat continued his study of her, as if trying to decide in which category of existence to place her. After a long moment, he evidently chose ‘monumentally uninteresting’ and yawned widely, showing sharp white teeth and a lolling pink tongue. He stretched his back up into the air, spiking clumps of black fur like the blade of a buzz saw. This maneuver completed, he abandoned his post, and sauntered his unhurried way up the street, moving in the same direction that she had been before stopping.

“Fine. Be that way.” Josie followed him, her low heels once again clicking on the pavement.

They were headed for the same place; the entrance to the apartment building was just ahead. The cat whisked up the stone steps, disappearing around and behind the sloping brick and mortar wall that served as a handrail. Josie followed, up the shallow steps and under the chiselled words that followed a low arch in the stone overhead: PICKMAN STREET APARTMENTS, wrapped around the number 4732. She passed through the heavy double glass doors which had both been chocked open in a futile attempt to let the heat either in or out.

Josie moved across the black-and-white tiled lobby, past the banked rows of mailboxes on the wall, past various clots of potted ferns and walls lined with uninspired paintings, to the waiting elevator. Only after thumbing the “^” button did she look down and realize the cat had parked himself in front of the doors as well, ignoring her, his tail wrapped as before.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

The cat may have flicked an ear, but you’d probably need state-of-the-art motion detection equipment to be absolutely sure. Otherwise, he showed no sign that he was aware that Josie had spoken, or even existed.

The elevator opened, and they both entered the waiting car, the cat’s unhurried stride carrying him neatly over the thick black crack. Once again following him, Josie considered shooing him back out for a moment, but he probably lived up somewhere near where they were headed, and what did it matter, anyway? He was a big boy, and could look after himself... She punched the appropriate button without hardly a glance. Clutching her slim briefcase somewhat awkwardly, she started rooting around in her purse for her apartment keys; she never wanted to find herself standing in a hallway while doing such things.

The cat sat, and seemed to watch the red digital floor numbers flip by behind the black plastic panel over the door.

Finally, the car slid to a smooth halt and the doors pinged open to reveal a drab-brown hallway, which stood deserted and mostly silent. A final cluster of ferns, one last painting, adorned the elevator ‘room’. Somewhere off in the middle distance was the faint spewing of a television.

The cat slipped off the elevator.

Josie disembarked as well, and plodded down the hall, keys in one hand, briefcase in the other. She reached the right door. The cat had arrived at the door opposite to her destination, and assumed his now-standard pose, his tail quickly wrapping itself back into place like a woolly snake coiling around its victim.

“Meow.” While louder than before, still not terribly plaintive. Almost matter-of-fact: a cry that said “It’s me. Let me in.”

Josie paused, her key phallically poised over the door lock.

The opposite door opened, and the cat quickly uncurled and disappeared through the opening, ghosting between a pair of sneakers and jeans-clad legs.

The man who owned both was fairly tall, topping Josie by an inch or two, with dark brown hair, and matching eyes. Their gazes met. Josie flashed a neutral smile, and pushed her key into the lock on her side of the hall.

“Oh. Hi... Nick.”

The man did not reply immediately. His gaze quickly travelled down her jacket, skirt, and stockings, brushing against her black shoes before washing back up to her face. It was not exactly a lecherous gaze, it did not linger in the usual places. It was as if he was running an impersonal quality control inspection, looking to make sure she didn’t have a hunchback, or any superfluous limbs sprouting out of her body. Only after this inspection was completed...

“Hi. You were just coming home from work, I take it?”

“Yes. I had a long day at the office, and then the stupid bus was late. I’m just going to take a nice hot bath, and then...” Josie broke off and looked down; her hand futilely jiggled the key in the lock. Didn’t she have the right one?

“Before you do that, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

She turned, the extracted key still pointing out like she planned to stab someone with it.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I’ll show you. In here.” He stepped away from the door, leaving it standing wide open. Josie sighed, and crossed the hallway.

The room beyond was bright and airy, even this late in the afternoon. If you didn’t take the attached kitchen into account, it was also uncluttered and clean, with wide stretches of light grey carpet exposed. The carpet, while not spotless, was surprisingly free of cat hairs. There was a comfortable-looking sofa, a large TV, and a computer with the usual accessories, electronic and otherwise. Shelves lined the walls, loaded down with books and tapes and stacks of papers and an expensive-looking stereo system. The only other piece of furniture was a stolid wooden coffee table, with a large, open-topped, padded basket sitting in the middle of it. The cat was already in the basket, curling up his whole body this time, not just his tail. As she came in, he cracked open one eye and watched her as if he expected her to try and steal the silverware.

The cat’s owner stood nearby, and Josie turned her attention to him, studied him more carefully. She’d never... really given him much thought before. He was well-muscled, and had an odd... sleek... look about him. He reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.

“So... Nick. What was it you wanted to show me?” She smiled again, allowing a bit of genuine warmth.

He shrugged.

“My apartment. What do you think of it?”

She looked around again, puzzled.

“Very nice. Very...” She saw something that she had somehow missed before. Several somethings, actually; there was one positioned in each corner of the room, including one on either side of the door she had just walked though. They were tall and spindly tree-like constructions, with a central ‘trunk’ and branching arms both made mostly of metal. But only mostly: they were meticulously covered and intertwined with multi-colored bits and pieces and globs of wood, plastic, rubber, and other substances that she couldn’t immediately identify. Each was firmly ‘planted’ in a large painted coffee can filled with what appeared to be concrete. The effect was quite striking, even beautiful.

“Did you make those?” She pointed at the nearest of the objects with her key. “Are you an artist?”

“Yes, I made them. But I’m not an artist. Not professionally, at least. I’m in security.”

“Well, you should consider taking these to a gallery or something. You have real talent.”

“Thanks. My family has always been gifted in this area. You ever do anything like that? Artistic stuff?”

Josie shrugged, embarrassed.

“I enjoy painting sometimes. Watercolors, mostly. But I’m not that good.”

“I’m sure that you’re being modest.” He hesitated. “Would you mind closing the door? There’s a bit of a draft.”

“Huh? Oh, sure.” Josie finally put her keys back in her purse, and turned to the door, closed it. Turned back. He hadn’t moved, but continued to regard her gravely.

“Thanks. Can I offer you a cup of coffee, or tea, or something?”

“Uh... no, thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I really have to be going.” Josie crossed the room, and put her briefcase and purse down on the coffee table next to the wicker basket. She ran her fingers through the cat’s ebony fur. It was very soft and thick and free of mats. It crackled with static electricity. She could almost feel the power dance through her fingers. The cat clearly approved of her attention, and started purring, an extremely deep, chunky, sound, as if he had actual rocks grinding down in his stomach. He rolled over on his back in the basket and extended his body so that she could work on his white stomach. Josie smiled at his expression of bliss. She scratched.

“Here’s your coffee.”

Josie started, and looked up. The cat’s owner was standing next to her, holding two large mugs, one red and one blue, both with steam rising from them.

“Huh? Oh... that was quick...” She shook her head, not in negation, but again in puzzlement.

“Would you prefer hot or cold?”

“Huh?” She was getting tired of saying that, and resolved from now on to pay more attention to what was going on around her. No one liked talking to an idiot.

“Sorry, just a little joke. Red or blue?”

“Oh. Red would be fine. Thanks.” She took the offered mug and sipped at the contents.

“Mmmm. Say, this is really good. An artist, and you can make coffee.” She looked at him through the steam, and smiled under her curled bangs in a mock-flirtatious manner. “Some lucky girl’s going to just snap you up one of these days.”

He smiled back, a trifle wanly perhaps.

“I suppose. But not yet.” A sip at his own mug. “So... Do you like cats?” He nodded at the basket’s occupant, who was still lying with his feet poked up in the air, watching them both.

Her free hand absently went back to scratching, feeling the rumble.

“Yeah, I guess. I’ve never really been much of a pet person, but they’re a lot better than dogs, anyway. This guy and I, we actually met out on the sidewalk just now. What’s his name?”

“Rasputin.”

She looked more carefully, cocked her head to one side in a thoughtful manner, still scratching, even though her nails really weren’t long enough to do a proper job of it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can see that. A definite resemblance, there. He’s even almost got a beard like the original. Although this Rasputin is a little too... uh... not fat... but healthy... I guess, to be a perfect match though...”

“No, not a perfect match. And that wasn’t his name originally. But then someone noticed the resemblance, and it seemed appropriate...” He studied the cat. “And it also seems that he approves of you. Oh... I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Please, have a seat.” A gesture towards the couch.

“Why, thank you.” She smiled more widely, and moved in that direction, breaking off contact with the basket’s occupant. As the scratching stopped, Rasputin gave a mild sigh of displeasure, and slitted his eyes again. Nick moved to join her, carefully sitting himself down at the other end, leaving the middle vacant. Josie picked up the conversation. “So, where did you get him from, anyway?”

“He came from my father. After he passed away.”

“Oh. I’m terribly sorry.”

Another shrug.

“It’s been quite a while now. Life goes on. How about you? No pets, you say?”

“Well... I have some goldfish. But I consider them more to be... I dunno... living artwork than pets. You can’t cuddle a fish.”

“True. Unless you got a dolphin, I suppose...” He sipped again. “Do you have any brothers or sisters? Out there somewhere, I mean. Not living with you, of course.”

“One each. Ralph lives back east. Edith lives over on the eastside with Jim and their kids.”

“And your parents?”

“They’re both gone. Like you, it’s been a long time.”

“And what do you do for a living?”

“Just an office job. I bravely man a desk down at Miller Electronics.”

“Do you enjoy your work?”

“I don’t particularly love it.” She leaned back with tired sigh, settled deeper into the couch. Wrapped her fingers around the cup’s warmth. “The hours are awful sometimes. Like today. But the people there are nice enough. And it pays the bills. And the prospects are good.”

“But you’d rather be doing something else?”

A shrug of her own. She wriggled her shoulders against the sofa fabric, getting more comfortable.

“If something better were to come along, sure. But I’m happy enough at the moment.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Oh... well... there’s Paul. Paul Zann. He works at Miller too, down in the shipping department. We go out sometimes.”

“Do you have sex? With Paul, I mean?”

“Sometimes. Not on every date or anything. It’s not like we’ve made any great commitment to each other.” She took another sip of coffee, and stared at the loaded bookcase opposite. Several of the titles weren’t in English, and she didn’t even recognize most of the languages. Something about this conversation nagged at her, a vague feeling of unease. She straightened up a bit and faced him again, suddenly wanting to change the subject.“What about you? You have a girlfriend?”

“We’re not talking about me right now. This is about you.”

“Oh. OK.” Her face clouded for a moment, and she sagged back. There went that plan. She stared at the coffee steam again, watched it swirl.

“Is it good sex?”

“Yeah, pretty good, I suppose.”

“The best you’ve ever had?”

“Oh, no. Paul’s good, but the best ever?” Josie laughed, and looked at the ceiling for a moment. “Not even close. That was with a guy I knew back in college. Henry Quillerton. God, that little creep was fantastic in the sack. But, personality-wise, he was a total jerk. I think he was so damn good at it because it was all he ever really thought about. One of those walking, talking, penises, you know? Thank God I didn’t get hitched up with him permanently.” Despite her negative comments about Quillerton, Josie shifted slightly on the couch, her mind and body both remembering those long, wonderful, nights in his cruddy little dorm room, curled up together in his cruddy little bed, doing it with that frantic need, that frantic power that usually only teenagers and college students can hope to achieve...

“Hmm. I think I know the type.” A hesitation. “Would you please lock the door? I don’t want us to be disturbed.”

The abrupt shift in topic almost pulled another ‘huh?’ from her, but she remembered her resolution of a few moments previously. Men like Nick didn’t like talking to unintelligent women.

“OK!” Still feeling a bit of warmth down between her legs, she put the mug on the table next to her possessions and the basket, and popped to her feet. Hurried around to the door, and locked it, punching the button on the doorknob, and turning the dead bolt, which clicked home with a solid ‘clunk’. Then there was the third lock. She stared at it.

“Is something wrong?” His voice came from the couch.

“I don’t know how to... uh... close this last lock. There’s no button or knob or anything.”

“Oh, yes. Just touch it. It locks automatically. Only my fingerprint can unlock it, though.”

“Oh.” She raised her finger, and hesitated, appearing to hail an invisible taxi. Another moment of unease passed over her.

And then the feeling melted away, just like it had before. It was almost like someone had taken a wide thick brush, and swept it out of the pattern of her mind.

Like dirt off of the pattern of a vinyl floor.

She touched the third lock, and there was new, deeper, clunking sound down inside the door, as if massive bolts were sliding into place all around the frame. An odd vibration, a rumble, twitched in her finger, and the lock seemed almost to cling to it in a unpleasant manner as she pulled free.

She turned back into the room.

“All done.” She smiled, and hurried back to the couch, back around the table and its occupant.

“Good.”

For some reason, his saying the word made her think about Quillerton again, and she had to make a conscious effort not to rub her thighs together. Her face felt like it was on fire. And not just her face...

“Is it too warm in here for you? You seem a trifle flushed.”

“No.” She blurted the word far too hastily, and her body betrayed her, flushing even further.

“You’d probably be happier, more comfortable, if you took of that jacket.”

“Yes. Of course.” She again rose, feeling a trifle wobbly. The jacket then seemed to just melt away from her body, spun sugar in a driving rain... one moment she was wearing it, the next it was lying crumpled around her ankles. “Oh...” She bent down and retrieved the dark blue garment, automatically folding and smoothing it before placing it on the table as well. Rasputin eyed it from his basket for a moment, then turned his attention back to her. When had he started staring at her like that?

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Much better.” She kicked off her shoes so they clattered to rest under the coffee table, and reseated herself among the soft cushions, her spine arching itself for a moment.

“So, getting back to the discussion at hand. Besides Paul, do you have sex with anyone else?”

“Umm... not really. Well... there were a couple of one-night stands. But it’s been... oh... six months now, since the last one?” She sighed, and traced the swell of her own breast with an idle finger for a moment. “Actually, I’d kinda like to do it with George. George Delapore. His office is a couple down from mine. He’s really cute. I think he’s interested, and I’ve dropped a couple of hints...”

“So your sex drive is fully functional, to the best of your knowledge?”

“Oh, yes.” She pulled off her clip-on earrings, dropped them on the table.

“And you’re healthy? No diseases, sexual or otherwise?”

“No...” She tugged at the collar of her blouse with both hands, and squirmed. She was still hot. Even hotter than before. The blouse was strangling her. “I’ve always been very healthy.”

“And your family history? How did your parents die?”

Without waiting for his suggestion this time, she rose again and started unbuttoning the blouse. She had to struggle slightly to focus on his words, form a coherent answer. As she undid the buttons, she rubbed her thighs together.

Rasputin watched.

“It was... a car accident. In the winter. They hit... an icy patch. And then they... hit a telephone pole.” She tossed the blouse away with a gasp of relief, and a giggle. “I cried for a week.” She did a little pirouette.

“Yes, I imagine that was very tragic. But it was long ago, and no longer traumatic. Isn’t that true?”

“Yes.” She licked her lips and thrust her bra-covered chest in his direction, her eyes shiny and half-lidded. She was posing for him now, turning her hot, sweaty, body so he could get a good look from all angles. “That’s true. It’s no longer even slightly traumatic.”

“In fact, when we are together, you don’t have any bad thoughts at all, do you?”

“None. Ever.” She unhooked her bra and tossed it away.

“Very good.”

Quillerton. A dozen Quillertons, one after the other.

“And now, the most important question of all.”

“Yesss?” She pushed her hips forward, hooking in her thumbs and pulling off her skirt and soaked panties all at once, sliding them down over her stockings.

“Do you want to have sex now?”

“More... more than anything...”

Nick was standing next to her, and she turned to him. They kissed, and he scooped her up in his arms, effortlessly. Still kissing her, he carried her into the next room, to the waiting bed.

It was a thousand Quillertons, all rolled into one.

Every time they did it.

In her pussy, in her ass, in her mouth, in places she’d never dreamed of trying before, Nick’s gentle but masterful hands and tongue and penis roaming freely over her body... Again and again, with frantic need and power.

Long hours later. Night had fallen, and the room was mostly dark. They lay on the bed side by side, on top of the tangled and sweaty sheets, not speaking. Josie tried to work up the strength to move, but once they had finished their last coupling, and collapsed to regain some strength, it was like the nerve connections to and from her brain had been abruptly severed. And now, even after what she had just experienced, that her emotions had been turned off. She could feel them powering down. Draining away. Soon only her thoughts were left, and they were starting to wisp around the edges as well. She lay on her back, limp, arms at her sides, staring at the darkness of the ceiling. Staring at her dissolving thoughts. Time passed. Finally, next to her, she felt Nick roll up onto his side. He turned on a lamp on a side table, and then rolled again, evidently so that he was looking at her. He spoke, his voice serious.

“I do have one more question, actually. It’s all I really need to know.”

“Oh?” She couldn’t even turn her head to look at him. Her voice was calm and placid.

“What’s your name?”

“My name..?” Wisp... wisp... “You know my name, Nick... We live right across from each other...”

“No we don’t. I have a confession to make. You don’t live in this building.”

“I... don’t?”

“You’ve never even been in here before today. This building, I mean.You only thought you had because he made you think it.”

“He?” She managed somehow to crinkle her brow. “He who?”

“Him.”

Josie suddenly was able to lift her head, and look down her naked body towards the end of the bed.

Rasputin was sitting there in the lamplight, between their bare feet, much larger, much more furry than before, his tail wrapped, his fur black as void, as white as purity, both colors glowing with their own light. His wide and narrow eyes glowing yellow.

And green.

And red.

And a thousand different colors all at once.

Spinning, wheels within wheels within more wheels.

Just like they always had been, from the moment she’d looked into them out on the street.

“Oh...”

“Do you remember that you don’t live here now?”

“Yes. I remember that now.” Her eyes never blinked, never left Rasputin’s.

“Where do you really live?”

“4241 Whateley Street. Apartment 21. Mr. and Mrs. Gilman live across from me. Not you.”

“And your name is?”

“Josephine Asenath Marsh.”

Josie’s body spread its legs wide, giving the thing with the eyes a perfect view of her secret places. It posed for him once again. And her mind thought of having sex with Nick. Feeling Nick inside her. Deep inside her. Even as she did these things, a question formed in her mind, in her mouth. Something let her ask it.

“What... is he... it?”

Nick didn’t answer. Rasputin hopped oozed floated over one of her legs, putting him in the V-shaped space between the two of them. Parts of him stayed behind, parts came ahead, like he was a series of enormous black and white cats, all overlapped on a piece of film. For a second, there was fear inside her, and Josie bucked and gave a tiny scream, expecting him to continue on, burrowing, sharp white teeth scissoring...

And he did continue on, but not in the way she had expected, and then the fear was gone. Brushed away with a black furry broom, like the useless dirt that it was. He carefully walked up onto her, bypassing her pussy, the pads of his thousands of feet feeling like a stream of warm eroticized pebbles flowing over her stomach. His claws prickled, jab after jab, mixing a delicious sliver of pain with the pleasure. He was purring, the vibration rattling down into her, echoing into her mind and cunt and filling both. Finally Nick spoke again.

“He. He’s a cat. Just a cat. But he’s a cat from... someplace else.”

“He’s an alien...?” She stared. Her voice was tiny. Except for her voice-box and lips, her body was paralyzed once again.

Still moving slowly and deliberately, Rasputin avoided her breasts, stepping over them so that his two front clusters of paws rested on her breastbones, the rest on her rib cage, his string of intertwined tails snaking back so far they ran over the leg he had hopped, the fur soft and vibrant, every strand alive and aware, moving against her skin... He stared into her eyes, and there was nothing else in the universe but bottomless spinning depths.

And Nick’s voice.

“You mean like E.T. or something? Oh, no. He’s from a lot further away then that.” As Nick spoke, something formed in the depths, an echo of a memory of a Place, hot and warm and delicious, with seas of burning yellow, millions of sharp peaks of emerald green, and three enormous purple-red things in the pink-streaked sky that weren’t suns, but that stretched and pulsed and purred like sentient blood clots.

“He’s stranded here, Josephine. Or he’s been exiled here, or something. We’ve never been exactly sure. Just thinking down to our level, thinking in terms we can understand, seems to give him something of a headache, so there are a lot of things that we’ve never understood. In any event, he’s here, he can’t leave, and he’s in danger. And that’s all we’ve ever needed to know.”

The Place was violently ripped away, collapsed and went spiraling up into a long tube of color, and for an eternity everything grew cold and dark. Rings of blackness spun and spun. Finally, specks of white appeared, small and tepid and lonely. One glowed less dimly than the rest, and she zoomed toward it, towards one of the bits of nothingness that spun and spun around it, a whirling, rickety, toy held together with perilously thin threads of gravity.

“...Danger?”

Flashes of splattering red, towering multi-jointed shapes with metal steak knives for teeth and claws, acid-dipped overlapped razor blades for skin, blood-oiled gear-works for souls, moving in the darkness, oozing pain and dispair...

“Someone, or something wants to hurt him. Whatever it is, comes at night, and he can’t defend himself here. Not like he can... back wherever he came from. Doing it here requires having opposable thumbs, among other things. So he found himself a guardian. To build up his defenses. And keep them strong. Until he can finally leave, go home.”

Castles. Ring after ring of high ramparts, darkness raging without, light and peace and endless blossoming orgasms within. Walls made of intertwined metal trees, covered with rubber and plastic and much more... Deeper and deeper...

“Defense... Those... things in... in the...”

“In the living room? Yes. And they’re in here as well. I don’t pretend to understand how they help; they don’t even have a power source. But help they do. And it’s one of my jobs to keep them... up-to-date. Details have to be changed almost every day; something about the way the stars are aligned. I have to do it to keep him safe. I’m his... um... ”

“Watchdog.” Josie whispered, almost inaudibly.

Nick, standing on the ramparts, patching and repairing, glaring at the spinning multi-colored rings of darkness. Hurling defiance at it. Raising the alarm if it got too close.

“What’s that?” His voice was gentle.

“That’s what you reminded me of. When I saw you. One of those... Rottweilers... smooth... with a collar... He made... you his guardian?”

Deeper and deeper. Down into the light and warmth. Inside the trees.

“No. He made my great-great-grandfather his guardian. His watchdog, if you prefer. His name was Ezra, and he did the things I do now. But then something unexpected happened.”

“Uh?”

Deeper.

Deeper.

Forever deeper.

Branches wrapping around her, stroking her skin, warming her.

“Ezra started getting old. Seems that doesn’t happen where Rasputin is from. Or at least, not like it does here. But once he understood what was happening, he made plans. Something he’s very good at. He arranged for a replacement. Just like he has been doing since.”

“No...” Even as she breathed the word, even before Nick explained verbally, Josie saw what was going to happen. That knowledge burned at the bottom of Rasputin’s bottomless eyes, lurking behind, between all of the spinning colors. At the very center of the warmth and love and peace and joy, in the very center of the castle, intertwined with the branches of the trees. A fact, a future, that was growing larger and larger with every passing moment. Rasputin leaned closer, and she could smell his cool addictive breath, swirling down into her lungs. It was not the vaguely fishy stink-breath of a normal cat. It was wintergreen, and ancient pine forests, and air after a thunderstorm. And hot yellow seas, and emerald green peaks.

And babies.

“Yes. I’m not old yet, but I will be, eventually. So now it’s time to create my replacement. And that’s where you come in, Josephine.”

Her chest hitched, and tears trickled out of her eyes. She tried to scream, to refuse, but only one thing came out of her mouth. The rest burned away, melted like spun sugar in the rain.

“Everyone calls me Josie.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He sounded completely sincere. His hand gently brushed a stray hair out of her face, and her body quivered with pleasure at his touch. “That’s where you come in, Josie. We’re going to get married. And have a child. A son. And raise him together, to someday take my place. I’ve been watching you from the window, as you go to and from work each day. Rasputin’s been teaching me, training me, singing to me, since I was in my mother’s womb, and I can see much more than most people. I liked you. Inside and out. And so did Rasputin, after he checked you out more carefully.” A flicker, a scene of her painting a watercolor of the Place, painting life and beauty... “But we had to be sure. There have been others who appeared they might be good enough. Many others. But unlike them, you passed every test. You’re young and healthy, creative and smart. And as we’ve now seen the two of us are... sexually compatible. What we did just now was only the smallest taste of what it all will be like between us. Our child, our lives together should be something special, which is of course the whole point.” There was a long pause, and then he sighed sadly as if realizing something still resisted, somewhere inside her. He brushed one of her breasts with another gentle stroke, his mere touch sending her deeper into orgasm than Quillerton’s entire fevered arsenal could have managed.

Deeper.

Deeper.

“You’re going to relax and accept this, Josie. Accept it completely. Because it will be wonderful. Rasputin may not be able to defend himself without help, but he can do all sorts of other incredible things. He can give you just about any material thing that you have ever wanted. Show you other places that you never even dreamed existed. Take you to heights that... well. You’ll see.” Another light expert touch, this time down in the soft sloppy warmness between her spread legs. Her hips bucked again, but not out of fear.

“And all he asks in exchange is obedience. Total obedience to him, and to me. And love. Unquestioning love for the two of us, and no one else. That’s not so awful is it?” His fingers went deeper.

Deeper and deeper.

Brighter and brighter.

Dancing under the trees.

Dancing in the light.

Dancing with Nick.

Dancing with their baby between them, growing inside her.

Dancing together for the rest of their lives.

Josie knew what her answer would be, but it still took a long moment for the words to form themselves, wind out from the center of the forest to the outside world. Fill her mouth. She smiled as she spoke, even as her eyes continued to leak tears.

“No. Not so awful... Not awful at all... Not... not...”

Her master, her owner, spun all of the rings in his eyes, and flexed all of his claws against her body, and purred into her soul.

And Josie came.

A million Quillertons, a single Rasputin, all at once.