The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Discipline and Reward

A Love Story

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Copyright Notice: © 2013-2017 Baltimore Rogers () 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.

Chapter 7. In which our heroine makes a new friend

Codename: Majestic Woman
Geocode on file
Portal City, AZ
2013/08/18
Executive Committee
League of Heroes
C/O Codename: Wraith
Spyglass
Dearest Colleagues, Cohorts, Friends All,

It is with a heavy heart that I write today to announce my retirement from the superhero life—and hence from the Legion of Heroes—effective immediately.

When one measures her lifespan in millennia, one must realize at the outset that any mortal endeavor, no matter how noble, is necessarily a temporary thing. More than seven decades ago I walked into the life and role of superhero knowing that one day I would leave it behind, that one day another calling would beckon, that one day I would pursue the next phase of my life. That day has come.

What I could not have known those seventy-two years ago is that the people I would meet in this phase of life, the men and women—heroes all—beside whom I would live and fight and laugh for only a scant few decades, would become some of the closest friends of my entire two thousand, four hundred eighty-two years.

As I sort out what I am becoming, now that Majestic Woman is no more, I will remain based in Portal City. You are, one and all, welcome in my home and in my life, at least until the parts of my life that still hang in limbo are resolved. I ask only that you not show up unannounced, as I will be travelling extensively while I get my affairs in order.

Although I am sad to lose the Legion, I hope never to lose you, my friends. And I hope that I will be in your thoughts and prayers as I run joyously to meet the challenges of this new page in my life’s story.

May the Gods who guide my life ever shine on yours,
Κυνθία
Kynthia, Royal Princess of the Amazons
Formerly known as Majestic Woman

As Cindi put the letter in the envelop, the tears started to flow. «I said I wouldn’t cry. I swore I wouldn’t cry.» However, her emotional state was not something over which she had a very firm grasp these days.

«“Don’t”»

“My Lord? Is that you? Inside my head?”

«“Yes, baby bitch. Don’t send the letter. Don’t resign.“»

Having accepted the miracle of her “dreams” actually being some sort of reality and having accepted the miracle of the second collar found in her “waking” presence just hours ago, it was really not that hard to also swallow that her Lord could speak to her telepathically. She just rolled with it. She was far more startled by what I was saying than by how I was saying it. Being alone in her own home, she decided that it would be less confusing for her to speak aloud in response to my “spoken” thoughts in her head. Being alone with me in her own home, she dropped to her knees in the magical presence of her Lord.

“Why, My Lord? Why shouldn’t I resign? My true calling is to be your property, your ... your slave. You own me now and I couldn’t be happier to be owned. You could have killed me last night. I couldn’t breathe; I was so scared. But I would have died for you. I would have died to make you happy. Why would you want me to continue to embrace this lie that I am some kind of strong heroic leader? Why would I want to live another moment of this flat, sexless life, when I can just give everything to you? I did give everything to you! Come to me here. Come to me now. I’ll give you every part of your slut’s slutty body all over again!“

A tempting thought, but I needed to stay on track. «“Think, fuckmeat, think of the collateral damage. What would Blake do if you suddenly were to resign and disappear?“»

“Oh ... Oh Gods! He would never rest. He wouldn’t believe any of my reasons. He would press and hunt and dig until he finds you.” The fact that I know the Wraith’s secret identity passed almost unnoticed in her head. She was not surprised.

«“And what would I have to do if the ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ were to find me?“»

“You ... you’d have to break him, My Lord. As thoroughly as you broke me.”

«“I didn’t break you. I repaired you—» Okay. Okay. That was a lie. Mostly. I did break her. I had to. But I did also repair her. Well, enough for my purposes at least. «—I’m still repairing you. I did it for a reason. I have a plan for you.“»

“Plan? What plan, My Lord?”

«“That is none of your fucking business.“»

“Yes, My Lord. Forgive me, please, M-my Lord.”

Thousands of miles away I smiled to myself. Repaired enough for my purposes indeed.

«“You are forgiven. But you are right about the Wraith. I have no plans for him. I will break him if he gets in my way. I don’t want to break him. Or any of the rest of them either. So let’s not go there. Stay in the Legion until the time is ripe. Until you can join me forever.“»

“But ... My Lord, I’m not the person I was. I can feel it, My Lord. My will power is gone. All I want in life is to be your slutty ‘good girl’. I don’t care about anything else. I can’t think about anything else. It’s a ticking time bomb. It’s only a matter of time until someone relies on me in the heat of battle, but I hesitate or space out or cower or freeze ... and I fail them.“

«“Lean on me. Use my strength like you use the Shield of Athena. I will guide you. I will carry you. I can cover your timidity. I can cover your weakness.“»

“I ... I don’t understand, My Lord. I don’t see how that will help. My knees are weak, my ... my pussy is wet just from hearing your voice. Inside I want to beg you to magic me off to your place and ‘dump cum’ in me right now.”

«“Trust me, little slut. Submit to my will.“»

Her shoulders slumped, but it was as much in relaxation as in surrender. “I trust. I submit, My Lord. I’ll stay in the Legion. I won’t resign.”

«“Keep the letter though. One day I may allow you to use it.“»

“Yes, yes, My Lord! Thank you, My Lord. I live for the day.“

«“Some day. Patience, baby bitch.“»

She paused. Her mind was still in turmoil. It was still confusing her, but she could at least voice her need. “Do I really have to wait to see you, My Lord? Can’t you take me now?”

«“What did I just say?“»

“I understand, My Lord. I will try to be patient.” Now more tears were coming, but they were accompanied by great wracking sobs. I had remade her into a weak, needy slave to me, to her lust for me. But I was now demanding that she be impossibly strong. It was tearing her apart.

«“No Cindi, you will not ‘try’ to be patient, you will be patient. Have I made myself clear?“»

“Y-yes, My Lord. snif Your slut slave will await your pleasure.” Even after the first two days, such a statement from her would have been half-sarcastic. Today it was utterly serious and contained an implied prayer.

«“My pleasure will one day be your pleasure. You won’t live a lonely, empty life. But in the mean time, you will serve me in every way that I demand.“» And with that I was gone.

And so she had her marching orders, but she had no idea how she would be able to follow them. Before I intervened today she was afraid of being the weak link in a team, of hurting or even killing one of her friends by her failure to act. Now she was even more afraid of disappointing me. She knew, from long centuries of battle experience, that this shift in loyalties was a problem in and of itself. She knew that if her Lord were to call her away from her teammates in the midst of a pitched battle that she would leave them. It would tear her apart, but she would do it.

«The Legion deserves better from me,» she thought.

But she was the thrall of her Lord. If this was his will, then she must obey. She must find a way to make it work.

* * *

«“Be ready in one hour.“»

She was nearly done eating dinner when she received his order, clearly “there” in her mind, and then just as clearly “gone” before she could respond. Warmth flooded her as she flushed all over. He wanted her sooner than “bedtime”.

She couldn’t wait. She was exhausted from trying to be “Majesticunt”—as she thought of her now-despised hero self inside her own head—for even half a day. She hadn’t even donned the uniform, but she had tried to get back to her electronic patrol routine: police scanner, LoH communicator, twenty-four-hour TV news, BBC World Service satellite radio, local, national, and world breaking news via her laptop, all scanned continuously in a multitasking frenzy. She was worn out and there hadn’t even been anything that needed her response. In fact, looking back through the news archives it looked like it had been a pretty calm week altogether, not even a major fire in Portal City. And no supervillainy that wasn’t immediately squashed by a nearby hero who was well-suited to deal with it. No one had even missed her during her impromptu vacation.

She had been pondering all this over the last few pungent shrimps scampi when He called her. So now there was no more time for her thoughts. She cleaned up her leftovers and got ready to present herself to her Lord.

After what seemed like an eternity of yearning, of helplessly, hopelessly trying to will the minute hand to turn faster, the time finally arrived. She prostrated herself on her bedroom carpet. She begged her Lord to take her. I did.

* * *

She was surprised at the way she found herself upon arrival. She was not prostrate on her Lord’s parquet living room floor. Instead, she was curled up in her dog bed under a rough but warm blanket. She felt groggy; she was just now waking up. Looking around, she saw an envelope taped to the closed door at “hand and knees” eye level. Not surprisingly, “Cindi Cumdump” was written large on the outside. She was a bit surprised, however, by the round feminine cursive.

She roused herself and opened the letter. Three pages of the same flowing cursive ...

Good morning (what’s left of it).

Your Lord has allowed you to sleep in. He has gone out but expects you to be ready for Him when He returns. Please follow these directions carefully. You will find everything you need in the master bath and the laundry room.

And with that beginning, Cindi—made eternally beautiful by Aphrodite herself—was introduced to the utterly foreign concept of a “beauty regimen”: special facial wash, three separate stages to washing her hair, how to dry herself without chafing her skin, two different skin conditioners, dental care including gentle cleaning of gums, tongue and palate, complex and confusing instructions for blow-drying and brushing her hair, nail filing (not clipping!) and cuticle care, saddle soap for her collar to avoid chafing her neck, and on and on.

So thusly, one of her last suspicions was confirmed, «This is not my body, magically transported and weakened. This is someone else’s body that I’m borrowing. And now she has even left me an owner’s manual.»

But even more was revealed by the instructions themselves. Her nameless beauty instructor was thoughtful enough to include the following: ”Do not shave! Your body is naturally hairless wherever you might want to shave or wax.” There were other surprise “don’ts”, but only by omission; there was no mention of perfumes, makeup, or nail polish.

Rereading the instructions as she went, she made her way to the shower, determined to present her most beautiful self to her Lord.

After a surprisingly long and frustrating time for our heroine, she was finally by the front door, kneeling, awaiting my arrival, feeling sexy. It seemed to her like another frustrating forever before I finally arrived, but eventually I did.

She heard the key in the door and bent over, head to floor, ass to sky, arms stretched toward the opening door. “Welcome home, My Lord. How may I serve you?”

I dropped my gym bag on the floor and said, “Clean my shoes, bitch.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Inside her head, for the first time in her two and a half millennia, she echoed the disappointment of women throughout the ages, «“He didn’t even notice!“» But the let-down was fleeting. He was demanding her obedience, and she wanted the joy that came with being a “good girl”, so she gave it.

“Less talk, more action.”

She clearly understood by now that she should interpret most commands from me in the most humiliating way possible. So she rejected her own disappointment and crawled to me and my muddy shoes.

But before she started, she was determined to surprise me. She knew she had to lick my shoes clean, but first she kissed them, repeatedly, lovingly, soft little kisses interspersed with sultry affirmations: “I missed you”, “I was so lost without you”, “I felt so alone”, “I need you so much”. This gradually gave way to moaning, caressing licks. She was romancing my shoes as she ate their filth. She had not only swallowed her pride, she had digested and eliminated it. Without pride there was no humiliation, only humility. She had turned a disgusting, unsanitary, mortifying symbol of slavery into a smoldering hot act of love and devotion; we both felt it. I wanted to pick her up and ravish her against the nearest flat surface ... but not yet.

Eventually she was done. She looked up at me with eyes as big as dinner plates and hugged my thigh. I looked down, smiled, caressed her flushed cheek. “Good girl.”

The wave of pleasure that hit her at that moment showed beautifully on her face. I forced a serious expression back into my face. “Now, deal with these dirty clothes, and go make me some coffee.”

She grabbed the gym bag. She was up and moving away from me, but I could see that she was smiling with her whole body. In her mind we were already fucking, we just hadn’t put the round peg in the slotted hole yet.

When she opened the bag though, my sweaty clothes almost overwhelmed her. Her body was hardwired to love the way I smelled, and there was almost more of my smell here than she could bear. If she could figure out how to make love to my gym bag she might. For just a moment she buried her face in the sweaty, wet clothes. But the moment passed. She knew that she was wasting time and that I surely would not reward her for dawdling. And at this moment she so wanted me to reward her that she could almost taste it. So she overcame her knee-weakening lust and got on with her work. She was ready to start a load of laundry combining my gym clothes and the contents of the clothes hamper, but first she had to empty the washer. Last night’s bedsheets were already clean in the washer so she transferred them to the dryer, loaded and started the washer. And then she was off to the kitchen.

The coffee maker in my kitchen was a far cry from the espresso-cappuccino-railroad-engine monstrosity she had in hers. Even so, it was not exactly a “Mr. Coffee”; it was taking her a little while to figure it out. She was determined to suss it out herself though. Not out of fear, certainly not out of pride, but out of a sense of duty and of trust. I gave her a job to do and she wanted to do it, believing that I had given her everything she needed to get it done. She was learning to submit to me and to trust me at the same time. Hey, she was not exactly ready to face down Johnny Reb and the Sons of Dixie under my guidance yet; we were still rebuilding. Baby steps, baby steps.

It actually didn’t take her very long to figure it out, and soon she had everything bubbling and brewing. She came to the couch and knelt beside me.

“My Lord, how do you prefer your coffee?”

“Depends. Which bean did you choose?”

“Oh, the Tanzanian. Um, the peaberry, My Lord, not the regular.”

“Ah, good choice.” In her mind, self-triggered, «“Good girl!“»

“Just an ounce or two of cream and a level teaspoon of brown sugar then.”

“Some breakfast, My Lord?”

It was after one PM, but she had just woken up. Actually I was glad she was not watching the clock. “It’s a bit late for breakfast. But you can make me a sandwich from the leftovers. And fix yourself something if you’d like.”

She was off and running, thinking to herself «“Less talk. More action.“» Soon she was back presenting the filet mignon sandwich, complete with bacon and dijon bearnaise. Then she brought a tray with a full coffee service to the coffee table. She knelt and prepared my caffeine prescription and presented it. Then she was off again. In a few minutes she was back with her doggie dish and what appeared to be an omelet. She put it on the floor between couch and coffee table “where I can reach her”, then knelt waiting.

“Fix yourself some coffee if you’d like.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” Cream, sugar, cinnamon, and coffee all went into the water dish as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She was waiting again.

“Eat, baby bitch, eat.”

She dove face first into her food. I stroked her curves idly while I watched the tube.

What was really happening though—what’s happening in most of my “idle moments”—was that I was sampling minds around the globe. My ten thousand (about a quarter of whom were asleep at the moment), about four hundred waking world military and political leaders, about a thousand sentries at various hot spots worldwide, scientists nearing important breakthroughs, et cetera, et cetera. But that didn’t mean I was not here in the moment too. Feeling those yielding curves, that flawless skin. I gave her upraised ass a small squeeze, eliciting a happy noise from somewhere in the vicinity of the doggie dish and a playful wiggle under my hand.

“Do you dance?” I asked, apropos of nothing.

“Mmm, um, I ... know some line and circle dances that we do on celebration days in the Amazon Queendom, but ...” She sat up, wiped her chin, and gave me a look that could melt steel. “That’s not the kind of dancing you mean, is it?”

“No, no, it’s not.”

She lowered her gaze. “I-I’ll take some classes.”

“Good. No hurry.” Somehow we both had missed the lack of “My Lord” in that last exchange, but noticing it now I wasn’t concerned. Inside she had never belonged to me more completely than as she imagined herself dancing for my pleasure.

Soon she was up and moving again, done with her eggs, pouring me more coffee, collecting and washing dishes. While she was fussing in the kitchen, the dryer had sounded. So now she was off to take care of that. Folding the sheets, finding where I kept them in the bedroom. Moving the wet clothes into the dryer. Then she was back, kneeling, looking a bit ... nervous.

“My Lord, may I ... um ... touch you?”

Seeing what she had in mind I assented. She laid her head gently on my thigh. She reached up and stroked my stomach and chest, feeling hard muscle, drawing lazy circles, daydreaming with a vacuous stare and a satisfied grin. Her need for me was an ever-rising tide, but she would wait on my will. I reached down and played with her hair. Not a bad way to pass the time really.

There was a bank robbery in Portal City, but the police had it in hand; no need to bother her. Ares appeared to be on the move again, as evidenced by the odd timing of a new border skirmish in central Africa. But he was not out in the open yet, so Majestic Woman couldn’t act anyway without causing an international incident. If everything went according to plan, Ares wouldn’t be a concern much longer anyway. An LoH call went out, but plenty of other heroes answered. The villain was subdued in short order. A beautiful naked woman who would have been thrown into frantic action by any of these events was instead pooled bonelessly by my side, head resting on my leg, gazing longingly at her Lord/Master/Lover/Owner.

I redirected her gaze toward my bulging package and pulled her in. Empty stare became laser-like focus. Wistful grin became lecherous smile. Idle hands sprang into action, soon freeing my member from its prison of cloth. Holding her prize, she looked up at me with yearning, silently begging me for permission. I nodded. Her eager mouth consumed me.

* * *

Later that afternoon, she was draped over me, not asleep, but completely at rest. Small satisfied sighs escaped from her mouth onto my chest. I was reading a book while I played with her hair.

A ringing doorbell disturbed our peace. Cindi had a minor panic attack. It had somehow never even occurred to her that a third person could ever come to this perfect place.

“Get the door, Cindicunt.” The overwhelming flood of questions and uncertainty was worse than the sandwich on that first day. Who could it be? Should she throw on a bathrobe or answer the door naked? Should she stand to greet them as equals or kneel as a slave? Would kneeling be enough or should she prostrate herself? Should she let them right in or hold them at the door until He says they may enter? And there was no time for her to think about any of it. She had to answer the door now.

«Well, when in doubt, go for max humiliation, right?» She fell to her knees away from the door but in reach of the knob, opening the door.

Bowed down and curled into a ball—and hence not as utterly prostrate as before her true Lord—she welcomed His guest. “Welcome to My Lord’s home,” noticing the shoes, “ma’am. Please ent—“

Two feminine hands grabbed Cindi’s shoulders and pulled her roughly to her feet. A lilting Aussie accent said, ”No, Annette, what the fuck?“

Cindi looked up, eye-to-eye really, and saw shock turn into amusement on the lovely stranger’s face. “So. You’re the one.”

“The one?”

The woman looking Cindi over was maybe an inch shorter than Cindi herself. She was wearing a long trench coat, buttoned all the way up to the neck. She had cascading red hair, piercing green eyes, and perfect porcelain skin with just a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

“Master’s new pet hero,” the woman continued, “Majestic Woman.”

“I am My Lord’s new pet, Majesticunt,” she said, showing her nametag, “former hero. Is it that obvious?”

“Well, Annette never would have met me at the door naked, bowing, and scraping. She would have thrown on some clothes first and given me a hug,” the woman said, smiling.

Then “the look” came over the stranger’s face, the same one Cynthia had seen innumerable times over the last seven decades. “Oh God, you have no idea what a fan I am of y—Master!”

Looking over Cindi’s shoulder she had seen me walking up. She hit the floor kneeling, eyes downcast. Cindi turned and did the same.

“Cindi Cumdump, meet Julia McKenna. Julia, meet Cindi. Julia, you can ask for her autograph later. Cindi, take her coat and hang it up.”

As Julia unbuttoned the coat it became obvious that there was nothing under the coat but more Julia, lots more Julia.

«Nice tits, not as big as mine though.» It was the universal fem-fem checkout comparison, the human equivalent of butt-sniffing in dogs. It’s not related to slavebody urges. It’s not related to how I had changed her. It’s not even related to gender; guys do it too. Even you. Yes, you do it, even if you’re not aware of it.

«But does the carpet match the drapes? ... Woah! No carpet! “naturally hairless wherever you might want to shave or wax,” eh?» Clearly Julia was another of her Lord’s slave girls, as if the kneeling and the word “Master” hadn’t given it away. Thinking about what she knew of me so far Cindi instantly extrapolated, «If He has two then He has a harem ... No, an army.» Jealousy flickered through her for just a second, and then it was gone. Good girl.

As Cindi hung the coat in the hall closet, I called after her, “In the bedroom, the top drawer has a false bottom. Put on what you find there and meet us in the living room.”

Top drawer, neatly folded men’s underwear and socks. At the bottom she saw a thumb hole and lifted it. It was her Majestic Woman uniform. The bodice and panties were authentic, one set of the gifts of Aphrodite, but she stifled her curiosity about how I got it. «Hey, He’s magic.» The boots, vambraces, and tiara were from a high-quality cosplay set. Everything fit perfectly.

She returned and started to kneel beside Julia. But I stopped her and had her stand beside me instead.

She was confused. “Stand, My Lord?” She hadn’t stood in my presence—unless she was performing some task that required her to stand—since the second day. She felt awkward. She felt presumptuous. Especially with Julia kneeling. She felt ... bad.

“STAND.” I was amused at how firmly I had to reinforce it. “Julia is here to help me with a demonstration. You are here to be Majestic Woman. Look.”

Suddenly Julia’s face changed somehow. A horrified look came over her. Her voice had a strangely gruff American accent, “No. No! I did everything you said! Please don’t drown m—”

“Shut up!” I interrupted. “Tell her who you are. Tell her everything.“

“Julia” was clearly not home. Whoever was using her body was male and definitely not in Kansas anymore. Looking down and cupping breasts, he muttered, “What the fuck?” Then his eyes lit on Cindi.

“Majestic Woman!”

Tell her,” I yelled.

“M-my name is—” He stopped when he saw me wave him off impatiently. “Um. I am, uh, was ... Portal City’s best and highest-paid torch. But not anymore! I took all my loot and moved back to Nebraska. Just like you told me to, M-master! I’m clean! Please don’t drown me again! I’m clean! I’m retired!“

With that he was gone, and Julia was back. Cindi looked over at me. “Who was that?”

“He was responsible for over half the large building arson in your adopted home town. Now he’s not a problem.”

Slightly peeved, Cindi forgets herself a bit. “There’s more than one arsonist in Portal City.”

“I can show you eight more like him, all with the same story—”

“And there are eight more after that, ready to take their places.”

I was tired of this shit. I didn’t know if it was the uniform or the confrontation itself, but Cindi had clearly forgotten who she had become. ”’Take their places’, what, cunt?“

Mortal fear suddenly overwhelmed her. Her knees weakened, but she remembered my command and remained standing. “M-My Lord! I’m sorry, My Lord, but—”

“Better. When those eight come along I’ll deal with them too.”

She had a rejoinder but stifled it. Instead she searched her heart for what was really bothering her, and asked, “Why ‘retire’ them, My Lord? Why not make them turn themselves in?”

“I hate waste. They’re no good to me in prison.”

“You collect torches, My Lord?”

“Watch your tone, cocksucker. I never know what I’ll need.”

Her eyes fluttered; it hurt her to think she was displeasing me. But she had one last question. She had to know. Eyes lowered she asked, “You tortured them, didn’t you, My Lord?”

“I tortured you too, slave. What’s your point?”

She shook her head, wiped her tears, then looked up with a smile. “Thank you, My Lord.”

“You’re welcome. Now, are you ready to see the rest?”

“The other torches, My Lord?”

“The other hidden thorns in your side.”

She nodded. Out through Julia’s mouth came a cavalcade of corrupt politicians going straight, mobsters closing their drug and gambling operations and volunteering their men for the neighborhood watch, pimps resolving to put the girls in their stables through college and then let them go, dirty cops who’d become zealous defenders of justice, more and more and more. It was all a bit too much for her, but finally it was done. Realizing the show was over Cindi fell to her knees, happy to join Julia in her rightful place. She didn’t know what to think. She knew He had done it all for her, but she didn’t understand why.

Looking up into my eyes searching for ... she didn’t even know what ... she asked, “So this is how an amoral God fights crime? ... My Lord?“

I looked in her heart and saw no judgment, no bitterness, only a sad resignation and acceptance.

“This is how an amoral Master helps his weak, needy slave carry out impossible orders. Do you understand now?“

“Yes, My Lord, thank you. I—” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I really do love you.”

I stroked her hair. “I know you do, baby bitch,” I murmured softly, “You can’t help it.”

I looked down at her attire. “Go put that gaudy thing away and come back. Julia wants to worship her favorite superheroine some more. I think both of your heads might stay screwed on better in the process if that happens without that uniform in the way.”

Julia was still kneeling/sitting and squirming uncomfortably in the floor. It was hard for her to be around me—or any male slavebody, really—this long without fucking, but she had a lifetime of discipline keeping her in her place. I was petting her lovely red hair and telling her that she had done well, that she was a good girl. It helped some.

* * *

Soon Cindi was back and kneeling beside Julia again. “My Lord, may I make some dinner for Julia and myself? There are plenty of leftovers.” But then a stricken look crossed her face. “Oh no, I’m a bad sl—My Lord, um, would you like some dinner? I’m sorry, My Lord. Please don’t be angry. Please don’t d-d-discip—“

I cut her off. “Your failure and your self-correction are both noted. I’ll deal with it later. In the mean time just fix me a sandwich and some salad.” As she opened her mouth to ask I gestured for her to stop. I continued, “Ham and swiss, on rye, yellow mustard, condiments are up to you. Catalina on the salad. Fix whatever you like for the two of you, but let Julia help. She’s going nuts sitting here doing nothing. Julia, get me a beer.“

With a unified “Yes” that diverged at “My Lord” and “Master” they looked at each other and smiled. Then they were up and moving.

Julia met me at the couch with my beer. She knelt waiting for instruction like a good slave, but clearly her mind was elsewhere. I shooed her back to the kitchen, leaving me with a grin.

I heard happy chatter from the kitchen, mostly from star-struck Julia of course. Cindi had borne this worship countless times before, but never so lightly. Even she could tell the difference. «It’s so much easier without all that hubris in way. I really want to hear what she has to say.»

Dinners prepared, the chatter, the two slaves, and the two doggie dishes moved to the dining room floor. Julia was gushing, “I’ll never forget the Great Forest Fire of ‘Ninety-seven. The one that threatened Canberra? You were amazing. I was just a wee thing, but I remember it like yesterday.“

“Oh, but Power Man was first on the scene,” said Cindi, “Um, I guess he went by ‘Power Boy’ back then. He did most of the heavy lifting.”

“Power Boy tried to blow out the fire. He made it worse!“

“Well ...”

“You were the one who talked to the firefighters on the ground. You were the one who came up with the plan that worked. You were the one who found the empty tanks that were both big enough and strong enough to do the job. You were the one who got Sea King involved. You were ... you were brilliant!“

“Well, I ...”

“Sure, all the news photos were of Power Boy dumping great gobs of water on the fire, but anyone who read the stories knew who did the real ‘heavy lifting’.“

“You were a ‘wee thing’ that read news stories?” asked Cindi somewhat skeptically.

“I was a precocious nine. And I was already a fan. Oh! But that wasn’t even the best part. You lot had your ‘command performance’ before Parliament the next week, medals and speeches and wot. Sea King declined, natch. Power Boy gave his standard ’Twarn’t nuthin’, ma’am’ speech. Sincere I’m sure; he really is a dear. But you ... you gave a short lecture on forestry management and a ripping endorsement for the opposition’s forestry bill. The opposition was only at thirty percent of the House at the time, not much better in the Senate. The bill had no hope of even getting press before you stepped in. After? It was passed and signed the next day! ... Oy! What’s all this then? No croying! Cindi love, what’s wrong?“

Cindi didn’t know why she was crying. There was a whole lot going on in her head so I wasn’t completely certain myself. But I knew that my pheromones weren’t helping the situation any. As I rose to my feet, two pairs of eyes in the dining room were suddenly glued onto me.

“As you were. I’m going for a walk.” Cindi’s nipples crinkled painfully as she got excited thinking about cleaning my shoes again. Good, some distraction from that inner turmoil.

“I’ll be out a while. Everything should be cleaned up by the time I get back.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Yes, of course, snif My Lord.“

I was gone but of course still listening.

“You know he really likes that ’My Lord’ thing.“

snif Yeah?“

“Oh GAWD yes! Makes ‘is donger practically jump out of ‘is shorts. I think He’s gonna make us all switch to that some day. The blokes already kid him about that on the basketball court, ‘My Lord’ this and ‘Sire’ that and ‘My Liege’ the other.”

“There are other men? Other, um, Masters?”

“Oh, no ... I keep forgetting that you’re just an ankle biter ’ere. About half of the Ten Thousand—that’s us, dearie—are men, but there is only one Master. He owns us all; we’re His slaves. ‘His herd,’ He sometimes says, like we’re farm animals or wot. He says he’s been breeding us for bleedin’ ages, practically since the stone age.“

“And you’re all okay with that?”

“Well ... It’s not exactly like he takes ‘No’ for an answer, now is it, love?”

“Um, no.”

“And it certainly has its benefits. When you orgasm, what’s it like?”

What?“

“Come on, love. Just us girls. What’s it like when you cum?”

“Julia ... It’s amazing. I want to write poetry about it. Not sonnets. I want to write epics, eddas, gospel spirituals!“

“I know, right? And in your ‘real’ body?”

“Um, not the same. It used to seem fine to me, but now ... ”

“Wet firecracker?”

“Exactly!”

“Lots of us girls get really sad in our teen years. You know, thinking about being ‘love slaves’ for the rest of our lives? So when it gets bad enough he’ll mind-swap us with our best muggle friend, or maybe some muggle girl we envy, and order us to jill off until we cum. Happened to me when I was fifteen. It’s not very satisfying. Kind of a wake-up call.”

“Muggle?”

“Yeah, some while back one of our lads in Europe started calling them that. It sort of stuck. It’s not like the Harry Potter stories, of course. We don’t have magic or go to a special school. But we do live a secret life in the midst of them, and there is something supernatural—super-something—about the Master. Anyway, Master calls them ‘wild humans’ which, again, makes us feel like farm animals. So, muggles they are, in my book at least.“

“But the men are slaves too?”

“It’s different for the men. He wants the men to be our, um, the women’s, ‘keepers’, which suits them just fine. Us too, really, most of the time. And He wants them to be full of piss and vinegar, which is fine with them too. And, well, you’ve seen Greg, I mean the Master. They’re all built like that, big strong ‘Lords of Creation’ with porn star willies. They like that too. But he also wants them to be his mates—“

“Um, gay marriage?”

“Uh, no, sorry, his buddies, his pals. That buddy-buddy thing is not so easy for them.”

“Why? It sounds like they’ve got it great.”

“He’s still their owner and slavemaster. He chooses whom they marry. He chooses where they live. And more ... He likes smart slaves, men and women, and He pays for it all, best teachers, best schools, everything. But if you’re reading English at the Uni because you want to be a poet, and He decides He needs you to be a lawyer, guess what you’re gonna be? They have to walk a fine line between being his friends and being his loyal slaves. So it’s not all tea and crumpets for the men either. And then there’s the riding; women don’t have to deal with that so much.“

“Riding?”

“That’s what He calls it. Master doesn’t have a body of his own. He’s like some sort of ghost that possesses people, but He has to put their mind somewhere else while He’s in their body; He did it to me this afternoon. I got to be a bunch of fat smelly scared muggle blokes in rapid succession while they were in me. But I don’t know how he does it; it’s all too confusing to me.

“When He’s in someone’s body He calls that ‘riding’ them. You know, like a horse. Yeah, that’s not very flattering imagery either. But anyhow, he hardly ever rides women. So the men have to share time in their own bodies. Now you’d think with over five-thousand-odd men it wouldn’t be such a burden to share, letting Master ride you once every few years, but He has favorites. Those guys are ridden much more often than the others. That means they spend a lot of their time living in someone else’s body while the Master is living in theirs. It’s frustrating for them.

“Greg and Annette are the Ten Thousanders who live here, but Greg hasn’t been here during his body’s waking hours in ages. Master loves to ride him. Now it’s starting to be that way for Annette too. She spends two-thirds of her days sleeping now; sleeping in your body when she’s there, and sleeping in her body when she’s here.”

“Oh. I’m ... Tell Annette I’m sorry”

“She doesn’t mind, not really, Cindi dear. She’s as big a fan of yours as I am, since we were little girls. Maybe all the more now because she’s your spitting image. You could have knocked her over with a feather when Master told her that she was going to swap bodies with Majestic Woman. He had her start taking martial arts classes. She hates ’em, but she puts up with ’em because she loves being you. I think even if she’s sleeping right now, she’s living the dream. I know I would be in her place.

“And besides, it’s not like any of us has a choice. He moves us where He wants us. His reasons are His, end of story. Even so, lately it’s like He’s mobilizing for something; all of the Ten Thousand can feel it, His ... urgency. None of us knows what’s really happening, but it’s certain as rain is wet that you’re a big part of it, love.“

“Yes ... He’s told me that he has a plan for me. Then he was angry. It was like he let it slip and then regretted saying it. He won’t tell me what it is.”

“And that is as much as you’ll get until He needs you to know more. Our Master plays his cards pretty close to the vest.”

Cindi was uncomfortable with all this talk of plans and portents involving her. She wanted that part of her life to be over, particularly when she was here, in my penthouse. She changed the subject. “So ... so there are ten thousand of you, er, us?”

“Well, not exactly. That’s Master’s target number. We’re about two hundred over right now, but a bunch are retiring soon.“

“Retiring?”

“Right, He doesn’t count anyone over forty. He makes ’em get their tubes tied and ‘retires’ them, which is right ripping compared to what he used to do a century or more ago.” Julia held up her hands and shook her head. “No, no, love, you don’t want to know.”

After a while the conversation was starting to peter out, but then it kicked into high gear again as Julia started to ask Cindi to stand and deliver. “What’s it like to fly?” “What are the other heroes like?” “Who are you really?” That one opened the floodgates. Very few people knew Majestic Woman’s origin story, none still alive except me outside the Legion or the Queendom. People only knew that she hadn’t aged noticeably in over seven decades and that she had settled in Portal City shortly after World War Two. Now Julia was one of the few that knew the whole story. Julia was amazed, an entire city of women—Amazons even!—in the middle of modern Greece, hidden in plain sight. Master wasn’t the only one with an entire secret population right under everyone’s noses.

“And you all live forever?”

“Well, we don’t age after we reach full maturity, nineteen-to-twenty-five years, depending. That’s not quite the same thing. Many Amazons have died through the centuries. We all tend to live ... dangerous ... lives. The Gods help us replenish, even increase, our numbers though.”

“Real gods, now. Really real?”

“They seem real to me, Julia. The Gods cast the glamour that hides the Queendom of Themiscyra.”

“Uh, ‘glamour’?”

“Oh! That’s ‘glamour’ in the old, original meaning.” Cindi muttered, “How do I describe this?” She thought for a few seconds and then said, “It’s a magic spell that alters appearance or perception.”

Now it was Julia’s turn to take a disbelieving tone, “Magic? Really?”

Oh, come on, Julia! You’ve lived under your Master’s magic your whole life! You can’t be that much of a skeptic!“

“Touché, love. Touché.”

“In any case, everyone in the outside world thinks Themiscyra is a dead city near the Black Sea in northwestern Turkey, when it’s really a modern city, populated by seventy-five thousand of my Amazon sisters, only about eighty kilometers from Athens. The Gods keep us from aging. They cast a different glamour inside Themiscyra so that when outsiders do enter the city, delivery drivers, travelers, whatever, they simply never notice anything unusual. Is it really magic of the Gods? I don’t know any human or alien with a superpower that powerful, unless it’s the aliens behind the Magic Lamp Corps, or maybe our Lord and Master. The Gods gave me my powers. They visited me to present me my powers, and other times too. The visitations, even the gifting of my powers, are dreamlike in my memory, but the effects are undeniable. My mother, Hippolyta ...“

The dinkum Hippolyta? Queen of the Amazons? Like from the Iliad? Like from the Labors of Heracles?

“Yes, that’s her. She is still our Queen. The Iliad says she died, but of course it’s not true. Anyway, Mother always told me the story of the Gods that were attendant at my birth, that they each gave me two gifts.”

“Gifts?” Julia prompted eagerly.

Sing-sing, Cindi continued, half chanting,

From Hera: great integrity and strength.
From Hermes: great shrewdness and speed.
From Artemis: great confidence and aim.
From Athena: great wisdom and valor.
From Aphrodite: great compassion and beauty.

She blushed at the last.

“Um. That’s quite a trove of gifts, I must say!”

“Sometimes they felt more like burdens than gifts. Like everyone was watching me, prodding me, testing me to see what I would do with the gifts of the Gods. When you’re eight years old with three missing baby teeth and a broken nose from a playground fight, it’s kind of hard to represent ‘Aphrodite’s Gift of Beauty’ to the world. When you are a junior officer, and you make a stupid mistake in deployments during a training exercise you can hear the sniggers about ‘Athena’s Gift of Wisdom’ behind your back wherever you go. But yes, eventually I did grow into my gifts. I think.“

“So what about the other Olympian Gods? Zeus, Apollo, Poseidon, Demeter, Dionysus, the rest?”

“They weren’t there when I was born, or so my mother says. They weren’t there when I was granted my powers. I’ve never felt their presence. I don’t know. I’ve met and fought Ares, but he’s not like the other Gods. Somehow I think he’s some other sort of magic being pretending to be an Olympian God. But I can’t imagine why the real Gods would let him get away with it.”

“Wow ... just ... wow. And all that myth and legend about the Amazons. A right load of rot, I bet! Like the whole thing about cutting off your breasts?”

“Clearly a tale told and repeated by idiots,” she said waving at her own bountiful and unmarred bosom. Then shaking her head as she realized that she was indicating Annette’s rack, not hers.

“Anyway most of our archers do strap down one breast to keep it out of the way—I certainly did when I was an archer—but none of us cut them off. Now having said this, the word ‘Amazon’ literally means ‘without a breast’, so at some point in our history we must have embraced that story. The name was already used self-descriptively within the Queendom long before I was born, and I never really asked anyone about it. I always just assumed we made a virtue of it, using the story to fuel the fear of our enemies. You know, ‘If they’re willing to do that to themselves, what would they do to us?’

“In any case, a lot of the stories are rubbish. But some have at least a hard kernel of truth. One of my aunts, Penthesilea, really was killed by Achilles, and there were many other Amazons that died fighting for Troy in the Trojan War. Heracles and his men really did enslave the entire Amazon Queendom, but it was only about five hundred women at the time. Mother claims, and I believe her, that the Gods freed us from that slavery. All this was before I was born, but I know living eye witnesses to all these events.“

“Right from the mouth of a fair dinkum Amazon! What a corker! And what about ...” It went on like this for a while. Somewhere in there they finished eating and drinking, took breaks, cleaned and straightened as I had commanded, but none of that ever interrupted the conversation.

* * *

At some point in all this I did return. When they heard my key in the lock both women sprang into action. And so I was welcomed home by two prostrate slave-girls instead of one. Right shoe cleaned and adored by olive-skinned black-haired beauty, left by alabaster redhead loveliness, the life-long slave actually following the new slave’s lead. One removed and stowed my shoes. The other removed and hung up my coat. Both followed me into the bedroom like puppies chasing after their favorite treat.

It was Cindi’s first threesome, but she seemed happy about it. Well, at first. Then her mood changed when she had to bend over and take a few stripes from my belt: for arrogance, for presumptuousness, for inattentive service. I didn’t come up with this list. These were sins that Cindi discovered inside herself.

“Have you been a bad girl?”

“Yes, My Lord! I ... I’ve been bad!”

“What have you done?”

Cindi cried out her sin, then her shame, then her pain, each one for each transgression in turn. Inside she knew she deserved every lash. Inside she yearned for me to purify her, to burn away the last husks of her old life even though she still had to live it. Meanwhile Julia held Cindi’s head in her lap. She wiped away her tears, She told Cindi that she was new to this life, that she was still learning, that some day she would be a good girl she longed to be. Pain, fear, shame, and humiliation fed arousal. Cindi was on fire.

After the discipline, Cindi’s head in Julia’s lap became Cindi’s mouth on Julia’s snatch. Cindi was no more experienced at cunnilingus then than she had been at fellatio the day before, but at least here she had a “home court advantage”. She knew what she liked and didn’t like “down there”, so she was doing a pretty passable job of servicing Julia. At the same time Julia was worshiping at the altar between my legs, bringing to bear a lifetime of cocksucking training and experience.

I let my girls cum when I did, and then I changed things up. I moved the girls into a soixante-neuf width-wise across the bed with Cindi on top and Julia’s knees hanging off the other side of the bed. While they were getting to know each other a bit better, I pulled out some sex lube from the bed stand and applied a generous portion to my member. Then I told Cindi to open her asshole for me. Cindi began to protest even as she opened up, but Julia distracted her, doing ... something ... that caused Cindi to cut off in mid-word and emit a loud moan.

While she was distracted, I entered her ass for the second time in three days, but not to punish her this time. This time it was the gentle act of her perfect lover and she felt it as such. Pain and pleasure blended inseparably in her mind and her arousal built to a fever pitch. Eventually I bottomed out, fully encased in her tight, hot ass. I let them both cum again.

As I began to thrust in Cindi’s rectum, I was ready to change things up yet again.

“Julia, it’s time for you to go home. Say good night to Cindi.”

Unngh. Yes, Master.” I hadn’t told her to hurry, so she disengaged slowly, kissing her way up Cindi’s taut stomach. Cindi was almost lost in her sexual heat, but she was “there” enough to reciprocate. Both moaned as they figured out how to slide two pairs of massive tits past each other. Having accomplished that, kissing mouths now lingered on each other’s freshly stimulated nipples. But slowly Julia disengaged and kissed her way up Cindi’s chest and neck until they were sharing a deep, juicy, chin-by-nose kiss. Julia finally broke off, whispering her love and her goodbyes to her new friend. Cindi grunted something in reply and grabbed after Julia as she retreated.

Still stroking Cindi, I remembered that there were some details yet to take care of. “Have Rupert errm call you a taxi. Do you have enough for the fare?“

“No, Master. You said ‘nothing but the coat’.”

“Oh! Right. There should be plenty there on the dresser.”

Julia took cash from my wallet and risked some cheek. “Bit less than me nawmal rayte, guv.”

I laughed as I stroked into Cindi again. Cindi didn’t seem to notice the joke. I grabbed Cindi’s hair and turned her head towards the redhead slave.

“One more thing, both of you. Cindi, watch.” Her eyes focused on her new friend.

“Julia ... cum.”

Cindi’s eyes went wide as Julia collapsed into a writhing, groaning heap. “One day you will obey me that completely,” I said.

“One day, Mmmy Lord.”

After a few minutes Julia gathered herself off the floor and made her way out.

“Okay, Cindi. Let’s practice. Cum on every down stroke.”

It was a repeat of yesterday’s countertop fuck, but in her ass instead of her pussy, so it wasn’t really the same at all. It seems like it is a bit different for every one of my women. For Annette’s and Cindi’s shared body vaginal orgasms were huge, satisfying, rolling waves, but anal orgasms were wild, shocking earthquakes. In just a few strokes she went from moaning her release to screaming it. She began thrashing uncontrollably; I had to stiff-arm her head into the mattress with my full weight just to keep her in place.

Now would be as good a time as any to have a relationship conversation, right?

“What are you, Cindi?”

“Ssslave ... Fucktoy!”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“My Lord?”

As I opened my mouth to elaborate she screamed. Apparently I had struck oil down there in her ass and her empty cunt was the gusher. I waited for it to subside a bit.

“I mean, are you a happy fucktoy? Are you fulfilled being my slave?”

Nnng Love you! Be ... anythinnng ... you want.“

“That’s not the question. Are you being what you want?“

Yeess, happy ... contennnt ... I just wa-wanna ssserve, be a good girrrl ... feel bad w-when I don’t pleeease you, Lord.“

“Then please me as Majestic Woman. Do the best Majestic Woman impersonation you can muster. Nobody knows her better. Make me proud.”

“Yes ... Oh! Oh, Yesss ... Make My Lorrrd proud! ... Th-thanks ... M’Lord” In her mind I saw that she was finally content with what I had demanded of her. She would fake being Majestic Woman for as long as I required it of her.

I pushed to the hilt one last time and fired my load deep into her bowels.

After her last orgasm subsided, I withdrew and walked around to the other side of the bed, where I found Cindi, not exactly alert, but eager to tongue-clean her Lord’s cock. So she did. I stroked her hair and told her she was a good girl. Then I gathered her up and cradled her in my lap. I rocked her gently. We made small satisfied noises at each other. I kissed her forehead and sent her home.

To Be Continued in Chapter 8. In which someone gets the wrong idea