GALLANTRIX IN THE GESTALT
Part Three — Interlude
She walked into the bar. After almost a month, it ought to feel familiar, but it still felt like somewhere she didn’t really belong.
Her reason for being here ought to feel familiar, too. There had been enough times when she’d been in between relationships and picked up some guy for a no-strings-attached hookup. She’d been perfectly comfortable with that, as long as she was extra-careful to conceal her identity so that her partner didn’t get dragged into a dangerous situation on her account. Most of the time, she didn’t reveal that she was “Gwendolyn,” much less “Gallantrix.”
It shouldn’t be any different now that she was looking for a woman instead of a man. And yet it was. Apparently the signals were different, and she didn’t know how to send or receive them. Even in a lesbian bar where the patrons were presumably there to pair up, it wasn’t clear who might be interested in pairing up with her, and who would be content to leave matters at a one-night-and-goodbye encounter.
Well, she’d just have to blunder her way through until she got the feel for it. She spotted a statuesque brunette at the bar and decided to make her move.
“Hello,” she began, “I was wondering...”
The brunette’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, you were?” The woman turned away. “Maybe you ought to go ‘wonder’ somewhere else.”
She just stood there as the other woman strode off. She’d had her share of abrupt brush-offs, but never this bluntly. She was about to turn and leave when she felt a hand on her arm.
“Don’t let Ilse bother you. She has a real bug up her butt about...” Her voice shifted from a lilting trill to a mannish rumble. “...’fashionably bi-curious dabblers treating this place like some kind of playground’.”
She turned to find herself face to face with a smiling redhead. This looked... promising.
“I’m not like that,” was the first thing she thought of to say. “I mean, fashionable; I mean, bi-curious.” She winced at the stumbles.
“That’s too bad,” the redhead said. Her smile was as bright and friendly as ever, then got positively impish as she continued, “Bi-curious women are the easiest lays.”
“I am!” Painfully aware that she was putting her foot in it again, she began to explain, “I mean...”
The other woman put a finger on her lips to shush her. “I think I know what you mean. So don’t say it... show it.”
She rose from her barstool. “Lead on!”
The redhead introduced herself as “Shannon” as they flagged down a cab. She offered to pay for a room at one of the cluster of motels down the road. The cab arrived, and they talked about nothing in particular until they arrived.
They checked into a room, and the conversation ended.
She was closing in on Lascivia. The villainess was just standing there... but her stun beams kept missing. She put the weapon back onto her belt and closed to finish the fight hand-to-hand.
Lascivia stood there winking and smirking at her, barely seeming to move, but always elsewhere whenever she tried to land a punch or a kick. Each missed blow was followed by a countermove that was more coup-counting than counterattacking... a hand tousling her hair, a foot rubbed against her shin, a peck on the cheek.
She got more aggressive, making all-out strikes at the villainess without concern for defending herself. Her foe became more aggressive in her own way, sliding around each thrust to grope her breasts and pinch her butt and finally grab her head to force her to accept a full-on kiss.
“Yes...” she heard a voice say. It wasn’t a real voice. Both of their tongues were much too busy for that. It must be Lascivia’s telepathy... except that the voice was her own.
Finally, the kiss was over, and Lascivia was standing in front of her, wearing a few bits of leather that looked ready to fall off at any moment. The villainess had taken her power belt, holding it in one hand and casually slapping it into the other. “Naughty Gallantrix...” she said in a firm but teasing tone.
The two henchwomen seized her, and the next thing she knew she was bound, her hands cuffed above her head and her feet shackled wide apart—just like the last time they’d captured her.
“This makes you more free, not less.” Lascivia looked into her eyes wistfully as she spoke, as if she envied her captive. “Free to satisfy your secret curiosity about whole new realms of sexuality.”
Lascivia shimmied out of what little clothing she wore. “Lesbianism.”
She slid a foot under the spreader bar and jiggled it. “Bondage.”
Lewd licked and nuzzled her ear. “Threesomes.”
Crude gently nibbled her other ear. “Foursomes.”
Hands wandered over her body until she lost track. The women’s voices—her own included—spoke in chorus. “Perhaps even moresomes.”
Lascivia buckled a leather collar around her neck. “Submission.” She flashed a smile that was both fierce and sweet as she pulled the leash tight. “Submission sets you free, Gallantrix. Free to experience. Free to accept. Free to enjoy.”
The bands around her wrists and ankles and neck felt both tight and gentle, like a caress....
Gallantrix gasped as she jerked awake. She glanced about the unfamiliar surroundings until she remembered where she was and recognized the TV platform and writing desk by the light from the half-open hotel bathroom door.
The woman sharing her bed... Sharon? Susan?... mumbled and blinked her eyes. “You OK?” she asked.
“Yeah. I just got a charlie-horse in my leg,” she answered, using the first excuse that came to mind.
Her companion chuckled. “I’m not surprised, with some of those moves you insisted on trying. Want me to rub it for you?”
Gallantrix wondered if she was just being considerate, or trying to initiate another round of sex. “No thanks,” she said. “It’ll be all right. I just want to get back to sleep.”
The other woman nodded and settled back down. Gallantrix watched and waited as she fell asleep again. Damn it, she still couldn’t remember her name. She remembered “Ilsa” the obnoxious bitch who’d sneered at her for being an outsider, but not the name she’s cried while her partner kept her at the brink for what seemed like forever. She’d remembered her name then, right? It would be so embarrassing if she didn’t... maybe she’d said the wrong name, and Shana or Sarah or whoever gave her an agonizingly slow tongue-tease to punish her for it.
Even if it was punishment, it felt good. Maybe it felt good because it was punishment.
The dream flashed back through her mind. Had Lascivia imprinted her with a craving for all those fetishes in addition to changing her sexual preference? Did she need to find a dominatrix who would tie her up and make her a plaything for a lesbian orgy? God, just picking up a woman for a one-night stand was hard enough; where would she find a partner—no, multiple partners—for something like that? There were prostitutes who specialized in that sort of thing... but the ones she knew about were connected to mob bosses she’d sent to prison. Too risky.
She shook her head. No, that didn’t make sense. After she’d been untied, she’d joined the others in an extended lesbian sex orgy. She hadn’t been tied up, or poked at with anything except fingers and toes and tongues. Sometimes they’d been piled up in one big gang-bang, and sometimes they’d divided into two separate couples—she’d enjoyed it both ways.
Afterwards, she’d tried exploring her new sexual preferences by looking up images and videos on the internet. Sexy women excited her. Scenes of slavegirls serving their mistresses also excited her, but not more than plain-vanilla lesbian porn. She was more open-minded about kink than before, and willing to experiment—from either end of the riding crop—but didn’t feel any great need for it.
Okay, that wasn’t what she needed. She still knew that she needed something these random hookups weren’t giving her.
She sighed, and slid out of the bed, careful not to somebody-whose-name-starts-with—“S”. The other woman’s purse was on the chair in the corner. She crept toward it, holding her breath and walking on tiptoe. She found her wallet, and held it near the window to read the driver’s license: “Shannon Maclarrin”. Damn, none of her guesses was right.
Gallantrix found most of her clothes piled up next to the chair. She spent a minute searching for her panties, but froze when Shannon murmured something and rolled over. Her hand reached out to the other side of the bed, now empty. She quickly ducked into the bathroom.
After she got dressed, Gallantrix looked at herself in the mirror. She looked normal. She’d just have to be careful wearing this short skirt with nothing underneath. She peeked out into the room. Shannon looked sound asleep again. She probably assumed that Gallantrix had gone to the bathroom—well, she had gone to the bathroom—and paid it no mind.
She stepped out into the room, taking one last look around for her panties. Never mind. Shannon could have them as a keepsake, if she liked.
The bill was under the door. Sixty-nine-something total. She left it with two twenties on the bathroom counter under the little bar of soap, and took her leave.
The voices were close, but she couldn’t quite tell where they were coming from.
“Come and get it...”
“Give it to me...”
“One more step...”
They were Lewd and Crude and Lascivia. She was in Lascivia’s lair, bound and surrounded and about to be intimately entwined in female flesh.
“You want girl tongue...” purred Lewd.
“Girl wants your tongue...” smirked Crude.
“Mistress wants your tits and ass...” declared Lascivia.
She took one final step forward, and felt the other women’s bodies pressing snugly against hers.
“Mmmm... pussy...” Lewd murmured. Lewd’s tongue was aggressively exploring down there, but her voice was as distinct as ever.
“Mmmm... tongue...” Crude concurred. She tasted Crude’s arousal and licked energetically, not holding back. She remembered holding back once, but wasn’t sure why.
“Mmmm... tits and ass...” Lascivia grinned. Her captor was behind her, and Crude’s crotch was right in her face, but she saw the grin just as clearly as she felt the hands touching her breasts or the dildo poking between her butt cheeks.
“Quick strong tongue...” Lewd sounded clearer than ever, even with her mouth otherwise occupied.
“Hot wet pussy...” Crude seemed to be whispering right in her ear, not from up above.
“Firm smooth thrust... Strong nimble fingers...” Lascivia cooed... from inside her head, not behind it.
She was hearing them inside her head, she realized. Weirder yet, they were describing what she was getting from Lewd and Crude and Lascivia, not what the other women were experiencing themselves.
“Lip action... Mmmm, nice...”
“Warm... Tasty...”
“Soft... Bouncy...”
The words were getting fuzzier, yet somehow stronger and more insistent.
“Yes... Like that... Yeah!...”
“More... Again... Oh!...”
“Slow... Easy... Aaahhhh!...”
The voices were blending into each other.
“Mmmmm... Nice...”
“Tasty... Tingly...”
“Deeper... Yeah...”
Everything carried echoes and overtones in her own voice.
“Fuck me... Lick me...”
“Relax... Hold still...”
“Right there... Wiggle it...”
She couldn’t tell which thoughts were whose. It didn’t matter. Her body responded to their cues, and theirs responded to hers. She went with the flow and let it happen.
“Wiggle! More!”
“Thrust! Deeper!”
“OH! My clit!” She froze, and then worked the tip of her tongue at the spot it had found. She was rewarded by a warm sigh and a tingle in her own pussy.
“In!” “Lick!” “Ohhh!” “Out!” “Jiggle!”
The cacophony of thoughts dissolved into a steady stream.
“OHHHH!!” “IN!” “DEEPER!” “HARDER!” “OUT!” “LICK!” “THRUST!”
She was less aware of coherent words than of raw images and sensations. They washed over her too fast to sort out. Not that she was trying any more.
“MORE! FASTER! AGAIN! HARDER!” She was aware of nothing but touching and being touched. The deep internal strokes of double penetration pushed her closer and closer to the brink. The increasingly frantic action of lips and tongues against lips and clits threw off sparks that threatened to set her off at any moment.
“OOOOO! AAAAHHH! MMMMMMMM!! OHYESOHYES!!!” She was more sexually excited than she’d ever dreamed possible. She’d lost track of which responses came from whose body, and didn’t really care. She was feeling all of it, and so were they.
The stimulation faded for a moment, then built to a crecendo. “Ohhhh.... Ohhhhhhh... OOOOHHHHHHH!!! Their bodies exploded in a shared explosion of pure delight...
Gallantrix blinked. She was... she was in her own bedroom. She vaguely remembered calling a cab, riding home, and getting into bed. Slowly, her ragged breathing settled down to normal as her trembling body relaxed.
This dream was even more blatantly sexual than the first one. She looked down at herself, and wasn’t surprised to see that she’d left a wet spot on the sheet. Damn, she should have put on some panties... nah, it would have just been one more thing for the laundry.
She shook her head, trying to get her mind on track. Yes, this dream was more intensely erotic, but somehow it was less disturbing. Maybe that was because she was home in her own bed, not at some no-tell motel with... damn, she’d forgotten her partner’s name again. Shannon? That sounded like it might be right—never mind that.
The important thing was that now she knew what she needed. She needed the gestalt. She needed... Lascivia.
They hadn’t crossed paths since that night. On two separate occasions, she’d gotten a pretty good idea of where she was likely to strike next, and had done nothing about it. The second time, she’d even been alerted to an intrusion in progress through one of her cyber-taps into the target’s alarm system, and had stayed out on the street looking for muggers.
Was that really the wrong thing to do? Lascivia did corporate espionage to support her hedonistic lifestyle. Nobody’s life was on the line; she didn’t even do enough damage to put people’s livelihood on the line. She couldn’t stop everyone; didn’t it make more sense to ignore Lascivia and focus on more dangerous enemies?
Gallantrix sighed. She was rationalizing, and she knew it. She ought to stop kidding herself, confront the villainess, and...
...and what?
Offer a deal to let her crimes slide in return for sexual favors? The excuses for the former looked even more appealing when she considered the latter, but she knew that they were excuses, not reasons. Besides, the whole arrangement would fall apart if some other hero found out about it or sent the villainess to prison.
Try to convince her to reform? Why should she? Lascivia held all the cards. Most likely, she’d make a counter-offer and ask Gallantrix to join her. She blinked as she realized how much sense that made—they could be together all the time, and anybody else trying to capture Lascivia would have to deal with both of them. Maybe if they became partners, she could convince Lascivia to help fight other villains in between heists... hell, she was starting to think up excuses again!
God damn it, and god damn Lascivia! Was she going to be stuck like this forever, having to choose between being sexually satisfied and keeping her integrity?
Maybe she could capture her and force her to undo what she’d done. That ran into the same problem—if she flat-out refused, the worst Gallantrix could do was put her in prison again and wait for her to escape again. Worse, if Lascivia was telling the truth, the effect was an accidental discovery that she couldn’t reverse even if she wanted to.
Much as she wanted to believe otherwise, Lascivia’s story seemed to check out. Her recent capers confirmed that her powers were now more effective against females, just as she’d claimed. Each target had a woman in a position to redirect or shut down security, and each of those women had remained mesmerized for a half-hour or so rather than the minute or two that used to be her limit.
None of them had been turned lesbian, though. Lascivia probably thought it was too risky, or maybe she just wasn’t attracted to them. “Just my luck she thought I was hot,” Gallantrix thought sourly.
She pushed that thought aside to focus on the matter at hand. Her research into psychic powers had turned up an apparent correlation between telepathy and homosexuality—weak, but definite. If some telepaths could create the sort of psychic cascade effect Lascivia described, and it only worked for same-sex partners, that would make sense. Another point in favor of Lascivia... and against any possibility of reversing what she’d done.
Never mind the evolutionary-biology theories. Her problem was more immediate. Damn it, there had to be some way to break Lascivia’s hold on her! If somebody could reverse that psychic-cascade effect, or at least modify it enough to free her of her need....
And then she had an idea.
She just needed some help from a friend.