Title: Illusory, Chapter 2
* * *Two weeks had passed since Strobe had first visited Miss Behavior’s compound, and in that time, she had made the complete transition into being Miss Behavior’s minion.
In those concluding moments of Miss Behavior’s telepathic linking, she had truly become minion; as it had turned out, the erasure of her chosen name had only been a temporary. In the end, Miss Behavior had still wanted her called Strobe. But every time Strobe remembered her name, she remembered, too, that Miss Behavior was only allowing her to have it; and if she wanted, she could take it away and make Strobe forget it forever. That always made Strobe shiver; it made her feel so completely a slave.
But there was more to being Miss Behavior’s slave than simple devotion to her.
Everything at the compound was designed to fill in those gaps; there were rooms that flashed color patterns, and rooms that played recordings of Miss Behavior’s soft-spoken voice; all designed to carve out greater obedience in her minions. She didn’t have time to individually program each slave every hour of the day; so the functions of the different rooms managed that for her instead.
It didn’t matter, anyway— Miss Behavior frequently cycled through use of her slaves in sex; she would have them brought, individually, in pairs or small groups, to her bedroom, and have them attend to her. Since this involved so much contact with her, body to body, this was the time she used to personally make sure of their progression in obedience.
She’d called Strobe to her room many times; and the memory of falling into her bed had been like falling into a chasm— as soon as Miss Behavior had touched her, every time she had done it, Strobe had felt as thought all the flesh and content of her body that filled her in had been erased out of her, leaving only inked on outlines of her form, and everything else had become light and color— yet even missing the fillings-in of her body, Strobe had felt all the touches Miss Behavior had given her, and even with outlined hands she’d felt Miss Behavior under them.
There had been inherent pleasure in that contact— but with direct access to her mind, Miss Behavior had amplified the pleasure by messing around in there. Strobe had wondered sometimes if her body had glowed during these private sessions— those times that she’d been called as one of a pair or a trio or a quad, the other slaves’ eyes had wandered to her, and she’d wondered if Miss Behavior was making them look; if she whispered things into their heads that complimented whatever Strobe was flashing— if she was flashing.
Strobe had come out of each of these calls feeling as if she’d been painted over a new person— the person she’d been completely forgotten, only coming back in flashes late into the night and then forgotten during the progression of the day, the moving from room to room. Now, after two weeks, the flashes weren’t happening at all anymore.
It just felt so easy, and just felt so good, those moments of being programmed. Sometimes the light came from inside her, and it felt like her obedience was erupting outwards and claiming everyone else with it. But even when it came from her, and reached the others, it felt like warmth, and it gave such a calming effect.
It lulled her mind back into remembering the way it felt when Miss Behavior was touching her, steering her mind where it needed to go. Steering her again at a distance.
It was such an enjoyable experience, the colors coming out of her, that Strobe couldn’t help but get turned on— then all that arousal stored up and stayed with her until she could release it in a rush.
That meant it either stayed in her until the next time she was called back to Miss Behavior— or until the next she was called into the other room, the one where all the slaves went when they knew it was time for them to venture there. Miss Behavior’s delayed commands took effect eventually, and when they did, the slaves went into that room to fuck each other, and as they fucked, their minds were changed to follow along the outlines Miss Behavior had left there for them ahead of time.
When Strobe went in there, with leftover arousal still in her body, it was always a relief to get all of it with the help of the other latexslaves— it was hot, and erotic, and it programmed them all perfectly the way all the programming rooms did.
But neither the light room or the reinforcement was Strobe’s favorite. She most enjoyed the room in which there was nothing but the sound of Miss Behavior’s lovely voice speaking; saying the things they all needed to remember, the things their brains all needed to process. That room took them deeper like all the rooms did, but it was nice to hear Miss Behavior speaking. She had a very mellifluous voice, which spoke in a pleasant timbre. Strobe loved to hear it.
But though Strobe had her little preferences and opinions, she really loved every room, loved every step in the process, loved feeling herself become a better and better version of who Miss Behavior wanted her to be. The hours spent in all the rooms were worth it. They refined and perfected her.
Besides constant programming, there were other things required of the minions. They were the ones who had to maintain and upkeep the entire compound— and they did it in rotation, like chores. Strobe went happily through these menial requirements— but as a former superhero, there was another task for her. Sometimes, in one of the light rooms, Miss Behavior had the lights turned off.
Then she would send Strobe in there, and have Strobe light herself up and emit light for all the slaves sitting in that room in their latex. It was a very meditative state, standing above them all, washing the room in her colors, washing the slaves in all her colors, and understanding what it was doing to their minds.
At times like those she wondered what Miss Behavior had left in her own head, because though she was the one in control of the light and the color, and which color spectrums she moved through and when she moved them, it seemed to affect her own head also— some other dormant part of her seemed to take over, and perfectly regulate the emitting of her light, while her own mind turned off and stared in wonder at the colors that were coming from herself.
Sometimes, in the moments she was fucking Miss Behavior afterwards, in the background of all that passed between them through the telepathic linkage, she thought she heard words of recognition, words of thanks and approval and praise reaching back to touch the times she’d done the specific task of lighting the light room. So even when she stood there, sending out the light, without Miss Behavior in her head, and alone, it felt like her mistress was actually there with her, thanking her and praising her in real time. And it only made Strobe feel more submissive.
Strobe could no longer remember the time before the compound. It seemed to her now that she had always been there— the timescale of two weeks was mentioned to her, the passage of time mentioned to her— or at least Miss Behavior thought of it as one more thing to praise Strobe for when their minds were connected. And though Strobe accepted that, at the same time, the significance was lost on her. Two weeks or two years— she couldn’t tell the difference any longer.
But regardless, at the end of this two week period, she found herself in Miss Behavior’s private rooms— Miss Behavior fully dressed in her latex clothing, the black and red, and she reached for Strobe’s head, and touching her forehead with one hand, all four fingertips.
“You’ve adjusted so well,” Strobe heard, as galaxies of color and light passed through her. “And in such a short time. You’re both a perfect minion and a perfect sexslave to me; you’re doing so well living and training with all the others. I’m so impressed that I’ve decided to reward you. I have some special business I need to go and take care of today, and I’m going to bring you along with me to help.”
Distantly, Strobe felt as if her entire body, and all her emotions within it, was melting in joy. Other information was coming in, passing through Miss Behavior’s hand, not in distinct words but in concepts that were immediately understood as soon as they first touched the surface of her mind.
Strobe understood perfectly. Today, Miss Behavior was going to meet with the Lioness— she already had a lot of background info on her, which was pouring in like concepts. Lioness’ true name was Cassandra Lewton— she had come from nothing, started completely poor, and then through a lot of effort, had risen through the ranks of the underworld to become on of the most well-known, and feared, crime bosses in the city. As one part of her crime empire, she ran quite a successful pornography network.
Miss Behavior was going to meet with her because she wanted to form an alliance with her, one villain to another, against the common enemy that the city’s Vanguard presented to them.
This much had been conveyed to the Lioness, but what Miss Behavior had not communicated was that she hoped to find a moment to catch the Lioness unaware— a moment in which she could place a hand on her body and take over her mind. Miss Behavior, pinnacle of human identity that she was, at least in Strobe’s devoted eyes, did not like sharing anything with anyone— certainly didn’t like the idea of forming an equal partnership. She wanted to be able to make all the decisions herself, and have things all her own way. So she was much more interested in keeping Lioness as a tamed housecat than in giving her something reciprocal in return for her help.
Strobe felt the light as it kept coming in. There was an image that Miss Behavior was remembering— an image she was showing her— a woman in a golden catsuit that opened at the chest above a laced corset, with a lion’s mask that left her mouth exposed to the air— with teeth that looked like lions’ fangs, and whiskers; her tight leggings were ripped down the sides of her legs and laced in the same manner as the corset, and they tucked into high brown boots that came up over the knee and hugged to the lioness’ legs— the whole outfit was finished with a long lion’s tail that curled, as if it was tensile, when she ran.
Miss Behavior was remembering a time she’d seen her run— and as Lioness seemed to run forward out of Miss Behavior’s memory, Strobe was caught by the catlike grace that the villain possessed— and she could recognize that Lioness’ body was well-proportioned, and shapely, but she herself felt like a cat batting something lesser away in disinterest.
Objectively, Lioness had an attractive body, which her lionsuit highlighted and complimented, but all of Strobe’s interest was tied up in Miss Behavior— so to Strobe, even the most objectively beautiful woman in the world would still have come second to the object of all her affections— she could recognize Lioness’ dangerous, terrifying, deadly beauty— but it left her unmoved. What she was most excited about in this was serving Miss Behavior as Miss Behavior wanted— that was the true reward in this for her.
Miss Behavior took her hand away, but Strobe had already understood everything that Miss Behavior had wanted her to know. Other slaves then came to help them— there was a cart waiting outside the door to Miss Behavior’s room, and Strobe was allowed to sit down next to her, in pride of place. The cart was ideal for crossing the compound quickly, and as they rode, the two of them in the backseat and one other slave in the front driving with perfect competency, Miss Behavior kept her hand on the small of Strobe’s back. She had her gloves off, so even though her hand was resting against latex, muted waves, impressions of her control lapped at Strobe’s body, even with that latex membrane in the way.
Strobe’s concentration blurred into a haze— the compound streaked by, and then they had arrived at Miss Behavior’s luxury car.
There were slaves there again, to help them both into the backseat. Strobe rejoiced inside, over and over, at the way she had been chosen, at the way she was being displayed, as if she were Miss Behavior’s prize possession. She preened as she once again sat in the backseat with her, and the car started moving— then Strobe stopped noticing— the car moved, but she floated in the feeling of Miss Behavior’s hand on her— then when that hand came up to stroke the side of her face in reassuring pets, returning moves of itself, Strobe’s eyes rolled into her head and she was more lost than she had been before.
Somehow, through this fog— which only enclosed Strobe’s mind, but which seemed so immersive Strobe imagined had to encase the entire car— they progressed through the night to the headquarters of Lioness’ empire.
It was only when Miss Behavior removed her hand from Strobe’s head that Strobe became fully aware again, and when she did, she saw their car was pulling into the inner building of the headquarters. Inside, it looked like a warehouse— but the car kept driving on further— the next room had not perhaps been intended for cars, because it was nicely carpeted— and there was a throne-like chair overseeing it at the head of the hall, in which Lioness was sitting, with her legs both slung over one arm— Miss Behavior raised her hand in signal, and the slave driving the car parked it where it sat on the rug at the far end of the hall.
That slave, and the other in the frontseat both got out, and opened the cardoors for both Miss Behavior and Strobe— Miss Behavior started walking, with the supreme confidence she always exuded, and Strobe worked hard to keep pace with her— Lioness only watched them from her seated place; and Miss Behavior kept walking on— they were advancing, getting closer all the time; only about ten steps from where Lioness was sitting, and still she hadn’t moved.
Strobe’s eyes scanned the shadows— Miss Behavior was confident, but Strobe was protective.
Strobe was glad a moment later, when something emerged from the shadows. Miss Behavior had not seen it, but Strobe had, because she’d been watching so incredibly carefully.
It was another woman; but something about the way this woman stood made Strobe understand that she and the figure had a lot in common. Just in the way she walked, Strobe could see the woman was a minion like she was— a woman almost as loyal to Lioness as Strobe herself was to Miss Behavior— Strobe was sure Lioness wasn’t a secret telepath— Miss Behavior would have known, and Miss Behavior would have transmitted that information to her; but surely Lioness had her own methods of ensuring compliance from the people she reigned over. The woman was wearing a catsuit like Lioness’, though like the difference between Miss Behavior’s latex suit and the ones that her slaves wore— the woman’s catsuit clearly implied submission— just as Lioness’ catsuit clearly implied power.
Just because this woman was clearly a minion didn’t mean she was harmless. She was stalking like a lion stalked, coming closer, ready to pounce on Miss Behavior and pin her to the ground. If Miss Behavior had ulterior motives that she was bringing with her to this meeting, then Lioness also had motives of her own— this wouldn’t just be a friendly negotiation— this was a hostile situation, and Strobe was so glad she had come to help— the two other slaves Miss Behavior had brought were both just standing by the car back where it was parked.
The Lioness’ minion bent at the knees— a second away from pouncing— but before she could make the leap, Strobe leapt across the distance between the two of them and punched her into a stagger.
The lionlet was quick to recover— only needing to bend at the waist before stepping around, ready to swing back; their fists connected, their arms; and with a shock, Strobe realized the lionlet had claws at the end of her sleeves. This realization came quite rudely when several of those claws sliced through the latex of one of Strobe’s sleeves— and cut a bit of her skin too.
Now when Strobe struck back, she was trying to fend that sharpness away from herself while at the same time seeking to plant blows about the lionlet’s body.
The lionlet hissed everytime Strobe dealt her a hit, and then swiped back with her claws more viciously, cutting through further parts of Strobe’s suit, leaving gashes— Miss Behavior and Lioness were together now, both watching in rapt fascination as their minions fought it out— for what prize, it was unclear, but Strobe wanted to do Miss Behavior the greater glory— she struck arms against arm, though she dripped blood from swiped scrapes, and felt air where her slavesuit had been cut open— she swiped back through she had no claws of her own, and she was beating the lionlet back, as the lionlet still hissed and spit in response.
Strobe could see the way this fight was going. She could keep exchanging punches with this lionlet before her forever, but the woman was ferocious. No matter how many times Strobe hit her, she never seemed to fatigue. So where did that leave her? She could fight this minion forever, but the battle would never truly end— they would just be locked in what felt like neverending combat, no matter how much injury they did to each other. Both of them were fueled by zealous devotion, and neither would willingly surrender.
Strobe felt an inward starting that didn’t express externally, because she was still locked in on the careful steps of her combat. She realized that this could easily become a fight to the death— she would willingly die for her Mistress, but only if her mistress told her to— and the thought of doing so, while satisfying in the theoretical, also made her sad. She wouldn’t be able to protect Miss Behavior from attacks like this anymore if she wasn’t alive.
But truly it seemed that death was the only thing which would stop either her or the lionlet. And Strobe knew she didn’t want the fight to go that far, didn’t want to have to do that much. She had never killed when she’d still been her own superheroine, and though those days were all but forgotten, perhaps a trace of them lingered— but whatever the reason, Strobe set aside the idea of fighting to the death, and the idea of fighting never-endingly, and sought another solution.
Her mind wandered back to the compound— even in quasi-wakefulness, she longed to return to the hazy almost sleep of being conditioned and programmed; she thought of what her programming was actually like, how it felt to step into the designated room— to walk into one, and hear. Miss Behavior’s voice coating every wall, every body contained within. How it felt almost in that moment that Miss Behavior’s voice was a physical thing sitting and then slithering on her skin; sliding in through her ears.
Or how it felt to step into the room they were all programmed to know the purpose of— where latex rolled together over bodies that moved in unison, pleasure bringing pleasure, all of it directed and deepened by, to deepen in return left-behind programs already installed.
Or how it felt to step into the light room— and be bathed in all that color like it was water. How special it made Strobe that she was the only one of all the slaves who could sometimes be the source of that light. How she could step onto the raised dais, and watch all the slaves go obediently down onto their knees, their eyes shining, waiting— then widening, and sheening over the second that Strobe made the light come.
She could make the light come again. It was what she was for. She could make it come, and make this lionlet stop without having to kill her first.
The lionlet swung her arm again, and this time Strobe was quick enough to duck under the swing, dropping into a half-squat to get low enough, the fist that swung missing the place her head had just been.
Strobe drew in a breath— and she made the light start to come while she was still down, standing once more from her crouch like rising into her own power; she was doing like she did in the light room, to program the others for her mistress. She was sending out wavering, trembling beams that seemed to warp as though they were underwater, sending them in all possible colors of the spectrum, making them waver around every target.
This time there was only one, and so that made it easier, but it was the same basic process. She got back to her stance— the lionlet had stilled and was staring with a bewildered expression on her face. There had been a basic bliss about her, implying Lioness’ firm control over her, but that bliss had traded with confusion, and now the poor woman could only sway a little on her feet as she looked at the lights Strobe was giving to her.
Strobe put a hand on each hip, her arms triangling out in a very displaysitory way; she was proud to be here, using her power for this, and she stood up a little taller. She knew exactly how to do it after so much practice. She arched her lower back more, to make her chest jut out further, presenting the source of all her light with greater pride, too.
The same effect that always happened to her when she brainwashed the others by color was happening to her here, too. The ceilings of this receiving room might have been higher— the surrounding walls further back, the floor carpeted in regal red, but once more Strobe found the same basic process was the same. When she brainwashed the others she brainwashed herself— her body always took over the emitting of light and her mind wandered— her eyes had to lock onto what she produced, and when they saw it, the same colors that came from her spun her mind and spun her thoughts into complete loss so they all became mysteries to her. Then she was as dazed on her feet as any slave should be, carefully tucked back inside Miss Behavior’s control.
It was just so sexy— she could feel liquid arousal running inside her latex, but she didn’t even think to squirm— her body had disconnected from her mind, she was sending the light— and her vision was blurring into color. Her mind couldn’t understand— she was sure suddenly that Miss Behavior was touching her. This was the kind of vitality that filled her world only when her mind was open and receiving Miss Behavior’s mind in turn. That had to be what was happening now, there was too much colorful chaos and all of it felt too good.
From the lionlet’s perspective, things had been fairly straightforward in their fogged out way. She could no longer remember what her name had once been— she was only one of many women now, serving Lioness, all of them lionlets, all of them interchangeable, only meant to serve their mistress as well as they would; and given the extreme devotion they all shared, there was no limit to how much this could be, since all of them always wanted to serve her as fervently as possible, and constantly outdo their past selves.
All that lionlet remembered of her former life was the night Lioness crossed her path— she had given her a drink that lionlet couldn’t remember anymore, but which had immediately suffused her with the purest joy that she had ever known— and lionlet had lived inside of that joy all the rest of her life since. Had lived with its fingers clutching her brain, had lived never quite able to form a full thought— just knowing that all the understanding required of her was somehow perfectly in her head— and that she never needed to worry about it, or about anything else either.
That had been existence— a forgotten procession of actions taken when told, actions taken with the deepest, desperate wish to make Lioness proud of her— but she could call out nothing specific from this interminable chunk of time. She had met Lioness in an alleyway one night, she had drunk what was offered to her, and then lived all her life after that. That meeting in the alleyway had been her birth— there had been nothing before, that had been her genesis into awareness, and existence, and she believed it with all of her heart.
So even in the midst of a fight, well-trained as all the lionlets were, lionlet had felt the same sustaining joy as ever, the same lack of thought, had just rolled through motion to motion, through action to action, knowing everything she did was pleasing Lioness and that was the only thing that mattered— mattered more than thinking, or understanding more than she needed to. The lionlet had been happy, even while taking physical damage and pain from her retaliating target.
But something had gone wrong since then— something was going wrong now. She had swung another punch at the woman she was fighting, but the woman had ducked down into a crouch, getting down to bent knees. The lionlet was preparing a follow-up punch, but then something happened that interrupted these preparations. She wound her arm back, but then somehow— something was flooding out of the woman. Was it blood? How could blood be pouring so fast and freely?
The lionlet felt a little of her general happiness disappearing. She’d gashed the woman a few times with her lionlet claws— but she hadn’t thought she’d cut deep enough, or even on her chest at all, to bring forth a hemorrhaging of that kind— it froze her in her stance, watching it.
The lionlet’s fist was still tensed, and the woman was standing up— she could see what was pouring out of her more easily— but now she was confused. All her easy drifting joy was gone, and the lionlet was resentful. She liked living in that state of happiness and enjoyment— she couldn’t remember ever being in a state other than it, and this was the first thing in her entire life to date, or so it seemed to her, that had ever interrupted that feeling.
Now she was feeling confused, and didn’t like it. Her mind was completely awake, completely clear— and that seemed a first in the entire history of her life as well. She stared in confusion, trying to understand.
What was coming out of the defending woman was light— somehow, all of it coming through her chest as if she kept a sun tucked away inside of there— it beamed— but the beams were strange. They wavered, like rays of sunlight seen from below a waterbody’s surface; changed by the water they moved through, misshapen and lurching. The lionlet concentrated harder, sure every time that she would be able to predict the direction in which the rays moved next— but they were everchanging and evernovel, and no predictions of this kind were possible.
The lionlet couldn’t seem to stop herself, though. She was annoyed now, annoyed that these beams coming to her weren’t coming as unfiltered rays, annoyed that they moved and bulged in ways that were unnatural— some of them shot so high the touched the ceiling far above, or the walls far beyond, or behind— the lionlet felt suddenly she was in a cloud of color.
The waves were on her skin. They left no sensation but they painted everything— the open part of her corset, the open sides of her leggings, the fur of her catsuit, all was changed by the colors that danced.
The woman was standing in a declaring stance, a hand to each hip, her arms bent to put them there— her chin up, head held in a joy that the lionlet couldn’t remember now that her mind had been cleared.
But the colors were there— and the lionlet was watching them. Almost, she wanted to bat them, according to her lionlet’s catlike nature— but she knew there would be nothing to touch. She would just watch— she was less annoyed now, she found. There was just so much to watch, it was hard to keep up with it. Hard to keep track of it— it made her tired when she tried.
The reaction she wasn’t expecting was that her body welcomed the tiredness— it was a natural state for her, so blissed out she could barely move at all times, sustained only by her desire to please— and without that tiredness, she was uncomfortable and longing for it.
But now these colors seemed to lull her towards it, and she loved them for that. Actually, she just loved them completely.
They made her so tired, but she didn’t care. And now that she was thinking about it she could feel how tired she was. How little she cared for the newfound awareness that had come into her head— how much she would have preferred sinking into that old, familiar feeling of being not quite asleep— the colors were giving that to her, and she had to love them for it.
But it was too hard to stand, and to love them as she did. She didn’t want to be standing. She didn’t want to do anything that felt like exerting force, that felt like making any kind of decision. She was a tired lionlet— her mind kept circling back to that as if directed there, but she never noticed— the easiest thing to do would be to sink down onto her legs and sit on the floor like a lion basking in the sun.
These colors were the sun to her now; she could feel them as if they warmed her face, as if they warmed her entire body, warmed every part of her that she had inside. Her body wanted to move into almost a lying position; her fist had been clenched all this time because she’d forgotten everything, even where her fist was or how it was held— and she had moved herself onto the floor— she stretched out in a leisurely manner, never taking her eyes off the colors or the woman who had shown them to her.
She started to let out a rumbling purr from the inside of her chest— so deep was her contentment, she was glad she had some way to show it physically— she had both her forearms along the floor, and they took the weight of her upperbody, while her legs were tucked in alongside her— and now the room began to retreat from her, moving further and further away. All that remained as everything else became more distant were the colors— there was simply nothing else left.
She was alone with them, and they had her— she would sit and watch them forever, and even forget that she was doing that— the purr kept coming from her— and she relaxed further into her position, enjoying all the comforts of it. And she saw them, reds and blues and oranges and yellows and every other color, every varying shade she could recognize and even some that she couldn’t.
This was where she belonged— basking in colorlight, feeling it warming her with a much greater power than a sunbeam— she was colorkissed everywhere they passed over her— they made the entire hall shine and shine, and the lionlet’s purring grew louder, and more contented at once.
She was forgetting even her life as a slave— she had come into this hall, seen those colors, and that had been the moment of her genesis. That had been the moment which birthed her, and would be, as long as she watched.
Miss Behavior watched with great interest as Strobe conquered the lionlet and finally subdued her to her light hypnosis. She was watching the fight, the ensuing lure to trance, but she was really watching two things: that aforementioned fighting, and simultaneously, Lioness as she sat there in her chair watching it happen to her slave.
When they had first entered the room, Lioness had looked as though she was relaxed, draped sideways across her chair, but Miss Behavior knew her— she was familiar with her ways; she’d looked relaxed, but she’d been ready to pounce, ready to attack and do serious damage.
One of Lioness’ lionlets was easily enough defeated— but Lioness herself was a different kind of creature; she couldn’t be taken in a fight. Before their tentative alliance, Miss Behavior had fought her a few times, each of them ending in a draw.
She wasn’t susceptible to the show of colors Strobe was putting on either— her eyes were still focused, but that was what was so helpful to Miss Behavior in that moment. Lioness was in no way subject to the colors Strobe was putting out currently, but she was watching what was happening to her slave. Which meant she wasn’t watching Miss Behavior.
If they had fought when she had first entered, Miss Behavior wouldn’t have made any progress, wouldn’t even have been able to get close to her— but she’d gotten to be only five steps away from where Lioness was sitting, as Strobe did her work. Lioness had watched her, ready still to pounce, but when her attention had gone to the fight, it had given Miss Behavior her opening.
She had slowly advanced, with unwavering patience, only stepping when she knew for a fact Lioness’ eyes wouldn’t see it and wouldn’t go to her. So now after moving forward this way throughout the very effective distraction Strobe had presented, she was standing directly beside Lioness— and she had taken the gloves off of her hands— they were bare. For her slaves, the control she had over them was so effective that she could put a clothed hand on their bodies and still get a muted connection to them.
But that was because they were opened to her in every way— for a new person she had never controled, she needed skin to skin contact— because the new victims were always the ones quickest to resist— and Lioness had a formidable strength of will. She would need all her power. She held both gloves in one hand, and she had slowly extended it towards her target, just as she had slowly stepped closer and closer to her.
Lioness’ costume did present a challenge, though— her mask covered all but the lower half of her face— and her catsuit covered all but her chest and the sides of her legs, the latter two not in easy reach. Her best bet was a hand over Lioness’ mouth— and Miss Behavior reached out, and placed that hand.
Lioness had been a little disappointed when the minion Miss Behavior brought had started fighting her own lionlet— the thing had been poised to pounce, and then overcome Miss Behavior— then it only would have taken a second for Lioness’ elixir to be administered. Then Miss Behavior would have been hers.
Lioness had initially meant to go through with the alliance— but she was in the habit of reneging on deals if the betrayal was more personally useful to her than fidelity itself.
And when she had reflected on what she would get out of dominating Miss Behavior, she’d been very satisfied, indeed. In exchange for a little double-crossing, all of Miss Behavior’s network would become hers— it hadn’t really been any kind of dilemma for Lioness after that. It had been an easy decision to have one of her strongest lionlets attack, and defeat. She’d been hopeful her plan would work.
Then she’d been caught up in watching the fight, hoping that somehow the lionlet would turn it around towards victory.
She had not been expecting Miss Behavior’s latexclad minion to start shooting light out from her chest. It had been clear what was happening right away; and her lionlet hadn’t had any kind of chance; all of them were constantly under the influence of Lioness’ elixirs; their minds soft and malleable, and at the first hint of hypnotic stimulus, their minds would always collapse.
So when Lioness realized what the minion was doing, she had known what the outcome would be. But she had watched out of curiosity— to see how long her elixir, her slave’s devotion would last against foreign control.
She had also watched as a test to herself— she worked hard to keep her mind sharp, to keep herself ready to resist, so that no one could double-cross and overtake her the way she’d tried and failed to do to Miss Behavior today. She’d wanted to see if she could watch the hypnotic lights, and keep her own mind.
She’d been satisfied to find that the lights had no effect on her. Her mind was solid like steel; not malleable like the ones of her slaves, and she was impervious to the lights. She found it entertaining to keep testing herself, if also a little disappointing, seeing how easily one of her devoted slaves disintegrated for someone else.
She had taken her attention off Miss Behavior completely. After all, what would have been the point of watching her? She wasn’t a threat, like her minion; all the techniques she used on her slaves were far away, and none of them could be done to Lioness— and even if they could, Lioness was sure she’d be as impervious to them as she was to the lights. Miss Behavior was easy to write off when there was a fight to watch, a challenge to test her mind against. She hadn’t even moved on to contingency plans yet, but the fight was satisfying enough she wasn’t bothered.
She realized she should have been, when she felt something touch her mouth. It took her a second to realize it was a soft hand— Miss Behavior’s soft hand, now over her lips and over her chin— but by then she was already falling back, going inwards.
Miss Behavior was a telepath— one of those secret ones who so seldom appeared in the population. Lioness had been wishing for years that she could catch one, wishing for years that she could make a lionlet out of one, and use their powers for her own purposes, binding them by obedience.
She’d never been lucky, because they were hard to find— rarer than rare— and she realized now how long Miss Behavior had kept this ability close to her chest. Not one of Lioness’ informants had mentioned anything about this to her— which had to mean virtually no one knew about this, because her informant network was comprehensive and varied.
She was a little annoyed that this had slipped past her; but more impressed that it had been managed at all.
She’d often wondered, out of curiosity, what it would be like to feel a telepath’s invasion. It was nothing like what she’d imagined at all.
She’d thought that mentally, there would be some semblance of her receivingroom— but she felt nothing. She had fallen into an abstract space, somewhere completely void; it looked like wilderness, rushes, leaves, bushes— the kind of place she would have loved to run around if she were fully a lion and in no way human; even standing on two feet, she longed to run forward in a prowl, to whip through the night, moving greenery aside— find something to hunt, to conquer.
There was no wilderness like this anywhere near the city— sometimes, when she wasn’t in her catsuit, when she was pretending to be only human, in her maintained identity of Cassandra Lewton, she liked going to the city’s arboretum, liked going to any one of the city’s botanical gardens. They all had the air of artificiality, of human maintenance about them, but they were the closest that Lioness could come to the real thing.
On the rare occasions her empire ran smoothly enough to allow her time off, she liked to jet away to places where she could get lost out in the wild— but those times were few and far between, and sometimes the memories just weren’t enough to sustain her until her next, distant, future vacation.
But here in her mind everything was wild— no trace of the artificial. And yet there was something about the wilds of her mind that were wrong— the shadows were heavy, the shadows were everywhere, and all of them were heavy, as if they held something secret, held something hidden.
She ran through the bushes, but she didn’t feel the freedom she’d first imagined— she felt as if the shadows were touching her, weighing down on her, only getting heavier the further that she ran.
She understood, suddenly, why.
It was Miss Behavior who was held in every shadow— Miss Behavior who was the night around her, observing her from every possible angle of perspective, a million eyes all watching, shadow after shadow. There was no place she could reach that Miss Behavior wouldn’t be touching her, and when she felt the shadows, she knew she was feeling into Miss Behavior’s mind, and Miss Behavior was feeling into hers— the link was going both ways.
Miss Behavior hadn’t exactly planned what her slave was doing right now— not explicitly. But she’d been prepared for the contingency— which had been why her other two slaves had stayed standing by the car they’d so rudely driven into Lioness’ room, onto her red carpet.
Miss Behavior had been suspicious of Lioness’ intentions, which is why she’d had a contingency to begin with— but Lioness really had hoped the last minion, whose name she now knew to be Strobe, would be just as useless as the other two. She’d been disappointed.
Now it seemed the night was only shadow, covering her, hiding even her own thoughts from her. It felt more like she swimming through dark water— and even that wasn’t quite right, because there was none of the peaceful determination about what she was doing. She was thrashing, struggling, closer to drowning than to swimming; or maybe she was only falling down a dark cavern— down a hole from a great height.
Or she was only sitting in a dark room. Cloaked, rolled into the darkness— It had been her plan to do this to Miss Behavior— she had wanted to be the one conquering, hunting, taking over— she had wanted Miss Behavior’s network and now all of this was confirmed.
It felt so strange to have someone else sitting in her head, seeing everything she was, seeing everything that no one else knew, everything she had kept to herself all this time; there was no corner of her mind that retained light, that retained any power to disperse the dark all around her.
It was feeling like more than just absence of light. It was feeling like more than just heaviness— there was something warm about it, something that made her feel swaddled and wrapped up tight. She wondered if her lionlet had felt this way, wrapped inside of Strobe’s color— she couldn’t get used to this— as soon as she thought something, as soon as she thought of some missing piece of information that Miss Behavior had, and she didn’t, that information flowed into her head instantaneously.
It was as if the two of them shared one mind— they were thinking communally, each thought was a team effort; but Lioness had never wanted to be on Miss Behavior’s team, had never wanted to be this intimately linked with her. The warmth was such that it almost made her want to curl up and purr, just like her lionlet, but the defining emotion inside of her was still annoyance.
This whole situation was wrong— Miss Behavior was meant to be on the ground, subdued by the now-hypnotized lionlet far away and outside of Lioness’ body— drinking down Lioness’ elixir and becoming hers forever.
Miss Behavior seemed to take no offense at this hypothetical; in fact, she indulged Lioness in the line of thought. Lioness didn’t understand how she knew minds so well, how she knew to work them, but somehow, it felt as if she was enhancing the thought that Lioness was thinking— encouraging her, adding momentum to her imaginings; what it would have been like if Miss Behavior had drunk the elixir— how she would have felt immediate obedience washing all through her, wiping away everything from before.
How that would have felt so good that she would have begged Lioness for permission to masturbate, and she would have kneeled there manipulating her own body, sealing her permanent devotion with an orgasm. And then Miss Behavior would have offered Lioness anything and everything that she wanted, without asking a single thing in return.
It was a satisfying narrative to see play out, if only in thought— it was satisfying something very vindictive in Lioness, even if all chances of it happening in the real world were now completely gone.
But Miss Behavior was drawing Lioness back to the imagined moment of Miss Behavior’s own failure— the moment she tasted the elixir, the moment it liquefied her mind and all her resistance with it— and there was another feeling she heard the shadows whispering to her; she was meant to be jealous of this.
Lioness realized this had been a trap— a backwards way of getting her to think of giving in; a backwards way to slip the concept in past her defenses. But the jealousy was alluring. Miss Behavior was making it seem alluring the longer she had the telepathic link opened up; it was the better position to be in. For someone who had already given, who had already given up, there was no reason to sit and wait interminably, trying to fight out a battle they knew they could never possibly win.
They could just relax into what was happening to them, and accept their life-outcome; but Lioness couldn’t do that— couldn’t do that as long as she remained herself.
The shadows could give her what she’d tried to give her mental captor. They could give her something that felt like the elixir, that gave that kind of freedom from thought. From having to think.
There were reassurances laced through them— she could keep her empire, she could stay its head— but she would make herself available, make anything available that Miss Behavior wanted; and she would never want anything to be offered back to her in return.
It just sounded so sweet to her— the thought of that freedom, that good feelingness— Lioness could feel all of it around her as if she’d been plunged into the very center of it. Then she let the shadows eat her down. The effect was as instantaneous as she’d imagined. As she’d been promised. Often, in the process of making her elixir, using it on people, Lioness had wondered what it felt like to swallow down loss; to swallow your own failure— now she knew; she’d swallowed it down and it had swallowed her back. It tasted good, and it made everything feel better; she’d expected to wake up, expected Miss Behavior to take her hand away but it seemed like she would be held here for just a minute, at least.
She was in someone else’s control now. None of her decisions had to belong to her anymore. It gave her such a lightness— such a weightlessness, one she had only seen in other vacant faces. Now she knew what they’d been feeling. Now she was feeling it too.
She was so light and bubbling she could have burst into laughter, could have laughed herself into a fit, until her stomach was contracting and giving her pain that would last a few days at least.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this lighthearted about everything— the shadows had changed, and now, all was sunlight, but every ray of brightness that had replaced a shadow held the same thing that shadow had first contained. She was not alone in her head— every beam held her intruder— but her body, or at least the best approximation of it that her mind could make, only felt good.
She was so used to carrying tension, to holding it all inside. So used to feeling pain from altercations she got herself involved in. But now it was as if all those things had just been gently lifted out of her, leaving behind a pleasant buzzing.
The sunlight had gone through her. She was a stainedglass-window, receptive to such rays, but she could feel in a way that real glass couldn’t. When the light went through her and made her transparent, it made her buzz more.
She felt now that she was a building with only stainglass-windows, from ground to roof, a building sitting somewhere on the shore of a lake or a river or an ocean; and now there was water rising, surging against the glass lower down, getting higher all the time.
Miss Behavior was not carrying her presence to Lioness on that water. That water was something else.
Something gushing, something releasing, something fluid— something that poured and spilled— things that wanted to run, like she had wanted to through the wild before, things that wanted to run, then got dammed up, then got released again.
It was something that made her want to float— something that made her feel shone through and surged up. It was lust.
She wasn’t a stranger to it— she used her lionlets for pleasure the way she knew Miss Behavior used her own slaves for personal enjoyment. She’d learned it, in the joining of their minds, with a lot of other things; she was still learning it now.
But this lust felt different. She wasn’t used to a disembodied pleasure— a pleasure between her temples, a pleasure only mental; only abstract. But she was the stainedglass-window building, trapping the beams, making them fall strangely through runs in the color; still the stainedglass feeling the water coming up. It would get over the roof eventually— if she’d really been in her body, lying back, it would have been like waiting for water to come up over her head; waiting for fluid to move through her.
A shudder moved through her, but the only trace of it was the building shaking, as if a particularly strong wind had just moved over it, and moved it in the process.
She wanted to feel more of this— it still felt like Miss Behavior was the one doing this to her, that somehow they were doing this as a unit, coming together— Lioness receiving, Miss Behavior giving.
She would have been confused if she were the one still responsible for what happened in her head— how this could all be happening only withinher skull, when it felt so huge and expansive; she just couldn’t understand that.
But she was completely relaxed about it— knowing that it wasn’t hers to worry about. Miss Behavior would lead her towards all the thoughts she needed to think; Miss Behavior could tell her to run on autopilot, and she could keep up the empire without effort, without any reflection on it at all; she could be the building of glass with water up to her roof— she could be lying beneath the water’s surface, the waves finally passing up and covering her. It was eternal pleasure, and then it was one more chasm she falling down, cycling through the air in formless turns; all of it feeling better— there were highwinds sometimes, when she shuddered again, but even when those winds came, she enjoyed herself as much as she had before.
“Notice the room around you again. But you still feel my control in your head. You always will from now on, even when I take my hand away.”
She would always feel it now— and it would always feel like light shining through stainedglass— Miss Behavior took her hand off of Lioness’ mouth, maybe because she hoped to hear her speak now, and yet Lioness felt exactly the same as when her hand had been there. She wished her hand would be there again.
“I saw something in your mind,” Miss Behavior said. “I want you to confess it to me now. Do you have a crush on anyone right now?”
Lioness would have guarded the secret fiercely if it had been up to her; but now, understanding inherently how perfect Miss Behavior was, and how much she wanted to make her happy, she had no reluctance about sharing the truth at all. She had no reluctance in giving her anything she asked of her. She’d give her anything requested— offer even the things that had been neither requested nor suspected.
“I do have a crush right now,” Lioness confessed easily. The superheroine— Onyx Ocelot.” She swallowed after saying it; the name of the target of her affections had power, it held weight, and even saying it made soft, gentle feelings spill out of her heart— it was like that water of lust, but this was more than that; she was attracted to Onyx Ocelot, of course— the few times that the two of them had fought, that Onyx Ocelot had foiled some of her plans, she had been partly held back in her defense by the fact that she was attracted to her opponent. Neither one had ever definitively defeated the other— they had both just caused the other one difficulties; but everything about Onyx was so sleek, so elegant, so admirable— so wonderful, and so beautiful.
It made Lioness feel soft in a way she seldom got— and it predated Miss Behavior’s claiming of her mind. She had felt this way before— she had always thought an ocelot and a lion could fit together; that they made sense as a pair— she had said none of this outloud, but this was about more than that. Miss Behavior had been in every corner of Lioness’ mind.
This was all just information she’d already known, had literally put herself inside of and then emerged from. She wasn’t making Lioness say it so she could learn. She was making Lioness say it to expose herself, to humiliate herself and make herself abject and low down.
But still, Lioness thought she should speak again— that wasn’t all the information there was to the little crush.
“Sometimes,” she continued, knowing Miss Behavior would want to hear, and wanting to please her like always, “when I’m having sex with one of my lionlets, I roleplay, and they obey, and go along with me. I pretend I am her sidekick Cub on a mission with her— that she appreciates me, is attracted to me, that she likes me back. Those are some of my very best orgasms,” Lioness finished. But she was sure even as she said it that Miss Behavior had already seen these memories— that she had already seen Lioness roleplaying, seen how powerfully attracted she was to Onyx, seen her come, imagining that Onyx was the one she was fucking after a mission well-completed as a team.
There was no part of her mind left that Miss Behavior didn’t know— that was ownership of a kind she had never experienced before, to be known that completely, that deeply into herself, with no secrets left behind, everything exposed and in the open.
This was why Miss Behavior had made her say this; Lioness understood Miss Behavior must have been planning this little coda to her conquering; she must have been thinking about it while their minds were joined, and now Lioness could think back on it and remember that had been her plan.
She was happy again; as when she’d been under Miss Behavior’s direct, physical control. She was glad to be known so well— and surely Miss Behavior knew her well enough to know that confessing this, which she had never told to anyone, and which she had always made her lionlets forget when the roleplay was done, would seal in her obedience. The way an orgasm would have sealed her own, if Lioness had successfully been able to dose her.
She couldn’t even regret her failure now, though. She was just so glad that things had gone wrong— that things had moved to here, to the point of her belonging to Miss Behavior, knowing this control, this happiness, and this light. Miss Behavior was the only one in the room for her— and she was grateful. Everything had needed to go as wrong as it had so Lioness could end up here. She wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on this for anything.
“So will our alliance move forward, with its altered conditions?”
In which Lioness would give everything, and get nothing in return, and be happy about it.
She was happy about it.
“I agree to the new terms with all my heart,” Lioness pressed, desperate once more to prove herself devoted. “You can have unlimited access my elixir Ultra Bliss— it’s what I use for immediate obedience. It’s a highly addictive, irresistible aphrodisiac. You can use as much of it was you want— in any way you want. You can have anything you want that’s for me to offer you— You—”
Miss Behavior had put her gloves back on, and she lay a gloved finger over Lioness’ mouth. It did not give the overwhelming feeling of telepathy that Miss Behavior’s bareskin contact did, but even around the latex glove, Lioness could still ascertain a trace of the power that lay subdued beneath it.
“Just the drug supply will be enough for now. I have other things to attend to today. I’m sure we’ll be in touch soon.”
Miss Behavior stepped from where Lioness was still sitting in her chair— turning to look at Strobe, who had never stopped hypnotizing the lionlet with her light powers. She seemed to have been caught up by them also— her eyes were unfocused, and she seemed lost.
“Strobe,” Miss Behavior called— speaking Strobe’s name was a power affair, as speaking Onyx was for Lioness. But in Miss Behavior’s case, the name had no power over her, and complete power over Strobe. One use of it, and Strobe was called back from whatever place she had gotten lost inside of. She returned, and the light stopped. The lionlet stayed comfortable where she was on the ground. But Strobe was back at attention, directly to Miss Behavior’s side in a second.
“We’ll be leaving now,” Miss Behavior explained— Lioness was honored that she’d been deigned with an explanation, been deigned with a goodbye. The two of them walked back to the car, and climbed into the backseat— the two slaves who had stood at attention by it, watching from a distance and not participating, climbed into the frontseat, and the car turned around, leaving tiretracks on the nice red carpet. Lioness didn’t care— wasn’t thinking of the necessary carpet replacement. Then the car drove from the receiving hall back into the main entrance— it would continue on through the warehouse doors to the street.
Lioness watched it go, a little bereft. She wished Miss Behavior would come again— that she would be back already.
* * *