Dreams of Darkness. Part 1 — All in the Mind.
By Writer345
12. Recessional: the clergy attempt to exit the church.
Although she hadn’t shown it while Margaret Baxter was present, Mistress Wendy was quite taken with the woman Gupta’s queening stool. She picked it up and examined it for several minutes before placing it in the middle of the carpet.
She looked up at me and snarled. “What the fuck are you waiting for, you bitch?”
Not needing any further encouragement, i scrambled onto the floor and got my head under the stool so that it was supported by the padding. Then as quickly as she could, Mistress dropped Her jeans and panties and sank down onto the padded seat so that Her pussy lips pressed lightly against my mouth. For the first time in several hours, the fog of confusion left me and i knew exactly what to do: i licked Her gently from clitty to arsehole before sucking as much of her fleshy labia into my mouth as I could. i tasted Her silky juices in the process and almost orgasmed from the experience. My wonderful Mistress was allowing me to lick Her pussy for the first time.
She was sweet with a slight spicy under taste: no two pussies ever taste the same: the woman Gupta was earthy while slave-jasmine, my personal favourite, had just a hint of malt; but not only that, she positively oozed and produced more of the glorious secretion than any woman that i had intimately known.
i decided that i had better concentrate on the one perched on the stool less than an inch away from my face, the one whose owner was twisting from side to side and moaning quietly with pleasure. Then it was lick, suck and lightly chew again and again. The moans became louder then as I rolled Her clitty between my lips and She shrieked and quivered. But when i motor-boated it she exploded squirting a whole load of her juices onto my face and into my mouth. Mistress was rewarding me!
i continued, switching my attentions to Her tight little arsehole which i kissed and forced my tongue up into which caused Her to ripple with pleasure. Within a few seconds She came again and gushed even more. i suppose that She must have queened me for a good half hour and i only stopped when She slipped sideways off the stool and landed in a twitching heap on the carpet. If this was Her reaction to my little tongue then i longed to see what would happen if She queened slave-prita who was very well endowed in that particular department. Now THAT will be spectacular!
When Mistress recovered enough to carry on, i noticed that her attitude towards me had warmed somewhat and i ceased to be regarded as an ‘it’, not that it had bothered me. She summoned one of the slaves that had accompanied Her when She had arrived before dawn and ordered a cup of coffee; she then glanced across at me and then asked for a second cup.
She smiled at me. “Your sister-slaves are being re-programmed to cure them of their dependency on their former owner; it will be your turn this afternoon. I bet you didn’t realise that the couches in the maintenance room could be used for this purpose, did you?”
Well she was right about that, it was a no-brainer simply because the Siobhan-version currently in control was ‘hard-wired’ into the “obey-orders only” mode and couldn’t really think about anything else. There were multiple other siobhans lurking just below the surface, i could feel their thinly restrained presence on and off and disliked the feelings of insecurity and unease that their existence induced in the current ‘me’. Oh, they understood exactly what was going on and what the various systems were capable of; not only that but they let me know how inadequate they found me. Think of it as a weird induced version of Multiple Personality Disorder. Weird? Sure! All of the personalities were actually versions of Siobhan O’Rourke.
The coffee arrived and Mistress sent the slave off on another errand but i was too busy basking in the warm glow of Mistress’s bountiful generosity (She’d given me coffee!!!) to listen as to what the slave’s instructions were. The other Siobhans cursed me as a shallow personality and an inadequate clone of the real thing.
Eventually the slave returned with a bizarre figure that she dragged along on a collar and lead. I looked at the figure and recognised it as the woman Anjika Gupta. Her face had a greyish tinge, except for the dark circles around her eyes and it was obvious that she had been crying.
Mistress took hold of the lead and gave me a triumphant look; she sounded smug when she finally spoke. “Siobhan, I need her former chief-slave to see what she has become so I will eradicate your current personality, it’s of limited use anyway so will not be missed.” She smiled to me. “Ready? Terminate banana-pastrami!”
My head spun. It was nothing like the gradual change that happens in the changing rooms when my mind gradually slips from slave-persona to realworld-persona or back again. This experience was painful because the old personality had been yanked out and discarded. I almost heard her scream as she was expelled and faded into oblivion.
I was back, I was groggy but I was definitely back. I looked around and my eyes beheld a pitiful sight. It was Anjika, my Mistress, and she was wearing a bright red latex dress without proper sleeves; instead, her arms were constrained behind her back and forced together in a mono-glove that looked like it was welded to the rest of the garment.
“Siobhan,” Dr Dryden asked gently, “who is this woman?”
I was gob-smacked. “She is Mistress Anjika!”
Dryden chuckled again, but it had a nasty undertone to it this time. “She is a Mistress no longer. Her reckless actions were endangering all of us other Mistresses which is why she has been dealt with. Soon she will be converted a totally submissive slave and then I will give her to you. What do you say to that?”
I didn’t say anything, but Mistress Anjika did: she summoned up all of her strength and screamed. “Miri simver vadoo!”
It was a trigger-phrase that I hadn’t heard for years, but it still worked and the world became very still and quiet; or was it me?
“Shiv, remember everything and wake-up!” She hissed.
The world inside my head exploded and in a split second Mistress Anjika vanished and my friend Angie took her place. “Run, Shiv, get the fuck out of here.” she said, seeming to wilt from the effort, or was it because of some drug that they’d fed her?
Only I didn’t obey orders and run, this wasn’t a slave personality it was the genuine, original me that had welled up and taken charge. When we were kids they hadn’t called me ‘Basher O’Rourke’ for nothing. This woman was threatening my mate and I could still land a mean right cross.
Dryden crumpled to the floor as I grabbed Angie and hauled her to her feet. “Come on, our kid, lean on me!” I said, before realizing that she couldn’t. Still, I managed to get her out into the hallway, then through the kitchen and finally out through the new door and into the garage. We passed several of Dryden’s slaves on the way, all of them dressed in a skimpier version of the strange costume that I was wearing, but none of them challenged us... No orders, you see.
Once in the garage I headed for the new Audi as it was nearest to the door. “No,” Angie said, “locker first!” She was insistent. “I mean it, Shiv!”
I shrugged, leant her against the car and strode over to the locker, which was more like a safe bolted to one wall. I put my hand on the palm-lock and the door swung open to reveal a large sports bag. I grabbed it and threw it into the Audi, shoving Angie in after it.
I started the car, operated the remote door opener and drove off into the morning. As I pulled out of our drive and into the lane, the whole of the last few years percolated into my mind and I shuddered. Had my mate, Angie, really done all of that off her own bat or had Dryden influenced her in exactly the same way that her software had embedded that trigger phrase into my brain?
I drove as best as I could in those boots with their ridiculous heels and managed to put some distance between us and our former home. I waited until we were through the nearby town and out into the Shropshire countryside before I spoke. Those damned heels meant that I had to concentrate on my feet as well as on the other traffic.
“What’s so important about that bag?” I eventually asked Angie.
She chuckled. “A thousand quid in cash; credit and debit cards; bank account details and the deeds to the house, that’s what. There’s even a change of clothes for me. We’re rich, our kid.”
I smiled ruefully. “Jesus, Angie, did you know that this was going to happen?”
“Well let’s just say that I suspected that something might. After all, it never hurts to take precautions does it? The bag even has copies of the plans to build our conditioning couchs and copies of Dryden’s discs, too. When we start again, you’ll be able to clean up the software and get rid of her Trojans before we use it... Oh, and we’ll both be Mistresses next time around! I do love you, Siobhan so something good has come out of this fuck-up.”
I frowned, slightly shocked. “You’re going to start again?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her smile gently. “No, my darling, we are! Once a Mistress, always a Mistress and I think that you’ll make a better one than me.
“Now then: when we find somewhere secluded to stop, you’ll have to help me out of this bondage gear so that I can get dressed, then we’ll find somewhere that I can buy you some normal clothes.” She giggled.
Yeah, I smiled ruefully. “These damned heels are making driving difficult and while we’re on about clothes, why the hell did you make us walk around with these massive dildos rammed into our twats and up our arses?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” She chuckled innocently.
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Okay, love, let’s put some real distance between us and Dryden!”
“Yeh, I’m with you on that: we’ll get something to eat soon, too.” She frowned. “On the subject of food, what was that weird recipe Wendy Dryden was on about just before I triggered the real you back into existence?”
“Recipe?” I huffed. “What recipe?”
“Oh,” she chuckled, “banana something... Banana profiteroles... No, banana-pastrami, that’s it!”
Suddenly the world crashed in on Siobhan O’Rourke as the single-minded slave-siobhan exploded back into existence.
my mind spun and performed sickening lurches; i almost lost control and drove erratically for several seconds as i fought to control both the car and the body.
Confusion: why was i in a car with the woman Gupta? Where was i? What was going on? Where was my Mistress?
Little bits of reality flickered into my mind and i knew that I had to get back to Mistress Wendy because She needed me! i glanced out of the corner of my eye, Gupta looked terrified. Was it my driving or something else? i spun the car around in the width of the road and headed towards home as fast as it would go.
“Miri simver vadoo! Miri simver vadoo!” The woman shrieked, but her efforts were useless and although i could feel something inside me fighting to take over, it couldn’t. The personality induced by Mistress Wendy’s ‘banana-pastrami’ trigger-phrase was firmly in control and easily over-rode Gupta’s trigger.
“Terminate banana-pastrami!” She shouted. Again it was no good for that trigger was keyed to Mistress’s beautiful voice.
The Audi’s powerful engine ate up the miles and i was happy; i was going back to wonderful Mistress Wendy and back to the place where i belonged.
To my left, the woman, Anjika Gupta, was sobbing uncontrollably.