Thoroughly Modern Billie
by Merry Brooks
‘They say, it’s criminal, what women will do. What they’re forgetting, is this is 1922!’
“Oh hello, darlings, let me introduce you to River city, err, 90 years before you get to read this. Who, me? I’m Belinda Nicholson, recently got here myself, having moved to the big city, from little ol’ Coffeyville, down in Kansas. But no, you don’t want to know about that side of me, do you? You’re here for the big Flapper Girl story, I know?
Yes, that’s right, we had superheroes, and heroines back then too, just that we had a bit less of a publicity machine, due to the lack of something I believe you call the internet, where you get to read this. Yes, darlings, I’m a Super, though my talents are more related to my chemistry skills, than any special powers from within. You see, that’s the beauty of being a flapper, we all carry these cigarette holders around with us, to look cool when we’re smoking.
Don’t tell anyone, but if you want to release a potent gas, over a small area, well, looking like you’re smoking, is the perfect cover. So alright, I smoke the standard stuff too, just to look cool amongst my friends, it’s all the craze nowadays, didn’t you know?
What’s that, it’s frowned upon in the 21st century? Hey, wow! All that nicotine, bad for you, ah well, maybe I’ll have to give it up then? Trouble is, it will be kind of hard to do so.”
Right, I moved to the big city for a few reasons. Firstly, life in Coffeyville was a bit dull for a Super, nothing ever happens down there. I was told there was plenty of action up here in River City, however, and it seems they are so right, darlings. I know, I know, Flapper girls are a dime a dozen in this era, or at least its heading that way. Supposed to be some really famous one, who is another Kansas girl, but I don’t have any details.
So let’s see, I fit the image, short dresses, barely reaching the knee, and if they do, it’s not far over. And yes, of course, the cute bob haircut, that is a must nowadays. Cut quite a dapper figure, if I say so myself.
No, no, spandex, whatever THAT is, hasn’t been invented yet, so our ‘outfits’ are a bit more practical. There is talk of a guy named Frasier, who is looking to style suitable outfits for us, among other neat little things, but nothing has filtered down to me yet. But then again, I’m fairly new in town, so maybe I’ll hear from them sometime. Would have to be by mail, mind, phone service is a bit basic around here back in the 20’s.
Oh, what’s that, you want an adventure? Fine, fine...
Well, the talk about town is of a number of young ladies just disappearing off the streets, and not being seen again. The rumor is they are being taken off into slavery, but I thought that all stopped about 60 years back. Oh, not that type of slavery, I see, so what?
What, sex slaves!?! Mind, some of the young girls around here would actually enjoy that! Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy good healthy sex (at the right time of the month) as much as anyone, but some of them make me look like a saint, and I’m not, believe me.
But yes, it struck closer to home, when one of the typing pool girls from our office disappeared, without so much as a goodbye, or handing in her notice. Talk led to this talk that she’d been taken by the slavers, so Flapper Girl, in other words, me, has decided it’s time to investigate, as she was a friend.
Now, if I had all this modern gadgetry you’re meant to have now, then finding her would probably have been easy. But back then, most of it came down to listening to gossip on the street, and good old fashioned footwork. But yes, without wishing to sound cocky, I’m good at my job, and soon tracked down the area they seemed to vanish from, and started snooping.
Too good at my job, it seems, as within a few days, while out patrolling, I find an arm grabbing me, and putting a cloth over my face. Now, I might be a Super, but when I start breathing in chloroform gas, or whatever, I still fall asleep like the rest of you.
Finally, I start to wake up, and clearly I’m not out on the street any more. I come around a bit more, and I’m in a warehouse, looks a bit run down, but as it ties up with the buildings I was looking around, I was clearly in the right place, or the wrong place, depending on how you look at it.
“Ah, you’re awake at last, such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss...?”
“Nicholson.” I reply, and have a second take, I shouldn’t be giving my real name away like that!”
“Clearly the truth serum works quite nicely, Miss Nicholson, a pleasure to meet you.”
Very flattering, and not bad looking, in all honesty, as the gangster types go. But, that’s not the matter in hand, so...
“What are you planning, to turn me into another one of those sex slave girls, and sell me off?”
“Now, now, Miss Nicholson, or should I say?...”
“Belinda, though my friends call me Billie.” I splutter in reply.
“Well, Billie, whatever makes you think that I turn women into sex slaves?”
“Well, someone does, and the way I was ‘invited in’ suggests I’m not here for a speakeasy party!”
He laughs, “Yes, you are right, I do run the sex slave trade around River City, and someone was snooping far too close for comfort, so I had to invite her in.”
“Very sweet of you.” I replied, sounding not in the slightest genuine. “So what are you going to do, make me one as well, set me up as the slave of some rich man too?”
“Quite possibly, quite possibly.” he replied.
“Oh great!” I mutter under my breath.
“There is just one snag with that, though, Billie.”
“What’s that?” I ask, probably wishing I hadn’t.
“Well, normally all we do is ramp up the sex drive of a girl, pass her off to her new owner, and let nature take its course. She’s so willing to be fucked regularly, that we don’t have to do much more. We can give them a new identity, if the owner wishes, but most are just happy to have a willing fuck toy, without messing around too much with their personality, and name.”
“Wonderful!” I think to myself, trying to stay looking cool.
“But you see, Billie, if that’s all we do to you, you know where to find us, and given your status as a Super, you could probably shut down our little enterprise, and that would never do. So...”
Great, they are going to kill me, I guess, dead at 21, what a brief life that was! If they knew my only power was making special gases, they might not worry so much, but do I want to tell them that? What’s preferred, sex slave, or dead, hmm?
“...I have a special surprise for you downstairs, Billie, shall we call it an added extra for you. Something we’ve always wanted to try out, but never had the chance, until now.”
He leads me downstairs, I assume to hide the sound of the gunshot, but oh no, the gunshot might be the better option. There is some weird bed down there, not that I’d want to sleep on it, its solid wood. But it’s got restraints all the way down it, where you would lay, and some big helmet thing at the top.
“So you see, Billie, we can’t just turn you into a simple sex slave, you might escape, then come and find us again. But if we turn you into a mindless, obedient drone, well, we have control of your mind, and can make it so that you never want to find us again. Then we might make a sex slave of you anyway, but, you get the added extras! Or we might reprogram you, and just keep you as a maid instead!”
“Oh, lovely, couldn’t you just shoot me instead, and end it all that way?” which I was beginning to think might be the better option for me.
“Oh no, Miss Nicholson, you deserve so much more than that, for being so, inquisitive.” he said, laughing.
Even with a bit of resistance from me, it wasn’t very long before I was laid down on that table, strapped down tightly, and the helmet lowered over my head.
“When you wake up, Billie, you won’t remember a thing. Quite literally in fact, you will be thoroughly brainwashed, your identity removed, and ready for reprogramming, as we choose. So sweet.”
“Don’t I get that final cigarette, like other condemned people?” I ask.
He mutters, “I guess you should. Gentlemen, sit her up, and allow her a cigarette, one of her own, of course.”
They do, and of course I select one of my special ones, one of my hypno-gas selection. It works, and very soon, they are all very sleepy, and under my power. So, asking one of them to release me, and direct me to an office with a phone, is a piece of cake.
An hour later, they are all arrested, and we find where the next batch of sex slaves to be sent off are kept, and lo and behold, my fellow worker is amongst them! She’s relatively fine, a bit shaken, a bit horny, but apart from that, fine. Thankfully they had only just got started on her sex drive increase, so she should be able to get on with life, not that she was exactly an angel anyway... bitch... bitch... bitch...
Anyway, I’m halfway through telling her about my adventures, when she stops me and asks,
“Did you say they had a brainwashing machine down there?”
“Why yes, I did, supposedly at least. Thankfully they didn’t get to try it out on me, so I have no idea if it actually works or not, or was just a threat.”
“Could you show me it?”
So, being the obliging type, I do. For some strange reason, her eyes light up at the sight.
“Do you think it would really work, and if so, um... do you think you could you work it?”
I really have no idea what she’s getting at, but anyway, I check out the control panel, and it seems simple enough.
“Can’t see why not, looks straightforward enough to someone with a science background like mine.”
“Then... would you do so?” she swallowed, “On me?”
“Are you serious?” I ask, raising my eyebrows, “You WANT to be brainwashed?”
“Yes please, it’s a silly fantasy of mine. And I know, Mr. Boone has the hots for me, I’m sure he’d love to have me as his brainwashed sex slave, if you can arrange it.”
I knew I could, but did I want to?
“Are you sure about this, Stephanie?”
“Yes please, Billie.”
Fine. So I did! Oh, and she was right about Mr. Boone too, lucky old devil!