The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A Fistful of Sand 3

Chapter 15: Surrender

The silence in the car was insufferable. Each mile that ticked by on the odometer was like a clock ticking closer to the end of the world. Or at least the end of her world. Final battles were the stuff of science fiction and fantasy – they weren’t supposed to happen to Anthropology professors…and especially not to Anthropology professors she was engaged to. She wanted him to say something…anything. Just break the silence!!

But in the back of her head, she felt his every worry…his every fear.

Every doubt.

The happiest night of her life – the night Gregg proposed – was now forever tainted by a quadruple blow of bad news. The first, which actually began as good news was that she now had Gregg all to herself. Somehow, Emily had managed to pull Brittany free from the bond the spritely ex-president of Omega Xi had inadvertently stepped into with Gregg. But the price Emily had paid to do so was only now hitting Heather. Once the non-stop euphoria of the Omega Xi orgy had worn off, she found that she missed Emily’s presence in her consciousness. And if the pony-tailed nymph’s absence made her sad, then it must be tearing Gregg up inside. It was like trying to get used to a missing limb. It didn’t hurt, per se…but the absence was palatable. Neither she nor Gregg would ever again simply “know” how Emily was feeling. Neither would ever again just be able to think of Emily and have her pop up in their minds. Neither would either have her as a reserve of physical and emotional support – at least in the way it once was.

The second blow came when they eventually made it back to Heather’s apartment. There were no cooking smells coming from upstairs…but it did smell like paint. Not having talked with E’dan or Rivkah for many days, Heather and Gregg knocked on their door to share the good news of their engagement. The door was unlocked and inside it was like no one had ever lived there. Even the half-completed nursery had been white-washed over. Instinctively, both knew that the Israeli couple would only leave like this if something about their Mossad past had caught up with them…but again, their abrupt absence was like a shock to the system.

And just as they were absorbing that loss, Gregg’s phone rang: the third blow. It was Laura…and she was hysterical. Natalie was dead. Suicide. Just when Laura was beginning to like her former pledge – just when the once shallow sister was making the gestures Laura had been praying for (to leave the sorority, that is), the girl goes and throws herself off a highway overpass. Gregg’s blood ran cold. Despite the almost generic suicide note the girl had left, Gregg knew something no one else knew – something revealed to him minutes before the Omega Xi ceremony: that Adam had taken control of her…that she was his slave much as Christine had once been David’s.

Guilt threatened to overwhelm Gregg. He could have stopped it. He SHOULD have done something. She’d reached out to him but he’d failed to understand the depth of her situation. And with his proposal to Heather and the subsequent Omega-Xi flesh-feast, he’d completely forgotten about her. He wanted to believe that he’d fulfilled some last wish of hers…but he would have traded anything to bring her back.

Lastly, as if that weren’t enough, while Gregg and everyone else on campus were in mourning, an envelope appeared under his door the afternoon of the funeral…

“Please Gregg. Don’t go through with this,” Heather said softly, breaking the silence but keeping her eyes on the road ahead. “We’ll…we’ll find some way…there’s got to be another way…”

Her argument hadn’t changed since he’d opened that envelope. But when the sign to the Bed and Breakfast appeared on the highway, Heather felt her stomach drop. Her time had run out.

“You know there isn’t, Heather. Something inside Christine has snapped. I don’t know what’s going on, but her threat couldn’t be more clear. I MUST take it seriously…I failed to act once already and look at what it cost us…” Heather could feel Gregg’s resolve hardening.

“She wouldn’t go through with it. She couldn’t!”

Gregg sighed. He was trying to steel himself for the upcoming battle, but it wasn’t helping that Heather was worrying over him. The bond between them was so much stronger than before when the bond was split three ways with Emily and Brittany. Her concern for him was now almost overpowering. It took every ounce of will to not just cave in.

Just when they were supposed to be facing a bright future together, their world had collapsed.

“Wouldn’t she? Don’t you remember how she almost killed us all?”

Heather didn’t. Not really, at least. Deuce had messed with time to “reset” that fiery apocalypse in the hospital room…but thanks to the bond, Heather now at least felt the fear Gregg had in remembering that horrible moment. She did, however, remember Brian’s skin and blood under her fingernails – a souvenir of the ferocity of her struggle to save Gregg in a battle that technically never happened.

He continued, “I think her threat was pretty clear. Two of us enter that Bed and Breakfast…one of us leaves.”

“But she wouldn’t kill Charli, or Chad…or random people like she said, would she? She’s not a monster!”

Gregg shuddered. “Did you look at the crime scene photo she sent me? I don’t know who that guy was, but he had his wrist snapped, his throat torn out, his privates removed and…as if that weren’t enough, he was stabbed through the heart! I don’t know that she did that…but I also don’t know that she didn’t. Her threat was very clear: Either I show up or people – people close to me or people I don’t even know – die.”

Heather was crying as she stopped the car at the end of the long driveway. They both could feel Christine’s power like a beacon coming from the Victorian style bed and breakfast up the driveway. They both felt the lure, the desire…the anger. The ones who granted this power never meant for more than one person at a time to have it…they never meant for a woman to have it either. A situation like this was never supposed to have occurred. Gregg could almost feel their unseen eyes, watching…observing…waiting to see how this little unplanned experiment would unfold.

For several minutes the two sat there: Heather sobbing and gripping the steering wheel of the parked car as if her life depended on it. Gregg could only stare at his thumbs. Words were inadequate to what they both felt from each other through the bond.

Finally, he unbuckled his seatbelt and moved to kiss her, but she shrugged away, refusing to meet his eyes. “Get out,” she said coldly. She started sobbing again as the pain of her words hit Gregg – a pain she now felt all too clearly. She felt his nausea in reaction to her rebuff…he felt the love she tried to hide with steely resolve.

Gregg took a deep cleansing breath. He knew what she was doing, and why. But that tactic would only have worked if they didn’t feel each others’ souls so intimately. But Heather WANTED to believe what she was acting…she had to if she hoped to not fall apart completely.

Exiting the car, Gregg started walking up the driveway. Christine knew he was here. He could feel her consciousness hovering a respectful distance away, watching him…desiring him as much as he desired her. He felt no fear from her…and that scared him.

The car horn blasted once and Gregg spun. The window rolled down halfway, and a tear-stained Heather, still refusing to meet his eyes, said simply yet determinedly, “I’ll come get you after you’ve won.” And with that, the tires spun, sending a brown mixture of slush and mud flying as she sped away.

When the car turned a corner and was out of sight, Gregg felt completely alone. Somehow Heather closed herself off, becoming a leaden lump in the back of his mind. The cascade of emotions from her had suddenly just stopped.

He didn’t know if she somehow did that to protect herself from what might happen to him…or to protect Gregg from having to feel her worry on top of his own. He reached out to her, desperately wanting to let her know that he’d be okay, even if he didn’t know that for certain. He also wanted her love, her strength…things he realized had always gotten him through the toughest situations in the past. But as he stretched out to her, he was denied.

He just hoped she followed his last wish. That she get as far away as possible as fast as possible.

His breath turned to fog as he took one last cleansing breath, beginning the long walk up the driveway toward this final battle. This final meeting of the two halves of the spark that had been split in Tunisia. At long last the two halves of this sundered power would be reunited…and Gregg had no doubts that the reunion would be explosive.

* * *

Heather blinked back the tears in her eyes. She looked out the car’s windows, not recognizing where she was. The last thing she remembered doing was pulling away from Gregg. She’d just managed to pull around the block when she thought she’d pulled over so she could get a hold of herself. How she got to this Super-8 motel, she didn’t have a clue.

Somehow Gregg was walling himself off from her. She reached out to him, but it was like there was a glass wall between him and her. She could sense him…but couldn’t interact or communicate in anyway. Why would he intentionally distance himself from her when they both knew it was their love for each other that gave him his greatest strength?

There was something else tugging at her consciousness, however. Wiping away tears, she opened the car door, forgetting her coat in the back seat and not even feeling winter’s icy grip as she followed her senses like some mystical divining rod searching for water.

The room she stopped in front of was like any other on the ground floor of this motel, except that the door wasn’t closed all the way. She knew this was where she was being led…but who was leading her? And why?

Throwing caution to the wind, she pushed the door open.

The room had one king-sized bed, the comforters were of questionable quality and cleanliness. There were neither bags nor suitcases visible, but there was a pizza box open on top of the TV. No slices had been eaten and the cheese and the oil had congealed into an unappetizing mess.

Heather nearly screamed from surprise when she turned her head and saw Brian sitting at the little round table in the corner. He sat there without making a sound, his posture erect and stiff, his hands flat on the table.

A wicked-looking hunting knife lay in the middle of the table between his palms. Only the rise and fall of his chest and his cold-hard stare proved that he was alive and not a statue.

“Jesus, Brian. You scared the shit out of me.” Heather instinctively flexed her fingers, having only the vaguest memory of the erased fight the two of them had when Christine came out of her coma. According to Gregg, Brian had physically restrained her from entering the room while Christine prepared a death blow that would have killed Gregg and possibly everyone else within twenty feet. Heather had gouged furrows into Brian’s arm attempting to claw herself free of his grip to be at Gregg’s side. Thanks to Deuce’s intervention, none of that actually happened…and yet it did, in a way. When time reset itself, she remembered finding the blood and skin under her nails. And now, seeing Brian in the flesh for the first time since that day, she saw that he still bore the evidence of that little encounter – four perfectly spaced scars on his forearm.

‘Why didn’t Christine heal him?’ she wondered.

Heather closed the door behind her, the lock catching automatically. Her eyes zeroed in on the knife. Brian made no move for it, but he warily eyed her as she slowly pulled out the second chair and took a seat opposite him.

“So…how ya’ been?” she asked, attempting to cut tension so thick it would require a chainsaw just to get through the first layer.

He didn’t respond. He just kept staring at her, his fingers exactly where she’d found them, evenly spaced on either side of his knife. It was cold in the room, yet she could feel her sweat trickle down her neck – little rivulets rolling into the deep canyon of her cleavage. It was the kind of thing 99.9% of heterosexual men would have noticed. It was odd to have the man directly opposite of her stare directly into her eyes and not even glimpse at her chest. She knew that her nipples were hard from the frigid walk from her car to the room…but Brian truly was a statue. Anyone else – even Gregg – would at least have given her ample chest an appreciative glance. It irked Heather, even though she considered herself a feminist, that her most trusted weapons wouldn’t give her the slightest edge in this encounter.

Heather licked her lips…but her mouth was completely dry. Seeing that neither light banter nor her feminine charms would work, she tried the direct approach. “What are your intentions with that knife?”

That seemed to work, as his eyes actually moved briefly down toward the blade before locking back on to hers. She shivered under his icy stare, even though the air in the room was warm. Brian had once been a fun guy. She remembered fondly their time in Tunisia on the dig with Gregg. But he’d seen too much. He’d fallen in love with Christine, and once David and Adam had learned of this, they had considerable fun torturing him by making him watch and participate in many of her beatings and abuses. They thought his inability to help her was amusing. Then, the day David mentally shoved Christine into traffic, he just snapped. There was no emotion left in him…but Heather could sense that his bond to Christine was just as strong, if not stronger, than hers was to Gregg.

“That depends,” was his curt response.

“On what?” Heather ventured, figuring two words was a good start to a conversation.

“You know what,” he grunted.

Heather could imagine…but she had to know.

“Tell me anyway.”

“I’m going to kill a monster.”

Heather gulped audibly. “Gregg’s not a monster. He’s only tried to help. You know this battle between him and Christine wasn’t his idea!” She was pleading…and as the words came tumbling out, she realized that she knew deep down that nothing she or Gregg could do could stop Brian if he decided to carry out his death-mission.

Brian gave the slightest shake of his head. His eyes briefly glanced at a manila folder on the floor between his feet and the bed. Heather interpreted his minute gesture and reached down to pick it up, her eyes never leaving his. Inside was a single photo. She gasped when she pulled it out. It was an exact copy of the crime scene photo that Christine had sent to Gregg to lure him to this battle.

“You…you’re going to kill Christine?”

Again, he shook his head slightly.

“I…I don’t understand. Are you going after whoever did this? Was this somebody you knew? Was it Adam?”

The slightest tensing of his face was an indication of his level of frustration at Heather’s inability to put the pieces together.

Heather suddenly paled and Brian, watching her intently, relaxed a bit as he recognized Heather’s understanding of the situation. “Brian…who is…who was this?” She looked repeatedly from the photo to Brian, her stomach turning queasy. In her mind, all she could see was the laughing and happy boy at the party at Emily’s when their time at the dig was over. Desperately she searched for some evidence of that boy in the cold lump of flesh before her. Her friend…he couldn’t….he just COULDN’T be a murderer!

“Who he was and what he did are of no consequence. All that matters is her. I did this —” he pointed to the picture now laying on the table between the knife and Heather, “— in order to keep HER from doing it. Once she takes a life…and you know she will…she’ll lose the last shred of her humanity. I can’t stop her growing madness…I can’t…I can’t protect her from HERSELF.”

Tears began falling from Heather’s eyes. “And what about YOUR humanity, Brian? You’re a victim in all of this as well!”

Again, Brian shook his head slightly before resuming his stoic pose, hands on either side of the knife. “My humanity died the day David got his powers. Christine deserves someone who isn’t also her abuser.”

“Brian, you didn’t know. You couldn’t help yourself. David…David and Adam were pulling the strings.”

“I could have killed myself on numerous occasions. If I’d had the courage to do that, they couldn’t have used me to hurt her.”

“They would have hurt her anyway!”

Brian’s hand slammed down on the table causing the knife and Heather to jump. “I FAILED her! When she needed me the most, I let her down. Even now, the only way she can be truly satisfied is when the sex is rough and painful….and I’m the one who has to inflict the pain!” He calmed himself again, the momentary burst of actual human emotion quickly tamped down. “I won’t fail her again. The monster dies when this is over.”

Heather reached for the knife, attempting to get it out of his reach, but he intercepted her hands supernatural speed. His grip was tight and painful…but he carefully avoided adding that extra milli-ounce of pressure that would have shattered her wrist. “Don’t.”

When he saw that she understood, he let go. Heather sat back at a loss for what to do, rubbing her wrist which felt like it had been caught in a vise. “You should have more faith in Christine…she might win. Then it will be over and you won’t have to do this…” She meant it as a statement, finally admitting out loud what was her greatest fear…but it came out more as a question, a plea.

A sense of calm filled Brian. A calm that filled Heather with fear. It was the calm of inevitability. Nothing she said or did would change his decision.

“If Gregg wins,” he said matter-of-factly, “if she is again subjugated…even to Gregg…then I will have failed her for the last time. I will end her misery myself…even if I have to go through you to do it.”

The hoped-for outcome…that Gregg wins, suddenly filled Heather with dread. That would mean Brian would kill the woman he loves and then likely himself. Could she accept that outcome?

“Cathy is staying in another hotel, not too far from here. She doesn’t know why…but she’ll stay until someone comes to get her. If Christine wins…then I will kill myself, and my bond to her will be passed to Cathy…She should be with someone she loves anyway. Either way, the monster dies.”

Heather suppressed both shock and joy. So, Christine DID love Cathy. But it couldn’t come at the cost of Brian’s life. Heather stared at him for a long while, looking for any hint of doubt in her one-time friend. “I’ll stop you.”

“No you won’t. You can try…but you’ll fail.”

“Brian, if Christine wins…then…then…” Heather grappled with the ultimate decision. “…then that knife is going into MY chest. I can’t live without him…I refuse to live without him. She’ll change him and he won’t be the man I love anymore.”

“No you won’t. I won’t let you.”

“Maybe…but I can be pretty quick when I need to be. And even if I don’t succeed at first…I’ll keep on trying. Christine couldn’t exert enough control to stop me.” She didn’t know if that was true, but given the strength of her love, she certainly hoped so. “So, you better be prepared to spend every waking and sleeping moment keeping sharp objects away from me.”

“I’ll do what has to be done.”

Heather settled into a strange calm. “As will I.”

That seemed to trigger a little bit of anger inside Brian. “I saved your life once already! Don’t make my pain worth nothing.”

Heather looked at the scars on Brian’s arms. So, it wasn’t Christine he was protecting that day…it was her. Heather finally had an edge. He may be suicidal…but he was determined to keep Heather alive. “If you plunge that knife into your chest, Brian, so help me God, I’ll pull it out and plunge it into mine.”

“You’re lying.”

“Try me. I don’t doubt that Gregg will be crushed by my death…but he’ll find another…eventually.” Heather hoped her threat was true…

The two of them were silent for long minutes before Brian’s face resolved back into his mask of calm. “Very well. Once I’m dead, I am no longer responsible for your actions.”

Heather, gulped – her bluff had been called. She pulled up her chair, putting her hands flat onto the table exactly as far from the knife as Brian’s were…as close as he’d allow her to get. “Then it’s a stand-off. When Gregg and Christine finish their little spat, we get to see who gets to kill themselves first.”

Brian just stared at her, shock evident even behind his stoic façade. Weariness washed over him and his shoulders slumped slightly. He was tired of protecting women and failing…so what was one more failure at the end. “Just go, Heather. Leave. You’re arguing with a dead man.”

“No. You don’t get to play God anymore.”

Brian’s finger twitched, but his hand didn’t move. It was only the tiniest infinitesimal sliver of hope that kept him from just ending it right now…or maybe it was something else. He was ready to die…but his hands refused to move from their position…although he knew that if Heather reached for the knife, he’d be able to stop her. Was it some outside force? Or was it his own humanity that stayed his hand for the time being?

“Very well. We see how this plays out.”

Heather nodded. Her stomach rumbled, not having eaten since yesterday…but there was no way she was going to move her hands until Either Gregg or Christine emerged victorious…not that the pizza congealing on top of the TV could be called a viable food-product.

Besides...in a very short while, food may not matter anymore.

* * *

Gregg entered the front door of the upscale bed and breakfast. He could only sense Christine in the parlor off to his left. Whoever owned this house was either gone of their own accord or else Christine helped them reach that conclusion. He had no illusions that he was sneaking up on her. They could no more hide from one another than a planet could hide from the sun. The sexual energy from their proximity to one another was almost overpowering…especially since Christine had given up trying to restrain it like in their past encounters. The air positively crackled with desire…and they hadn’t even seen each other in the flesh yet.

Gregg hung up his jacket on a nearby peg, already tempted to remove the rest of his clothes he was so overheated. He felt guilty for tracking wet shoes on the polished hardwood floor, but he didn’t know how things were going to progress, and having shoes may be important for making an escape.

When stepped into the parlor, he quickly realized that running through the snow was not on Christine’s agenda. She had her back to him as she stood before the fireplace lighting candles on the mantle. She was dressed elegantly – a form-fitting simple black dress that was mostly open in the back almost to her ass save for some clever lacing that showed off more than it hid, and a pair of high heeled shoes that must have taken a considerable amount of dexterity to walk in – yet she moved with the grace of a ballerina. Her hair was a reddish-golden shimmering cascade down her back that seemed to waiver between wanting to be the color of golden honey or the same deep red that framed Heather’s face.

Heather remained a leaden lump in the back of his head, but the mere reality of her existence gave him strength for whatever was about to happen. He knew what he was fighting for…if it came to that. For the moment, though, Christine was the one calling the shots. He’d just have to see how this unfolded.

Christine turned, pursing sexy full lips to extinguish the long match she was using. The flame winked out and the room almost seemed to fill with a heavenly scent, as if she were literally exhaling an aphrodisiac. Gregg didn’t know if it was his imagination fueled by the barely contained sexual energy in the room, but every micro-movement Christine made threatened to overwhelm him.

“Have a seat Dr. Walters. We have much to discuss.” She waived her hand and one of the over-stuffed arm chairs turned slightly, offering itself to him. Christine smiled at Gregg’s surprise. “Telekinesis isn’t one of the aspects of our powers that you’ve explored, is it? Maybe instead of fighting against your power you should have embraced it more…then you wouldn’t be so shocked over such easy tricks. Maybe our roles are finally reversing. Maybe I’LL be the teacher from now on?”

Tamping down his shock at both Christine’s power as well as control, he licked his lips and tried to think like an academic – studying the situation in cold rational terms. This wasn’t easy. Now that Christine was half-facing him, Gregg couldn’t help but admire how the dressed hugged every delicious curve of her body, how the ingenious lacing continued to the front, pressing her large breasts in toward her chest, the openness of the dress showing far more than it hid. Her skin was flawless and Gregg wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and lick her from the balls of her feet to the top of her head. He wanted to tear off his own clothes and throw himself upon her and claim her as his own or else submit entirely to her and be her sex slave…whatever it took to finally close the gap they’d maintained all this time.

Gregg shook his head clear. Neither option was permissible. There had to be another way. There had to be some way to co-exist. Extending a phantom hand, Gregg pushed the chair back to its original position. “No thanks, I’d rather stand for now.”

It wasn’t the same way Christine had done it, but he was proud of the look of intrigue on her face. “Crude, Dr. Walters…but effective. I’ll give you that.” This wasn’t going to be a one-move checkmate. She took a moment to eye up the competition. Where she took pains to enter this battle looking elegant, Gregg couldn’t be more of a professor: ill-fitting clothes, and all drabness. But what held her attention wasn’t his clothes, but that which made the sizeable lump beneath. Gregg took comfort at least that after the first minor round, the score remained tied.

“Very well.” She turned her back to him, pacing a small part of the room, thinking to herself. Gregg wondered if it was to put a little more distance between them…not a dumb move if she was feeling half of what he was. Maybe it was to entice him with the delicious sway of her backside as she moved. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

“You really didn’t give me much choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Gregg.”

“But not every choice is one I could live with. You threatened the lives of my friends…and if that wasn’t motivation enough, you threatened random violence against students at ESU. We’re already mourning the loss of someone dear to us, I couldn’t have you killing anyone else.”

Christine’s seductive smile dropped for a bit into a moment of consigned resignation. “Then you do think I’m a monster. You didn’t even question whether or not I was capable of such an act. You really thought I’d go through with it. You really thought I’d just randomly start killing people.”

“That’s what you wanted me to think, wasn’t it? The picture you sent? In case you forgot, you did try to kill me once before.”

“That’s not exactly fair. I’d just woken from a coma. I was disoriented. I’d just killed David and suddenly you come in with this –” she waived absently in the air indicating the sexual energy that was just barely contained. “…with this drawing me in. After all I’d been through, did you think I’d just accept that? Besides, that photo – it wasn’t me. I was there…but I didn’t kill and mutilate that man. You drew that conclusion all on your own. You didn’t even try to call me to see if I was serious…to talk me out of this. I think you secretly WANTED for us to meet.”

“You can’t draw a picture of a duck and try to convince me it’s a refrigerator. You hit all the right buttons to get me here. Well, it worked. Whether or not you really would have gone through with it or not is now irrelevant. I’m here. After all the progress we’ve made, what happened to bring us to this?”

Christine turned and faced him. As much as he loved Heather, he couldn’t help but think that Christine was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen or ever would see again. “What happened is that I realized that we can’t coexist in this world as equals. You feel this attraction between us. It’s overpowering. You…and Heather…you’re all I think about. I have to have you. I have to have both of you.”

“Then submit to ME. I’ve proven that I’m restrained in how I use my powers. Submit to me and I’ll give you all the freedom the powers will let me give.” Gregg carefully chose his words, knowing that with the powers came a sexual need – one that would have to be satisfied regularly.

“But that would require submitting. No. Never again. Not after all that I’ve lost. You’re not the hero of this story. I am. And the hero always wins. Besides, I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t want this fight. Call it off while you still can. We can just walk away and nobody has to submit to anybody.” Despite Gregg’s better nature, he was beginning to embrace the idea of taking this sex goddess under his control. In all the past weeks, the physical distance they’d kept from each other had helped him keep this desire under control…but now that they were face to face, he struggled with his need to possess her…to own her. To please her and have her pleasure him in ways that were indescribable.

“You’re not fooling me, Gregg,” she said, shuddering as waves of desire washed over her from Gregg. “I can feel how you desire to control me. I can feel your lust for me. Would you really be content to just cast me aside?” She emphasized her point by cupping her breasts through her dress – her thumbs making lazy circles around her painfully erect nipples. Gregg just stared at her, practically drooling. “I disn’t think so. You couldn’t walk away anymore than I could. If I submit, I’ll just be another one of your whores, like those sorority girls you fucked on the very night you proposed to Heather!”

Gregg gulped. Not only was he amazed that he knew about that, but suddenly it did seem pretty hypocritical that on the night of his engagement, he’d had sex with dozens of other women. Was he really that low? Had he become so drunk with his powers that he’d blindly eschewed his own morals for the simple delights of female flesh? He fought down his desire to possess Christine, to give proof to her lie…but he couldn’t. In fact, her very act of challenge was fanning the flames of desire. He wanted to conquer her. The pending battle was actually exciting him…and he didn’t know if it was a result of the power or just some base human instinct.

Christine pressed her advantage. “No Gregg, you’re definitely not the hero. This isn’t some erotic mind-control story. This is real life, and the only way you’re walking out that door is as my slave.”

Gregg was at a loss for words. He’d thought of himself as just a nice guy in extraordinary circumstances…but Christine’s words weren’t lies. For someone supposedly in love with just one woman, he sure was taking advantage of many others. He couldn’t reconcile his love for Heather with his desire to fuck and own anything with ovaries.

Christine extended her hand toward the adjacent dining room. As if carried by ghosts, a crystal glass filled with clear liquid floated toward her, hovering at chest level about three feet before her. “Drink this,” she commanded plainly.

“What is it?” he asked dejectedly, forcing his arms to stay at his side and not reach out and obey her command.

“It’s cyanide.”

Gregg’s eyes went wide and he gasped.

“Or maybe it’s just water…” Christine smiled, enjoying Gregg’s discomfort.

Gregg looked at her in wide-eyed disbelief.

“Or,” she continued, “maybe it’s just a symbol. Drink this as a sign of your submission to me. Drink up, and I’ll show you pleasures that have never occurred to you and your limited imagination. Heather’s had a taste of what I can offer…and I promise that you’d be my favorite slave and would be rewarded accordingly.”

Gregg stared at the floating glass that slowly inched closer to him. Was she pushing it or was he pulling?…he didn’t know. All that he knew was that her honey-sweet voice was luring him into submission. He was tired of fighting their attraction as well. Besides, if he did submit, he was certain she’d make him think he didn’t regret his decision. Once he lost, would he even regret it? She’d make him so blissfully happy that the doubts plaguing him right now would all but be erased…but was this a decision he could make for Heather? His submission meant her enslavement as well. She was depending on him.

Closing his eyes, he fought through the web of desire that Christine was weaving. He thought of Brian being forced to watch the rape and humiliation of the woman he loved…could he endure the same once Christine had control over him and Heather? “I have a better idea. Why don’t YOU drink it and submit to me. I offer you equal terms.”

The glass waivered in mid-air, a tiny bit sloshing over the side.

Christine’s anger flared. All the furniture in the room suddenly slid towards the walls as if propelled by an unseen downburst while the glass remained floating between them. Christine’s head dropped forward a bit and she stared angrily at him from the tops of her eyes. Her muscles tightened as she gathered strength. Slowly, starting at her scalp and moving down her hair, her reddish-blonde locks began to straighten and turn pitch black. That wasn’t the only change. Her skin began to pale and dark circles filled in under and around her eyes. Her alluring blue-green irises drained of pigment, leaving them all white with small black pupils. Her dress tightened even further, making her already generous breasts appear that much larger. She smiled and her lips turned blood-red while her canines extended like fangs.

She stared at him like the living embodiment of death itself…if death was the most beautiful goth woman he’d ever seen. Charli had turned him on to the metal and goth scene a bit. While never fully embracing it like she had, he never denied that “dark” women were incredibly sexy…maybe that was one of the things that so attracted him to the once shy girl in the first place.

In a voice that was half hiss, she commanded, “Face the dark Gregg. Face the dark and I’ll teach you about fire in the blink of an eye!”

Gregg looked at her both afraid and uncertain. Huh?

“Drink! Gregg. Drink the cyanide! Drink and be my slave!” she hiss-shouted, her hair beginning to flutter in an unfelt breeze.

It was such an odd thing to hear…and something about what she was saying was tugging at the back of his mind. Again, he tried to wall off how incredibly sexy Christine was and he focused on her odd choice of words. He smiled – almost chuckling – when he realized where she was getting her cheesy dialogue. Once again, he’d have to find some way to thank Charli for forcing his power-wrought photographic and audio-graphic memory to share in her bizarre musical tastes.

“I hope Deathstars don’t sue you for copyright infringement. I’m not a huge fan, but I will admit that their song “Cyanide” is one of their better ones. You should listen to their cover of White Wedding…But, if you were going for fear-factor, you might have tried this – ” Gregg waived his hand and the air shimmered in front of him. Rather than changing his physical appearance like Christine had done, he merely projected an image. It was the one image he could think of that would cut through all of Christine’s airs.

Christine hissed as she looked at what Gregg had done. She didn’t think he would stoop to such a low level…but there he was, staring down at her: David. The mere image of her former master sent both shivers of fear as well as desire through her body.

That surprised Christine enough that the glass dropped from its invisible perch, stopping suddenly only inches from the floor. Her shock faded and she caught the glass with a cushion of air before it crashed. Grinning wickedly, she lifted the glass again slowly and moved it carefully toward an end table in the corner of the room, setting it down without any further spillage.

“You surprise me, Dr. Walters. It’s good to know you’re willing to fight dirty…” She eyed him anew, her tongue caressing her fangs. Reaching a decision, she began walking toward him. “…because I think it’s time we both got a little dirty.”

Gregg watched in awe as this incredibly sexy vampire-esque vision closed the distance. He tried to back away, but his legs were glued to the floor. And to his shame, he knew that it was only his own desires keeping him rooted where he stood. She stepped through his illusion and it dissipated like a puff of smoke.

Stopped directly in front of him, she stood a head shorter, but he felt tiny before her wraith-like gaze. Her hands reached out and lay flat against his chest. Sparks flew between the two of them and she closed her eyes as if riding out a quiet orgasm. She inhaled deeply, moaning, her breasts threatening to pop free from their too-tight confinement. Gregg followed suit and his senses went wild with her scent. He couldn’t put words to how her very presence was igniting every nerve ending in his body with incredible passion.

As if beyond his own control, his hands reached up and gripped her upper arms. Though she was pale as death, her skin was as hot as fire. Slowly his hands worked up and toward the center, sliding over her shoulders and across her collar bone, pausing at her chest just below her neck, hesitating. She extended her neck, daring him to choke the life out of her…or if not, then to continue his delicate caresses.

“Yesssss….” she hissed, tilting her head back slightly when she didn’t feel his grip tightening. “Touch me…” His hands continued down, stopping only when each was filled to overflowing with a black-clad breast, the hardened nipples poking through the material, almost most vibrating with their need for his touch. “Oh God…ahhhh….” she sighed, her eyes silently begging.

Gregg pressed forward, squeezing the heavy orbs in his hands, palms crushing the super-sensitive nipples beneath. His body flared with desire as his hands overflowed with her firm and heavy breasts. Desire flared through Christine’s overheated body as well and both realized that inevitability had caught up with them both.

She smiled as if she’d won some private victory. She reached her right hand up and pointed a long digit ending in a glossy-black nail toward his neck. Slowly she worked it down the front of his shirt and as if cut by a laser, the front opened up. Too late, Gregg realized what she was doing – as her other hand burned through his belt and the front of his pants. He tried to push her away, but only succeeded in squeezing her breasts harder while his pants fell down, his cock sprang up, and she pushed his shirt off his shoulders.

Gregg couldn’t release the magnificent orbs. It was like everything in his body screamed that his hands held the very essence of the gods and that only a fool would let go. Christine seemed to revel in her advantage, gripping his iron-hard cock in her hands. Slowly, she massaged his length up and down, alternately caressing the shaft with her palm and raking it gently with her fingernails. Despite its incredible length and girth, it was still slightly smaller than the one she’d fashioned for Brian…but she’d never wanted Brian’s dick as much as she wanted what she’d finally gotten her hands on…literally. In all her fantasies, she never imagined it could feel so good just to hold it. To stroke it.

Gregg closed his eyes tightly, trying to stave off the explosion that threatened to burst any second. Despite all his powers, he felt like they no longer mattered. He could only massage and rub Christine’s breasts as she began slowly fisting his cock, taking another step closer and pressing it tightly between their bodies. Her own dress rode up, allowing her to rub her naked pussy against the base of his cock while she pulled and squeezed the tip.

The two began humping against each other. Both strove for release while remaining determined to make the other cum first. Somehow, it seemed like that was important. Christine used her free hand to pull Gregg’s head down toward hers and their lips locked, their tongues eagerly dueling. Her extended canines felt strange as their mouths collided, and yet, the very essence of danger they held excited him even further. They both panted through their noses, neither willing to release what they held in their hands nor willing to break the kiss. He felt the fangs scrape his lips and chin, but they never broke the skin.

Their dry-humping grew more and more frantic, both crossing a point of no return, both tightening their grips on the other. Christine screamed at the same moment Gregg howled, their saliva soaked chins breaking apart as her orgasmic juices sprayed against his thrusting cock and balls while his pent-up cream exploded from his tip and deluged her and her black dress from her chin down to her belly.

Christine continued to rub up against him, guiding him and herself through their mutual release. Just as the incredible high was beginning to wear off, Gregg’s consciousness lashed out, seeking a quick end to this battle, taking advantage of her orgasm-induced distraction.

Almost dismissively, she deflected his clumsy attempt at control. As he reeled from the shock of his utterly failed attack, she lunged forward, sinking her fangs into his upper-right chest.

Gregg howled in pain. He quickly grabbed her hair in his fist and yanked backward, pulling her free. She smiled up at him, blood dripping from her lips. Disgusted (and yet strangely turned-on by her evil grin) Gregg shoved her backward toward the couch. He must have still had a grip on her dress because as she flew backward, her surprisingly flimsy dress ripped free in his hands, leaving him standing there naked with nothing but his shoes on, his pants in a puddle around his ankles, and her cum-stained dress in his hands. Gregg focused on the two puncture holes in his chest, his body quickly regenerating and healing. They weren’t deep, and if he wasn’t so distracted by his already fully-returned lust, it would barely have taken a thought to fix.

He wanted to be mad at her, but he knew she was just defending herself, much as he was defending himself…it’s just that she’d taken him by surprise. Really, he was mad at himself for being so reckless…and for being so subsumed by desire that he could barely think straight.

Christine landed on the couch with surprising grace, naked but for her heels. The black hair was gone as was the rest of the goth look, as if they’d come free from her along with her dress. She merely gazed up at him longingly, panting – her hair more red than usual and her blue-green eyes definitely more on the green side as they drank him in with desire.

She laughed, delighting in his rough treatment. She glanced at the glass containing the “symbol” as she put it. “So Gregg, not afraid to get a little rough? Good. I like that. You ready to submit? You ready to drink the cyanide?”

Gregg kicked off his shoes and stepped out of what was left of clothing. Despite having cum what felt a like a gallon, his cock was standing erect and ready for more. He dropped the sodden dress onto the floor and approached. “No. You?”

Christine smiled hungrily, shaking her head. She didn’t know what turned her on more – the threat of pleasure or of violence. She cursed David’s name for equating the two in her mind.

She lay back on the couch, her arms spread wide, her legs spreading likewise. The very vision of submission, she awaited Gregg’s next move. The insides of her thighs shone with the juices of her last orgasm while her pussylips glistened with her excitement for the one about to start.

Gregg ceased to fight with restraint. He knelt on the couch between her legs, his cock throbbing as it rested on the bed of her golden pussy hair. He could feel her excitement radiating out from her as she started thrusting her hips up at his cock in reaction to similar feeling she got from him. Leaning forward, he braced himself on outstretched arms, his face mere inches from hers, their panting breath mingling.

“You can’t win, Gregg. This is what I was designed to do. David molded me into a sexual machine…and I perfected his dream.” She reached down and gently grabbed his shaft, rubbing the tip of his cock against the wet folds of her pussy.

Gregg groaned, fighting to maintain control. He dropped his head, lightly brushing Christine’s lips with his own. “I’ve learned a few tricks of my own as well.” With that he thrust forward while his lips crashed against her. His cock plowed deep into her incredibly tight and wet pussy. It seemed like every muscle in her pelvis worked to massage his rampant member as he sank fully inside her.

His surprising flare of dominance triggered a small orgasm inside Christine and it was all Gregg could do not to cum again as every cell inside her cunt fluttered against his cock. He fought to maintain control, needing to find the exact right moment to attack again…trying to keep his senses clear enough to counter any attack she made.

But no attack came. She tangled her fingers in his hair as she shuddered in her small release, Gregg’s elbows bending as his chest crushed her perfect tits between them. As his chest rubbed up against hers, stimulating her nipples, he could sense her reveling in the pleasure they were giving each other. But even though she wasn’t attacking…she wasn’t exposing any weaknesses either.

She moaned as Gregg started thrusting – slow, full thrusts that were unhurried yet exquisitely pleasurable. She felt him understand the situation. This was no quick battle. It was an endurance test. Whoever out-pleasured the other, whoever drove the other to enough of a distraction would be the one to seize control.

He pulled his lips free from her mouth and buried them into the nape of her neck. His breath in her ear sent shivers down her spine and she accepted his rhythm as he fucked her. She was the living embodiment of physical pleasure…Gregg didn’t stand a chance –but it would be fun watching him try. Her moans of pleasure bordered on joyous laughter as she realized that it was only a matter of time before Gregg was hers. Her legs curled around his waist, her ankles locking above her ass, helping him time his thrusts to her counter-thrusts.

Never had a war been such an enjoyable endeavor.

* * *

Monica had never felt so low in her life. What galled her most of all was that her former “Bitch Sisters” partners were completely unaware of their current predicament. The three of them sat in the cab of the moving van, hurriedly wolfing down some fast food. Monica was hurrying because she wanted to get away from this truck stop as quickly as possible…Allison and Kathy just wanted to replenish their energy reserves so that they could get back to what they were doing just before the food arrived (and what they HAD been doing non-stop for the past three hours!).

Even the overly salty fries and chemically altered meat-product sandwich couldn’t remove the taste of cum from her mouth. It wasn’t just the three truckers she’d sucked off to earn enough money to pay for the meal and gas that left the foul taste…it was a taste that hadn’t left her tongue since her subjugation by Christine. Monica didn’t know if the permanent flavor was directly caused by Christine’s black magic or if it was because of some leftover psychological imprinting from the hours of semen-drinking tentacle-rape she’d suffered at Christine’s hand. Whatever the cause, no amount of mouthwash seemed to ever fully remove that horrid…(and yet wonderful!)…taste.

She thought about her meager earnings during the past hour’s work. It wasn’t that she NEEDED the money to pay for food and gas. She had plenty. Christine had compelled her to liquidate all her assets as well as those of Allison and Kathy. They emptied their bank accounts, sold their cars, and their houses were on the market. In fact, there was a small bag of cash sitting behind them – a much larger one was with Cindy and Robyn – Christine’s roommates. Sucking off truckers was just another layer of punishment Christine had inflicted on her for what she’d done to her sister. Christine’s orders were very clear – Monica was to cover all expenses for this move by whoring herself out for cash. She wasn’t allowed to object to whatever they wanted to do to her. Most importantly, she wasn’t allowed to set a price. “Suck first, ask later,” were her orders. “Let the market decide what you’re worth.” The truckers she’d propositioned were certainly more than eager to partake of her charms, especially those that recognized her from her videos. Some were even willing to pay afterwards. One generously gave her $50 for a blowjob and quickie in the men’s room. Another just laughed after she sucked him off in his truck and gave her the loose change that was in his cup holder.

For a moment she envied her “sisters.” At least they were unaware of what had been done to them. They simply existed in a new reality. And with their food already hurriedly consumed, they now returned to their never-ending quest: pleasuring each other.

Neither even bothered with clothes inside the cab. It just got in the way. They reluctantly put on the bare minimum when needing to go out in public, and they tolerated wearing those nursing outfits when they carried out Christine’s bizarre plan to “liberate” her sister from the hospital.

With their garbage carelessly strewn onto the floor, Kathy had already moved to sit in Allison’s lap. So familiar had the two of them become with each others’ bodies that without thought they entwined themselves in such a way so that their legs were scissored around each other and their pussies mashed up against each other. Pelvis ground against pelvis so hard that the truck shook. Their lips and tongues furiously explored each others’ mouths while their hands were filled with each others’ breasts.

But it wasn’t enough. It was NEVER enough. Hour after hour they’d struggled to achieve pleasures even HALF as good as what Christine had given them with the magic cocks and the tentacles…but it always fell short. Orgasm after orgasm left them wanting more and more and MORE. They ate and they slept only from dire hunger and sheer exhaustion. They showered less from any desire to be clean than because being slippery, soapy and wet was exciting. Monica had already caught them once lying entangled on the floor of the shower, the hot water used up and an icy rain falling on their passed-out bodies.

Their single-minded focus on pleasure meant that Monica had to watch them much as a parent had to watch a pair of five-year-olds. She thought to herself, “I don’t know that I pity them anymore than I pity myself…”

Try as she might to hate Christine for what she’d done to her, she couldn’t. Thanks to Christine’s mind-meld (she didn’t know what else to call it, so the Star Trek reference seemed to suffice), she’d experienced every torturous second of Christine’s life from the moment she met this David character. Monica knew that it was only due to some interference by Christine that her own mind hadn’t been completely destroyed. She shuddered at the memories. She could clearly picture Vince’s mangled bloody corpse on the floor of her studio…but she felt nothing. She knew she should feel something for her now-dead husband…but the image triggered no greater response than staring at a blank sheet of paper. That she KNEW she should feel something was what bothered her most of all. Christine tortured her by letting these images haunt her every waking moment, and yet feel nothing other than shame.

So now they were off to start a new life. Robyn and Cindy were in the ambulance that Christine had somehow acquired…although Monica had ceased trying to understand and just accepted that anything her new master wanted, she got. And in the back of the ambulance was Merriam, Christine’s sister, lying unresponsive in a vegetative state…a coma that Monica was largely responsible for. Cindy, the spritely little nurse that seemed to be one of Christine’s favorites, was responsible for monitoring Merriam’s vitals during the multi-day road trip west. Robyn, another of Christine’s favorites from that college of hers, was put “in charge” and given secret instructions for how the Bitch Sisters’ financial assets were to be put to use. Monica wasn’t privy to that conversation, but after Christine and Robyn talked for some time, Robyn turned from a curious observer to the three new women in Christine’s life to a harsh overseer. Monica didn’t think the long-legged beauty knew about Christine’s powers…but she knew that Monica, Allison, and Kathy had something to do with Merriam’s state of being.

Any doubts or questions either Cindy or Rachel might have had magically disappeared with final assurances from Christine. Just like the doubts and objections hospital administrators had disappeared when Christine told them she was taking her sister away…just like the objections of the owners of the ambulance and the moving truck…

“Please Monica…” came Kathy’s moaned plea, pulling Monica out from her reverie. The buxom redhead continued to grind desperately in Allison’s lap. Her eyes watery with desire and need – a need that couldn’t be fulfilled. The orgasm that was but seconds away would be huge…but not near what either girl strived for.

Monica sighed, taking a final sip of her soda. “Alright…we’ve got a little time before we hit the road, I guess …” Monica leaned over and both of her “sisters” scooted closer to the edge of the seat in anticipation. It was like this all the time now. The once bright, intelligent brunette and redhead had been reduced to little more than insatiable nymphomaniacs. So, Monica took some pity on her poor sisters, and wormed two fingers into each of their assholes.

The two cum-addicts moaned in satisfaction, their grinding getting that much more fierce, their groans that much more louder.

As Monica pumped both of their assholes, she just hoped that nobody came to investigate the rocking truck in the corner of the lot.

* * *

Gregg was losing steam. The day had turned to night and the stars provided the only illumination in a moonless sky. Inside the bed and breakfast, the fuck-a-thon/sex-battle had been non-stop for more than fifteen hours. It was beyond any measure of human endurance (or biology, for that matter…the sheer amount of fluids both had released in and upon each other defied explanation!). Over the course of the afternoon, evening, and night, their fucking had progressed from the parlor, to the hall, to the stairs, to the upstairs hallway, and finally to one of the bedroom suites. They’d fucked in the doorway, on the bed, in the chair, on the floor, and had somehow gotten back onto the bed again.

Currently, Christine fucked her sweat-glistening body up and down Gregg’s rigid shaft while he played with her exquisite tits which hovered above him. She exulted in her power over him. He wasn’t technically hers yet, but her patience and persistence were paying off in the best possible way. She could feel Gregg’s consciousness hovering around hers, constantly and now desperately testing to see if her guard was down. It seemed barely an approximation of his initial probing yesterday…yet it was all he could summon. He didn’t seem to realize how badly he was losing. It was only a matter of time. Every orgasm he gave her further fueled her desire to own him. He’d hoped to wear her down…and he was, somewhat…but she was a fuck-machine who had been trained through months of abuse to revel in the treatment she was enjoying.

She was in control. She was master of this situation.

Christine switched her up-and-down fucking motion into a circular grinding of her hips, Gregg’s cock fully imbedded inside her overactive pussy. He moaned in frustration and pleasure, his hands moving down to grip her asscheeks as she corkscrewed her way to bringing him off again. “Squeeze my tits, Gregg,” she commanded. Gregg’s hands obeyed, sliding again back up her stomach to again cup her breasts, exciting her and causing her hips to grind in tighter, faster circles. He was but a puppet in her hands. She could see the strain in Gregg’s face as he approached yet another orgasm. Soon he’d fire off another incredible wad of jism into her pussy, and he’d be that much closer to being her slave. Before the sun rose, she knew he would be hers.

“Slap my ass!” she commanded, her eyes closed as she focused on the simple pleasures of flesh against flesh rather than the euphoria of victory. The loud crack of Gregg’s palm striking her firm assflesh was followed by the delicious sting of her skin.

Slap

Slap, Slap

SLAP

He obeyed her order with relish, addicted to the oohs and ahhs he elicited from her body. She could feel his eyes drinking in her sexy, sultry beauty. It wasn’t mind control by her powers. It was mind control by the oldest, most reliable method: lust. They were beings of pure lust and to control the other’s desire was to control them entirely. And Gregg was painfully easy to control. He so wanted to please her that she didn’t even have to focus on HIS pleasure – she barely even acknowledged it! – he worked to bring her off and his own orgasms were his own reward.

Maybe he deserved a little tease. Maybe if she let him think he was winning – just for a second – it would make him try harder…and longer. Her victory was inevitable…why rush it? She didn’t just want him to submit to her…she wanted him to BEG to be her slave.

Reaching down she began rubbing her clit. Along with Gregg’s furious fucking and expert manipulation of her breasts, she propelled herself toward orgasm. She wanted to cum with him. She wanted their pleasure to burst at the same moment. She wanted to look into his eyes as they came together – equals for the last time.

Her heart beat faster, her chest and cheeks flushed. Her body succumbed to yet another intense orgasm as Gregg tensed beneath her. It felt so good to feel him flood her pussy again. She fell forward slightly, catching her hands on his shoulders as their bodies erupted. Sweat dripped from her nose onto his chest, her breath came in deep pants, her reddish-blonde hair fell in a curtain around her face.

She stared into Gregg’s eyes as she indulged in her pure unadulterated pleasure. For just a moment, she stripped herself of all pretense and just reveled in the moment. He was so handsome beneath her, so gentle. How sad that fate had landed him with Heather. If David, her former master, had been just a little quicker to act, maybe David would have had Heather and she could have had Gregg…but that was silly. Gregg would have connected with that sexy nurse, Emily. She and Gregg would never have met.

No…Gregg would never have entered her life. She would have finished her backpacking trip, eventually gone home to her family, her innocence would have been maintained…

It was a life she would never have.

They were dreams that could never be realized.

Her sister, would be unmolested…she’d be awake, working toward a degree and a career that was now forever lost.

It wasn’t just sweat that dripped onto Gregg’s chest now…tears joined the sweaty mixture.

Gregg couldn’t believe what he was seeing. For the first time since he’d met her, he saw her as she truly was. The hair she couldn’t keep from imitating Heather’s had gone from curly to flat, from reddish-blonde to its original honey-blonde. Her eyes, always flecked with green in imitation of Heather’s shone a pure, luminescent sapphire blue – her tears making them shimmer like the warmest tropical waters.

As impossibly beautiful as she was before, this glimpse into her true self outshone even that. At that moment, he knew that never again in his life would he glimpse at something so pure…so beautiful.

He didn’t know what she was thinking…but he didn’t need to.

In just those few seconds in which she’d let her guard down, he didn’t see the enemy who’d threatened the lives of his friends. He didn’t see the seductress who was rapidly fucking him into submission.

No. What he saw above him was simply a girl. A sad little girl. A lost soul. A victim of circumstance that had forced her down a path of pain and humiliation. A young girl who had her life taken away – interrupted from its path of sunshine and thrust onto a path of pain and betrayal. A girl once filled with hope, love, and innocence reduced to scrounging for pleasure and release.

His heart bled for this girl. His eyes filled with tears…because in that moment of supposed weakness, a moment he knew she was using to lure him into complacency, he realized how this would all end…

He thought of Heather, and sadness filled him even more. “I’m sorry…” he thought toward the lump in the back of his mind where they were connected. She couldn’t hear him, but it felt good to at least acknowledge his failing all the same.

Christine quickly got a hold of herself, marveling at the tears in her conquest’s eyes. This would be over sooner than she imagined. The glass of water, what she’d jokingly called cyanide, was on the night stand. Somehow as their fucking had progressed through the house, it had followed along, always ready within arm’s reach for one of them to submit at any moment.

Gregg put his hands onto her cheeks, framing face for a moment. As their bodies winded down their convulsing, he pulled her close. For long moments he held her against his chest, her face resting upon his shoulder. For all the furious fucking for the past day, it was a tender moment of resignation that both seemed hesitant to interrupt.

His cock hadn’t softened a bit – it even began slight fucking motions again as the next round began. Slowly, their panting diminished. Breath by breath, they both calmed down, even as they geared up for more. Gregg’s hands worked their way around her back, palms pressing her body tight against his own. She could feel everything but his mighty cock softening. She could feel his consciousness beginning to open.

He was giving up.

It was almost over.

His lips caressed her neck as he slowly thrusted deep up into her. It was different this time from all the times before. She could feel his defenses were down. He was no longer trying to stop her.

Wary from battle fatigue (and fuck-fatigue), Christine didn’t take the bait. She would win, regardless of his laying down his arms – so to speak. If this was a trap, she wouldn’t fall for it. Why accept surrender when victory was assured anyway?

She tried to quicken the pace of this new round of fucking, but Gregg would not be rushed. One hand moved down to grip her asscheek, maintaining his slow, methodical thrusting – pressing deep inside her, and then slowly withdrawing until just the tip of his penis remained. He’d hold there for an interminable second before repeating his torturously slow thrusting. His lips continued their gentle caresses of her neck and earlobe.

“I love you, Christine,” he whispered in her ear, holding her tight.

She ignored him, sinking her nails into the skin of his shoulders, desperate for the pounding fucking that had defined the last fifteen hours to continue. But he tightened his grip, holding her against his body, ignoring the claws that threatened to draw blood. She looked for the trap in his honey-sweet words, but his consciousness had retreated fully. He was hers for the taking.

With gentle and careful motions, Gregg rolled them over so he could lay on top of her. Top or bottom, it didn’t matter to Christine – she maintained her defenses, her mind-shield remained impenetrable. Gregg’s thrusting resumed, slow and tender. He interlaced his fingers with hers, lifting her arms over her head onto the mattress. He kissed her cheeks and nuzzled her ear again.

“I love you,” he said without a trace of irony or falsehood. It was the final gift he could give her before he submitted. He would make love to her. Truly make love, not mindlessly fuck. Before she overtook his will, she would experience the joy of him loving her freely – not as a consequence of the powers. It was the most precious thing he could give her, for he knew that she would never experience it again once she took him over.

She blocked out his voice, trying to concentrate on the pleasure she was feeling from the sensuous fucking, but she couldn’t block the feelings he was imparting from somewhere deeper within. “You’re so incredibly beautiful, Christine.”

Not, “you’re hot” or “you’re fucking smokin’…” Just “beautiful.” Such a simple, yet powerful statement. In all the time she was with David and in the time since her escape, she’d never heard those words spoken to her.

Christine tried to pull her fingers free, but Gregg’s physical grip was too strong. Instead, she found herself wrapping her legs around his back, crossing her ankles over his slowly undulating ass. She tried to pull him deeper. She tried to make him fuck faster. But he refused to be swayed from his own loving rhythm.

“Shut up,” she said, softer than she intended, her voice quivering.

“It wasn’t right what happened to you, Christine. It wasn’t right what he took from you,” Gregg continued, softly. Lovingly. “Such a beautiful girl, her innocence stolen from her. But you’re still beautiful. You’re still strong. You’ll be a fair and kind master…I have no doubts.”

Christine could feel the tears running down her neck from his eyes. She could feel the sadness and regret pouring out from him. It wasn’t fake. She could feel he meant every word he spoke even as he continued to lovingly thrust in and out of her overheated pussy. His defenses continued to be absent. She only needed to reach out and take him. His soul was hers…if she’d only reach for it.

“You have such strength…Look at all you’ve accomplished since you escaped…” He continued talking, thrusting. “The attraction I’ve felt for you all these weeks is not just some byproduct of the powers. Even without them, I’d fall in love with you. How could I not? How could anybody not look at you, drink in your beauty, your strength of character and not fall in love? My time has passed. You win.”

Gregg’s thrusting increased in intensity, if not in speed. She could feel it. He truly did love her.

Something inside her broke. It was a realization. After all she’d been through…after all the sex and pleasure, and lust. Until this moment, she’d never felt love. It killed her that only now, at this moment would she have to destroy the first man to say those words to her freely.

True love.

Not just words spoken by a slave. Not just idle comment.

Love.

Given freely and honestly….

He was hers for the taking. He would be her slave. He’d surrendered to her.

Love.

Surrender.

Victory.

It was over.

Her consciousness reached out to claim its prize…

* * *

A spark.

Lightning captured in a jar.

That one in five-hundred million chance.

A moment of absolute pure magic that bonds two souls into one.

A magic that the powers paled in comparison.

The hopes and dreams of two lives embodied in a moment of creation.

* * *

The shaky hand reached for the glass.

“I submit…”

Two gulps.

Surrender.

Sleep.

* * *

“Gregg?”

Gregg felt himself being shaken. He was so tired. He wanted to be left alone.

“Gregg, wake up.”

Gregg blinked awake. His vision was blurry, and he couldn’t make out who was in front of him. He tried to reach out with his consciousness, but his efforts were rewarded with blinding pain behind his eyes. Whoever was there heard his groan of pain and responded by sitting on the edge of the bed beside him and gently shook him. Perhaps his new master was ready for him to start his life of servitude.

Sniff Please Gregg…wake up…Sniff, sniff

Gregg didn’t need powers to know the voice or the soft touch of the hand. He reached out with a hand while trying to focus his vision. He was so incredibly tired.

The cheek he rested his palm against was wet with tears. Soft hands immediately grabbed his and lips kissed his fingers. The sniffles broke down into a downright sob. Gregg wanted to sit up and embrace Heather – he had no doubts about who was there now – but he was physically drained and unable to do much more than weakly raise his arms or turn his head.

With all the force of will he could muster, he opened his eyes and forced them to focus on Heather. She looked terrible. But it wasn’t the tear-stained cheeks or the deep bags under her eyes that triggered his body to sit upright. Although light-headed, he gripped her tightly by the arms, and started frantically examining her, looking for where the blood spatter that stained her sweater came from.

“Jesus! What happened? Are you hurt?!?”

Heather quickly grabbed his hands and pushed him back to the bed. He almost passed out from his brief effort. “I’m…I’m fine, Gregg. I’m not hurt. It’s not my blood…”

Gregg’s head was spinning. Besides being tired, he felt oddly…well, oddly normal. “What happened?” he asked, hoping to stay conscious through whatever Heather would have to say.

Heather wiped away her tears, but seemed caught on the verge of breaking down again. She held his hands while she spoke, occasionally touching his shoulder or his bare chest, as if to confirm that he was really there. She told him all about how she’d ended up at the hotel with Brian…how the two of them waited for his fight with Christine to determine what would happen next.

“We sat there for so long. Every muscle in my body ached from being held so tense. Christ, Gregg…he was like a fuckin’ statue. If he felt anything he didn’t show it. I managed to call a truce for a while – we both could sense what was happening, and he knew Christine was winning. He allowed us to back away from the table and the knife to eat some of that old pizza…but he didn’t have any. I figured that I’d better keep my strength up. Anyway, after that, we returned to our places at the table and waited...

“Finally, everything changed. We both felt it. I prayed that you’d win, but I felt you slipping away. Suddenly, I felt the battle was over.

“I immediately grabbed for the knife – I had to keep Brian from killing himself. His hands grabbed mine, which managed to at least grab the knife handle. ‘No!’ I yelled. ‘I won’t let you do it.’ He must have grabbed the blade because suddenly I felt this spray of warm liquid and I saw red everywhere. I thought he was slicing his wrists or something. ‘No! Brian you have to live!’ I yelled again…and his struggles eased up. He still held onto my hands, but he was no longer fighting me. He just looked at me weirdly.

“‘Kill myself?’ he said. ‘Yeah!’ I said. ‘Brian, we’ll work something out…Gregg’s not cruel,’ I said, trying to reason with him…but he just looked at me weird and finally let go.

“‘What do you mean? You lost!’ he told me. ‘Christine’s fine. I can feel her.’ At first I thought it was a trick, but after several seconds, he let go of me and stepped into the bathroom to wash his hand and wrap a towel around the cut on his palm.”

“Gregg? What happened? After all that…did you just call it a truce? Is this some kind of trick? I mean…I don’t mean to sound unconfident, but you…you lost. I felt you give up…”

Gregg pulled himself up, propping pillows behind him. He was so tired, he couldn’t think straight. He was also ashamed. “I did. I gave up. She was so much stronger than me…I couldn’t win. She had me. I don’t understand. I felt…something…and then…well, her face just changed. She seemed so much softer…so vulnerable. Then she reached out and said, ‘I submit,’ and then drank the water. I…I remember her smiling…but not at me. She rested her head on my chest and then…I guess I passed out. The next thing I remember was you waking me.”

Heather just stared at him. It didn’t make any sense. She’d won. Why would she give up? “Do you…can you feel her?”

Gregg concentrated. He didn’t reach out – that hurt too much. But if he’d won and she’d submitted, then he should at least feel something. But no, there was nothing. Not even that area-effect lust that flared up whenever the two of them were somewhat near each other. Gregg just shook his head. “Nothing.”

There would be time to figure out what happened later…not that either of them believed there’d be any further clues. All either of them knew was that they hadn’t lost each other.

“Come on,” Heather said wearily. “We could both use a shower…and a good night’s rest.”

Gregg looked out the window, the barest sliver of morning sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. He accepted Heather’s hand and pulled himself up. He had to lean on her to keep from falling over as she helped him hobble to the bathroom. It felt oddly similar to the time in Tunisia when Emily rescued him from the floor of the hospital bathroom – when his adventures with the powers had just begun. And now, like a perfect bookend, he leaned on the woman he loved…the one he was destined to be with from the beginning.

He looked out at the mess that was the bedroom. There wasn’t a piece of furniture that wasn’t ruined. “After the shower, what do you say we find a different room to sleep in?”

Heather laughed and helped him toward the bathroom. “Your wish is my command, Dr. Walters,” she quipped.

Gregg hugged her close as they shuffled through the doorway. “No…your wish is MY command…Mrs. Walters…”

Heather paused and looked up at the man she loved. “Mrs. Walters…” Emotion threatened to overwhelm her with all that she’d been through. She finally had the man she loved all to herself. “I think I can get used to that.”

* * *

Cathy sat up in bed, startled by the knock at the hotel room door. Christine had told her to wait here for her, but that had been yesterday morning. Every time she thought about walking out and leaving this craziness behind, something stopped her. Several times in the past 24 hours she’d made it as far as opening the hotel room door and looking outside…but she never managed to get her foot to cross the threshold.

Pulling back the covers, she hopped out of bed, the clothes she wore yesterday still on, but clearly slept in. She was afraid that it was the hotel management coming to kick her out. Christine had the key and had been very hush-hush about their arrival. If it was a manager who wanted payment, then she had only about $20 in cash in her purse. She had no credit cards. Moreover, once the manager saw her and her comically large tits, he’d think she was a freeloading hooker for certain and probably have her arrested.

So, with all those worries floating through her mind, it was with great relief that on the other side of the door peephole was Christine. Opening the door, Cathy was surprised to see the object of her desire enter, drop the trench coat she held shut around her neck and waist, and stand before her completely naked. It was freezing outside, but Christine didn’t seem to notice. She was all smiles in her naked splendor.

“Holy fucking shit! Are you mad?!?” Cathy yelled, slamming the door shut and ripping the comforter and all the sheets off the bed in one yank, quickly draping them around the buxom blonde’s shoulders and bundled her up. Before Cathy could utter another curse, Christine pushed her hands through the sheets and grabbed Cathy around the waist, pulling the older woman in tight, pressing their lips together.

Cathy at first resisted. She was too pissed to be amorous...but despite the dramatic entrance after the interminable wait, she quickly dropped the anger and kissed back. For long minutes, the two of them stood near the closed door and just kissed, tongues feverishly exploring the other’s mouth.

“You waited…” Christine said dreamily, finally pulling her head back enough to look into the Cathy’s eyes. Her fingers ran through her lover’s platinum blonde locks, drinking in the older woman’s beauty, much as Cathy drank in hers as well.

“I should have left. I almost left…several times.” Cathy tried to give the smiling blonde a dirty look, but she didn’t really feel the anger now that she was in Christine’s arms. “Maybe it was magic. Maybe you cast some spell on me to keep me here,” she joked.

Christine’s smile didn’t waiver. “Nope. No spell. I thought about it…but I didn’t want to cheat. You have no one to blame for you staying here but yourself.”

Cathy laughed, thinking Christine was joking…but Christine wasn’t laughing. She looked tired…serene, but tired. Cathy suddenly noticed what was troubling her about Christine’s appearance. “Your hair…did you dye it? It’s such a lovely honey blonde. Is that why you were away so long? I could have dyed it for you…although, I don’t think I could have done such a good job. Whoever did this does INCREDIBLE work. I don’t see even a hint of red at the roots!” Cathy’s eyes went wide. “And your eyes. This new color really brings out the blue in your eyes. I always thought they were kind of green…but…wow! I’ve never noticed how BLUE they are!”

Christine shrugged off the blanket and the sheets, her dreamy and serene aura growing. Naked, she reached out and began unbuttoning Cathy’s wrinkled blouse, her hands resting all too familiarly on the woman’s over-sized chest. “I could really use a shower…Join me?”

Once Cathy was stripped naked, Christine turned and left the top-heavy platinum blonde hairdresser standing there shocked as she padded slowly toward the bathroom.

“Christine?”

Christine turned, her hands folded in front of her, resting at the bottom of her stomach. “Hmm?” she responded, almost lost in thought.

“Christine, are you alright?” Cathy wanted nothing more than to give every inch of this woman a bath…with her tongue!...but her behavior was odd. It was like… “Are…are you on drugs?”

Christine laughed at that, pressing her palms flat against her stomach just below her belly button. “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know…you’re acting…odd. You’re practically glowing!”

Christine smiled at that. “No…no drugs. I found…I found something…better.” She looked longingly at the shower. “Come on. I’ll tell you all about it while you shampoo my hair. You know, I fell in love with you that day in your salon when you shampooed my hair…”

Cathy beamed, practically skipping past the honey-blonde to get the water started.

“Tell me Cathy,” Christine sighed contently, still gently holding her hands to her stomach, “…Do you believe in magic?”