The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Bitch”

(mc, nc, f/f, d/f, best)

DISCLAIMER:

This material is for adults only; it contains explicit sexual imagery and non-consensual relationships. If you are offended by this type of material or you are under legal age in your area, do NOT continue.

COPYRIGHT:

Copyright © 2000 Tabico () All rights reserved; this story is not to be reproduced in any form for profit without the express written permission of the author. This story may be freely circulated only in its entirety and with this notice attached.

COMMENTS:

Many thanks to Eye of Serpent for the use of Belle Simon and her wonderful cell phone—the reader may wish to investigate “Belle Cell” (and the sequels, “Belle Star” and “Belle Hell”) before reading this story.

WARNING:

In case you were unclear, this story contains graphic bestiality.

* * *

‘Bitch’

part One

* * *

Jessica Koontz was tired of the conference, tired of the other scientists, and tired of Boston. When she had been here on vacation with her now ex-husband a few years ago, it had been a charming city, filled with colonial touches amid modern skyscrapers. And so much more interesting than Chicago.

That had been in September. This organizers of the World Genetics Symposium had cleverly decided to hold it in February, and the city was totally frozen over. The bay kept it at an unpleasant zero degrees, so the rain alternated between hail and slush, and you could never pick out the icy patches on the sidewalk before you slid on them. Nor did the precipitation seem to clean the city out; the storm sewers were overflowing, and all the piled slush was of a dirty brown hue.

She splashed across the last street between her hotel and the convention center. Most attendees had opted to stay in the hotel attached to the center, but Jessica hadn’t the budget for it, and anyways, the hotel she and Tom had stayed in had been clean and friendly. That hadn’t changed, happily, but the fourteen wet, cold, uncomfortable blocks to the convention center killed any sort of good mood she might have had.

Jessica pushed through the revolving doorway, dropped her soaking umbrella in one of the stands, and checked her hair in a hall mirror. She took off her rimless glasses, and carefully wiped the water from them with a handkerchief.

“Okay,” she said to herself, “One last day. Just two more panels to chair, a few hundred people to talk to, maybe some research foundations to schmooze for fun, and then you can go back to Chicago.” She put her glasses back on, and adjusted her hair, tied into a neat arrangement atop her head. The few chestnut strands she had let strategically fall from the arrangement still hung as planned, and she smiled in satisfaction that her hair had survived the trip from the hotel.

Then a big drop of water fell from one of the strands onto her glasses, and splashed into her eye.

She entered the hall rubbing her eye and muttering unhappily, glasses in hand.

* * *

Belle Simon was having a marvelous time. All these minds, these brilliant, brilliant (but not too brilliant, she chuckled) minds. Well worth the trip to Boston for a Mad Scientist such as herself.

Belle sat in a comfortable chair near the entrance to the main convention hall, which was just now filling up with attendees. This main hall was filled with booths for all manner of companies and institutions—most looking for qualified scientists, but some offering wares ranging from laboratory equipment to glassware cleaning services.

Despite its grandiose name, the World Genetics Symposium was only the third largest of such gatherings in the United States, but it did attract the best-and-brightest in the rather broad field of genetics, at least on the East Coast. There were job-seekers, many with newly minted doctorates, scientists and laboratories looking for people or for funding, a smattering of institutions, universities, and a large helping of people just there to catch the panels, keep up on the latest news, and to hang out with others who spoke their language.

Belle was there for the attendees. (Those lovely, innocent, brilliant minds.)

Some of the lab equipment was interesting, of course, as were the various symposia, but mostly Belle was there to scope out the people, and perhaps “recruit” one or two into her small but growing “brain trust”.

Biochemistry had been a hobby of hers before she was elevated to Mad Scientist, and it was time that HardCell Unlimited looked into branching out into additional elevated fields of study.

So, though she didn’t have a table, Belle was recruiting. And hers was an offer her candidates found impossible to refuse.

A very attractive brunette walked in, rubbing a pair of spectacles in a pocket handkerchief. Belle noted her name—Jessica Koontz. It was one she had heard before, and in very flattering terms.

“A beauty as well as a brain, eh?” thought Belle. “Enticing.” She watched Dr. Koontz stroll across the floor, and licked her upper lip.

She was having a marvelous time.

* * *

The sight of the rain (or was it hail?) as she exited the conference hall into the foyer did nothing to dampen Jessica’s spirits. Around her, departing guests swirled past as they went for their umbrellas or checked out at the desk.

Two million dollars. Two million dollars. Kensington Labs had agreed to fund her project to the tune of Two. Million. Dollars.

As the first icy raindrops hit her, she realized she had walked outside without her umbrella. Grinning at her own euphoria, Jessica turned to go back inside.

And collided with a gorgeous blonde woman.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” asked Jessica.

“I’m fine,” replied the blonde, straightening her jacket. “Are you Dr. Jessica Koontz, by any chance?”

“Er, yes, I am.”

“Ah,” said the blonde, extending her hand, “I’m Dr. Belle Simon. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You have a great reputation. I have an... interest in working with you.

“Why, thank you—I must confess, I can’t place your name. Are you here with a firm?”

“Not really. Genetics isn’t my field—I was just here to recruit some talent for my company.” The blonde was looking at her hungrily.

“Ah. Were you successful?”

“Oh my, yes. I have a lot to offer, and I’m not shy about selling myself.”

“Good, good. Well, ah, Dr.? Ms.?—Dr. Simon, I really have to run. Feel free to contact me at my lab—the number is in the conference directory. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Oh, the pleasure will be mine, Dr. Koontz. Have a nice evening.”

Jessica shot a curious look over her shoulder as she re-entered the building. What a strange thing to say. Pretty woman, though.

Her umbrella was where she had left it. She noticed, with a touch of relief, that the blonde was gone when she came back out. Jessica forgot about her, and smiled a two million dollar smile as she headed out into the rain back to her hotel.

* * *

The flight back to Chicago had not sucked, and although cold, the windy city was sunny and calm as Jessica made her way from the parking shuttle back to her car. The lot was full, and she had some distance to cover back to where her Mustang awaited her.

Ann, her daughter, had teased her about buying the car. “Sure, mom,” she had said, “I head off for boarding school and then you buy the hot car. That’s fair.”

She smiled ruefully. If only things had worked out with Tom... but they hadn’t, and she was over that. Ann would be home from Bedford Academy for Easter, and Jessica didn’t see the harm in using a little of the two million dollars to show her daughter a good time. Her burn rate, with only two assistants, certainly wasn’t that high.

Two million dollars. Jessica knew, knew for certain, that her work on genotypes would lead to results of incalculable value, and now she had the funding to prove it. Kensington hadn’t even fought very hard for control—they seemed to know that she was being courted by a half-dozen pharmaceutical firms. Two million dollars for a paltry 7.5% equity stake, and warrants on 12.5% more. Of course, if she was right in her theories, and she was, that two million dollars would balloon exponentially.

But that two million was all she needed to start actual experimentation, using stem cells with altered DNA to ‘force’ modified genetic configurations into living organisms. Within two, maybe three months, she would prove that you could ‘update’ an organism’s DNA with a slightly modified copy, and have the effects take place not in a subsequent generation, but immediately.

Ah, there was the car. She put her suitcase in the trunk, swung it closed, took the Moonie solicitation flier off of the windshield, and tossed her satchel onto the passenger seat. She followed it in, sliding behind the wheel.

As she put the keys in, she noticed that a cell phone had fallen out of her satchel, onto the seat. It wasn’t hers.

Jessica picked it up. It was a small black cell phone, the same make as her own, but certainly not hers. Well, she could check the phone number, and figure out the owner. It must have fallen into her purse at the conference. She opened it with her left hand, and flipped the ‘on’ button as her right hand turned the key in the ignition.

A grey haze eveloped her, all at once, and she realized that she couldn’t see. Nor could she move, really, but instead of panicky she felt incredibly relaxed. Open.

From somewhere, a recorded voice began playing. It was a woman’s voice, and it sounded familiar.

“Listen, and obey. You recognize my voice as one you must obey. It is impossible not to obey my voice. Everything you you are about to hear you will know to be true; the truest things in your whole life. You—”

And the car radio came alive, at the volume Jessica had left it on, shouting at her, the radio circuits finally powered by the now-running car. Drowning out the reasoned voice from the cell phone.

“—’re a bitch! You—Are—A—Bitch! In fact, all women are bitches!”

“Of course. We have to be. In a world filled with untrustworthy men, women need to be bitches.”

“Oh, that’s right. You swing that way, don’t you. You like women. In a sexual way. Well, lesbian, most women don’t get off on fucking other women like you do. You have a problem with that?”

“It’s not just my problem. Society at large is what’s wrong. Society has lied to us, forced us to act, to think, in a way that isn’t really what we are. We need to be awoken from the way of thinking society has forced upon us.”

“That’s absolutely true. But what you really need, bitch, is to find a big man-dog—and to realize that your place, the reason you exist, is to serve him. To bend yourself to his needs. All women, all bitches, at their core, want to be at the feet of a male. Serving his needs above all else. Nothing else will make you feel better than that. It’s what you need. It’s where you belong.”

“You know, that’s the biggest—”

Jessica’s head snapped forward. Her head spun, the radio was blaring, and in her hand the cell phone seemed to be emitting a dial tone. She stared at it, then flipped it closed. Slid her hand up under her glasses, to rub her eyes.

She felt very strange. Her forehead was hot and fevered, as though a laser had been writing secrets there.

It took her a moment to focus again.

But, despite feeling as though she had suddenly arrived at some tremendous and powerful conclusion which she had as suddenly forgotten, she found herself shifting the car into gear, and heading for the lot exit.

It was sure to come back to her on the drive home.

* * *

END part One

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