The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Come in, Jolie darling...”

Beatrix Mackay watched closely as the two women led my innocent young girlfriend into the room between them.

These women could have been the twins of the two holding me propped unsteadily between them, but for hair color and a few other almost insignificant physical details. All were young, no more than twenty-five, and uniformly lovely, dressed in skintight, form hugging black leotards with high french-cut leg openings that exposed generous expanses of rock-hard cheek. They all wore identical military style three-quarter combat boots with rolled black socks, and soft, black pigskin wrist gloves. Their hair was cut to a uniform length of about an inch over their entire head, and waxed so that it stood straight up, and bristling, with a single hank left at the back, just long enough to twist into an abbreviated pigtail that curled at the napes of their necks. As they drew nearer, I noted a small blue-black tattoo high on the upper left arm of each, but I could not make out what the tattoo depicted. I could also discern the faint outline of small slightly raised circles beneath the tautly-stretched lycra across their bosoms. Nipple rings, I thought to myself dizzily, though I had never in my life seen such things, outside of a single porn film that my husband and I had watched one evening in a fruitless attempt to fan the flames of our guttering physical relationship.

Images of those robotic women from that movie passed fleetingly across my frantic mind again, as Jolie and I were each led to the large, slate-black table that dominated the center of the low slung, windowless room. The table reminded me somewhat jarringly of the lab tables in Chem 101 my freshman year at Smith. I tried to make eye contact with Jolie as we approached this slab of ebonite from opposite sides; what I could see of her eyes led me to the conclusion that she was in even worse shape than I, if that were possible. I whispered her name once, looking for any sign of recognition in her eyes...and found none. She stared dully across the table at me with blank, unseeing eyes, her full, pale strawberry-tipped breasts rising and falling irregularly with her labored breathing, and her body glistened dully in the dim light with the same glaze of sick perspiration that veneered my own. I found myself staring stupidly at her breasts. I realized that I had never seen them before.

She’s much bigger than I had imagined, I thought ridiculously.

Shortly after that, everything spiraled into a surrealistic blur, a Fellini-esque excursion into the darker corners of the human soul. A sort of ‘Therese and Isabelle’ with bondage, and without the heart; set to a pounding, soul-shredding techno soundtrack.

My ‘handlers’ turned me away from the table, and hoisted me unceremoniously onto the chilly slate top. As I gasped at the shock of the cold surface on my bare bottom, one of them wound thin leather straps around my ankles, tying them together and leaving the long ends trailing from them. The other wove another long rawhide strip efficiently into my hair, after first fashioning it into a long, crude ponytail. Each then took a wrist, and wrapped still other slim straps around them. Then they spun me slightly on the slick tabletop, swinging my legs up on it so that my feet were pointing toward one end of the longitudinal axis. I came face to face with Jolie then, staring blankly at me, her feet pointing toward the end opposite mine, her eyes less than a foot from my own. There were straps on her wrists and ankles, too, and in her hair as well.

“Jolie,” I whispered softly again. No response. Her eyes were flat, lusterless; it was like looking at dull gray stones at the bottom of a still pool of water.

“You fucking monster,” I hissed, not able to see Mackay in the darkness, but wanting her to know the depth of my contempt for her before she murdered us both.

“Hurry up,” I heard her voice, flat and emotionless, float across the hot, pulsing air of the cramped chamber.

The drone-women quickly concluded their tasks now. Two at each end of the table, two for each of us. I saw the one behind Jolie’s head reef cruelly on the thong wound in her hair, heard her cry out in pain a nanosecond before my own scalp blazed and my own head was cracked hard against the table. I was still seeing stars as I was rolled onto my side, and found my face pressed almost up against Jolie’s sweat-washed, faintly freckled thighs. I watched numbly as hands threaded the thong tied into my hair between Jolie’s thighs, and at the same instant I felt the cord secured in her hair being slipped between my own legs and pulled viciously, slicing into my already swollen sex, crushing her nose and mouth against my labia. An instant later, my own hair screamed at me, and my own face was buried in Jolie’s humid, throbbing auburn cunt. I felt the cord being tied off, anchoring my mouth at the entrance to her body. I moaned in spite of myself.

The collision of our bodies was electrifying—hot wet flesh against hotter, even wetter. I came almost instantly, the drugs doing their work most efficiently. I think that Jolie came as well, although I couldn’t swear to it; couldn’t swear to anything other than my own staggering orgasm at that particular moment. I screamed, I know that, and only averted burying my teeth in Jolie’s warm, pulsating pussy lips by the slenderest of margins. I panted harshly as my arms were dragged roughly above my head, the lengths of cord about my wrists first threaded through a ring at the end of the table, then tied to Jolie’s ankles. I felt my legs being stretched out now toward the other end of the table, tensioning me as tautly as a violin’s ‘A’ string. I knew that Jolie’s wrists were being tied to them in a like fashion. I felt her sob against my own leaking, throbbing pussy.

That was all it took.

I came again, nearly crushing her skull between my strong, ex-dancer’s quads as I did. I banged my ankles and wrists against the tabletop as much as the bindings allowed, and ground my hips relentlessly against Jolie’s poor face, unaware, uncaring of any damage I might be doing to my young friend. I felt her sweaty breasts heaving against my own slippery belly, felt her hot breath on my genitalia, the smells and sounds and feel of her, of us, deranging me utterly. We were like a beast, a single ravening entity that must satisfy its bestial cravings, no matter what the cost. I buried my mouth in her fragrant crease and began lapping at her furiously, as if I would tear her clitoris, or my own tongue out by the roots.

Either way, it made no difference to me now.

So this is what they mean when they say ‘time stood still’, I thought dreamily.

My tongue was lazily traversing Jolie’s salt-sweet, coppery tasting groove, darting inside occasionally like a lazy bee searching for the still-sweeter nectar that lay closer to the stamen. I droned softly, buzzing my lips and tongue against her pliant sex, giggling like a cum laude graduate of the local home for the terminally bewildered. My soft laughter turned to a shuddering, rasping gasp as I felt Jolie’s lips close over my swollen, aching clitoris, sucking it avidly into her hot mouth again, running her tongue salaciously around the base as I began to vibrate in a lower location, and in a much different register.

The things that they taught nice girls in school, these days.

The staccato rap of heels crossing the floor roused me from my nearly delirious reveries, and my delicious explorations of the depths of woman’s depravity, both my own and Jolie’s. VanJolie’s. JolieVan’s. I rolled an eye lazily upward, never taking my tongue from Jolie’s delectably sweet meat.

“It’s gratifying to see you two girls playing so nicely together.”

I heard Mackay’s contralto laugh burr softly, and bit down inadvertently on Jolie’s tender inner labia. She gave a muffled little cry, and nipped my clitoris with her teeth in response; I shivered again, and withdrew my tingling tongue from her softly weeping slit. She gave another hoarse moan, grinding her face into my crotch, and was still for the moment. My jaws ached awfully, and my tongue felt as if it had been nailed to a board in the hot sun for days to cure.

“Four-fifteen...nearly eleven hours! You girls are close, aren’t you?” She laughed again, running that cool, dry hand over the curve of my hip, my skin tacky now with dried salt from my sweat, and the stray exudates from our marathon evening of cunnilingus. She slid her hand slowly, lasciviously around to my belly, then insinuated it between Jolie’s momentarily idle mouth and my sopping bush, sliding a finger along my own slippery groove, exploring me at her leisure. Hazarding a glance out of the corner of my eye at Beatrix Mackay, in her expensive aqua silk frock and diamonds, her eyes turned pensively heavenward as she explored the inner me, I had the suddenly repellent image of myself as a nasty parlor game at some fancy dress affair for ob-gyns of the idle rich. I shivered once in revulsion, then lay as still as I possibly could, not wanting to give her even that small satisfaction.

“You say your husband has lost interest in you? Astonishing.” Mackay slipped her finger, still coated with my sticky honey, into my mouth. I closed my eyes as I suckled at my own tastes on the monster’s finger, not wishing to witness my own degradation. I swallowed hard.

“Men,” she chuckled throatily.

She moved away then, and I heard the soft tread of rubber-soled boots approaching the slab. Fingers worked quickly and efficiently at the knots securing our bodies to the table, and to each other. My agonized shoulders, and neck screamed in protest as they were loosened from their constricted positions; but still I kept at Jolie, my mouth and my nose buried in her comforting, fragrant muff. Hands worked the thong loose from my hair, and pulled me from her at last. I gave a small cry of despair, like my daughter used to when I took her from the breast. I was rolled onto my back, and felt Jolie shivering beside me as she was released as well. I lay still, panting softly, staring up into the blackness above me. A pale silver moon suddenly interposed itself between the darkness without, and the darkness within me.

“Feeling a bit better, are we?” Beatrix Mackay bent low over me, her smooth, unlined face looking shockingly youthful, almost girlish. Her silver hair was swept back behind her right ear, and diamonds the size of small almonds dangled from her lobes. Her luminous green eyes seemed to glow in the semi-darkness of the chamber, like a hunting lioness’s. I blinked blearily at her, wishing her in hell, and myself elsewhere.

“I thought that this might take some of the starch out of your stays, darling,” she purred, running one of those terrifyingly dead-feeling hands of hers along my ribs beneath my left breast, fondling it, slipping her cool, dry thumb beneath the fold of flesh, then raking all of her nails maddeningly along the sensitive underside of it. My skin rose in gooseflesh, and that galling tickle started up again between my still-tacky thighs. A low, animal growl of warning issued from my throat ...

“Oh, very good,” she breathed, her eyes locked on mine and dancing with merriment; never wavering, boring into my skull, into my soul it felt as if. “We’ve touched a nerve already, I see. This may take much less time than I had first anticipated.” She smiled at me then, giving my tit an affectionate little squeeze. The blackness swept over me, engulfed me.

With a snarl, I went for her pale, perfect throat.

Screams and shouts erupted all around me, as if all the devils of hell were calling me home. Hands tore at me, nails raked my naked flesh, fists pummeled me, booted feet lashed out at my ribs. But I held her throat fast in my trembling jaws like grim death, feeling the richly hydrated skin breaking beneath my teeth, tasting her warm sweet blood as it filled my mouth and cascaded over my chin, drenching her sixty-five hundred dollar Versace original with gore. I shook her like a terrier playing with a rat, chuckling insanely deep in my chest. I heard another shout, this time from somewhere to my left, and then my world imploded into shimmering shards of brilliantly colored crystal, that retreated from me at the speed of light down a mile-long kaleidoscope. I dove after them, down and down, sobbing as if my heart would break for their beauty, and their loss...

The voices seemed very far away.

“I still say we should have killed the bitch.”

“Not our call...besides, Doctor Mackay knows what she’s doing. And she needs another deep insertable, since Brie was ki...”

“Shhh!! Shut up! I think she’s coming round...”

Consciousness was indeed slinking back to the trashed flat that was my body, like a boorish relative that would not be turned away. My skull pounded as if it would split open like an overripe melon at any moment, spilling its meager contents across the floor for all the world to scoff at. My body ached and throbbed in a hundred places. Even my hair hurt. My tongue had the consistency and ripe savor of a very old gym sock, and I was finding that swallowing was a skill I was evidently going to have to re-learn.

Against my better judgement, I opened my eyes.

Or eye, more properly. I quickly discovered that my left eye was swollen completely closed, and seemed to be the primary source of the generalized ‘discomfort’ in my head. Squinting against the painfully bright fluorescent lighting which was reflected and amplified by the stark white tile of the room, I tried to take stock of the ‘State of the Woman’ that was, or had once been, Evangeline Worth.

Aside from assorted bumps, bangs and bruises, and my new cyclopean look, I seemed to have survived my stag-film romp of the evening before surprisingly intact. My mouth was dessicated, but I credited that as much to my new-look oral appliance as the drugs—a wire apparatus that had been inserted into my mouth, and held my jaws an inch or two apart, making breathing problematic, and swallowing a near impossibility. Saliva flowed freely from the corners of my distended mouth, dribbling onto my chest in long, translucent chains. I took a slow, deep breath, expanding my ribcage fully...no broken or cracked ribs, thank God.

My ribcage was about all that I could freely move though, as I soon learned. Trying to lower my chin to make a visual inspection of the damage to my body, I discovered that any movement of my head at all was impossible; it was held rigidly in place by what felt to be a metal band encircling my head just above my eyebrows. Heavy leather straps girdled my torso, as well, biting into my flesh just above the beginning of the swell of my bosom, and below my breasts. These were pushed forward almost comically, due to the bindings applied to my arms. They were cinched tightly together behind me, tied just above the elbows, palms touching, and the index and little fingers of each hand tied to their counterparts on the other. I felt another, wider belt of leather cinched tightly around my waist, gouging into me just above the points of my hipbones, and still others digging into my thighs and calves, strapping my legs tightly together. The band about my head seemed to be my sole source of support; poised on my tiptoes I felt as though I were dangling from it.

I felt a bit like a freshly encased Vienna sausage, hanging in some delicatessen window.

The two women who had been talking so quietly turned toward me, their faces blank, impenetrable masks. They were both wearing the ubiquitous black leotard and military boots; each had a 9mm automatic pistol holstered on a web belt around her hips. In addition the taller of the two, a blonde, held a small black radiotransmitting device of some sort in her right hand. This one approached me slowly, her eyes never leaving my face.

“Welcome back to the land of the living...or the nearly-living,” she said, her voice as flat and expressionless as her lovely face. Only her eyes seemed alive, smoldering with a brilliant blue heat. This woman looked extremely pissed. I only hoped that I wasn’t the source of her anger. I suspected that I probably was.

“Gaahhgggngg...?” I inquired, trenchantly.

I saw her mouth twitch just slightly at the corners; probably the closest she had come to a smile in years, I guessed. I plunged on, hoping to press my advantage.

“Gaahrhrhn hagghhgnghn hohaaahhnn?”

Her lips widened in an obvious smile now, but I didn’t care much for the look of it. Still staring into my eyes, she moved her thumb across the face of the small control unit in her hand. My eyes widened in comically shocked surprise.

I had evidently overlooked something, something important, in my just-completed inventory.

“GGGGRRRNNNNGGGHHHNNnnnnn...” I offered.

There was something inside of me. Buzzing so faintly that I might almost have missed it still, had my body not been in such a heightened state of sensitivity owing to my rather vigorous use of it over the past fifteen or so hours. I squirmed in my restraints, like a young girl who has to pee very badly. I rolled my eyes, and stared beseechingly at the blonde. In response to my mute plea, she smiled more sweetly still, and pressed another button on the remote.

“NNNNGGGHHNNNHH!!”

Two holes, no waiting, I reflected idiotically.

Her eyes blazed with blue fire now as she turned a small dial on the handheld device. My body jerked in its restraints, twitching, quivering. I grunted in pain as the warm tickling hum between my legs and in my bottom turned into a dark, throbbing ache throughout my entire lower body.

“Cerise!”

The blonde’s head jerked around, and my frantic eyes followed hers toward the doorway where Dr Beatrix Ashwood Mackay stood, arms akimbo, eyes taking in the scene with a single stormy glance.

“Turn it off!” she snapped, striding determinedly toward our chummy little ensemble. The blonde complied immediately, sliding her fingers across the device’s face. The mailed fist clenching my genitals and anus relaxed into a soothing velvet-gloved hum again. I slumped visibly against my bonds, panting through my open mouth, fresh saliva yo-yo-ing down my chest. I never wanted to find out what that harmless-looking little box was capable of doing.

Dr Mackay snatched the small transmitter from the girl’s hand, and jammed it angrily into the pocket of her ice-blue linen jacket as the blonde snapped rigidly to attention. Mackay’s eyes crackled with fury as they swept over the girl, whose face was once again as unfathomable as a rosy piece of Italian marble.

“Get to your billet; you’re confined to quarters! And on your way, put yourself on report. Tell Persephone that I’ll personally supervise your punishment tour. Now!” With a curt jerk of her head, she dismissed the blonde girl, who pivoted on her booted heel and strode from of the room as stoically as a Spartan warrior. Mackay followed her with her snapping green eyes until she disappeared through the doorway, then turned her attention back to me.

We considered each other in silence for several moments; she by choice, I out of necessity. My eyes moved from her strikingly handsome, pale face down to the bandages swathing her slender throat. I blinked rapidly, taking in the damage that I had inflicted on this elegant, sophisticated psychopath.

“Remove her gag.”

The small, compactly constructed brunette stepped forward, and turned an adjusting key at the side of my mouth, slipping the wire cage contraption out of my aching jaws. I exhaled explosively, then sucked air, and drool back into my burning lungs and trembling mouth.

“Feeling better?” she inquired.

“Compared to what?” I croaked, running my sandpapery tongue over my dry, split lips. Dr.Mackay favored me with a wintry smile.

“Last night was entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have taken such liberties with you so quickly, Van. I’m afraid I let my personal interest in you temporarily overcome my adherence to protocols.” She swept her eyes clinically over me now, taking in my swollen shut eye, sweeping down over my tighly restrained body, assessing the damage done by her minions the night before.

“Not too bad,” she murmured, more to herself than to either me or my new playmate. “Nothing that should interfere with the next stages of your indoctrination.” Her eyes returned to mine once again.

“That’s a big relief to me, I can tell you,” I drawled, my voice dripping with sarcasm, lest she miss the point. Mackay smiled more warmly.

“Oh, you’ll be thanking me before the month is out, I can almost assure you of that, Van. The first few days are always the most difficult for our new ‘initiates’. But before you realize it, you will scarcely remember that you ever had any other existence, could ever have had any other existence.

“Yes, I can see that,” I said, cutting my good eye toward the zombie-like creature beside her. “I imagine this one would sing your organization’s praises to the sky...if she could speak, that is.”

Beatrix Mackay laughed delightedly. “Oh, but Aiysha is quite free to speak, Van. In fact, she is free to do whatever she pleases—including leave, if she so desires. But I can assure you, she is most fulfilled in her life here. She has tapped into her own power, her own sense of herself completely. She lives now only to fulfill that promise, to turn her potentiality into reality. But here, let me show you...”

“Aiysha, darling...show our guest what I mean, please.”

The small, dark-haired woman’s face remained utterly without expression as she hooked her thumbs into the armholes of her black leotard and peeled it off, giving no more thought to it than I would have given to stripping for the shower in the privacy of my own bath. She stood impassively, nude, weight shifted slightly to one leg, arms hanging relaxed at her sides, displaying her slender, magnificently muscled yet wonderfully lithe body with as little self-conciousness as any other beautiful, wild animal. Her small, perfectly formed breasts were tipped with quarter-sized deep-brown aureoles, and her nipples were erect, and pierced by slim golden rings. My eyes traveled down her body, across the fine golden down below her navel, to the closely cropped brown fuzz on her mons, and lower...

“Dear God,” I gasped audibly.

The girl’s ‘fundamental orifice’, as my dear Auntie had been wont to call a woman’s external sexual organs, was a festively glittering, disorientingly nightmarish horror. Her pale pink inner lips protruded just slightly from the fatty folds of her labia major. They were studded with small golden rings piercing them at intervals along the entire length of her vulva, effectively sealing it off from any possible act of external penetration. Another shimmering golden ring pierced the hood of her clitoris, holding it captive as well. A fine golden chain was woven between all of these tiny closures, and a small silver padlock was affixed to its end, dangling against her body at the precise confluence of her thighs and her sex.

“You can’t be serious,” I blurted, without thinking. Of course, she was. Deadly serious

“Aiysha is one of our ‘Shock Troops,’ Van. You see, no matter how we might wish that we could accomplish all of our aims peacefully, with completely amicable and mutually satisfactory accords being reached with all parties on every issue, the world is unfortunately a much less accommodating place than we sometimes could wish it to be. And as with any conflict resolution process that deteriorates into a more primitive form of disagreement, there are frequently violent short-term consequences. People die. Soldiers are taken prisoner, and interrogated, to gain advantage. Often the mandates of the Genevea Convention are disregarded, if indeed they are even recognized at all by some of the ‘enemies’ that we confront.

“Our women are all unique individuals. But their unusual ‘conditioning’ makes them dangerously susceptible to being manipulated, and re-programmed, then turned back against us by our opponents. In order to minimize any damage that such a ‘re-programming’ might cause, we take certain precautions with those who are at greatest risk, and the women in the vanguard of any physical confrontation with an enemy. This,” she reached down between the girl’s thighs, taking the cunning padlock and chain gently into her palm, “is an added precaution against any such eventuality.

“If Aiysha were to be captured, and interrogated by an enemy, an enemy who wished access to her sex, either because of prior knowledge of our conditioning methods, or out of the simple exigencies required by some of the cruder forms of physical torture, several things would happen in rapid succession.”

Dr. Mackay took from her pocket a small set of the golden rings, already padlocked and threaded with fine chain, and identical to the ones the young shock trooper wore on her body. “When this padlock is opened, or the chain severed, a tiny electronic circuit is broken. This circuit controls a micro transmitter implanted in the vagina. When the circuit is broken, the transmitter emits a single pulse that ruptures the implant, releasing a lethal dose of curare into her vagina. The mucous membrane there, with its rich blood supply, is of course an ideal medium for the introduction of any CNS toxin. Death is virtually instantaneous. It has the added attraction of lingering in the sexual organs for a long enough period of time to effectively dispose of anyone who may decide to imprudently insert an indiscreet member into her vagina for the next several minutes...a not uncommon occurance with some of the animals we deal with. Many of them would as soon copulate with a dead woman as a living one; some even prefer it.”

“Too, these serve another function as well,” she continued, returning the lock and chain set to her pocket, and taking Aiysha’s own back in her hand again, bouncing the tiny lock gently on her palm. “We have found that once a woman is put completely in touch with her sexual power, and learns to tap into it, and control it, that denial can be used with quite startling results as well. Indeed, a woman who has become comfortable with, and accustomed to tapping into this sexual power can, through denial of that access, be made every bit as aggressively violent as any male.” She smiled again, letting the lock and chain slip from her hand, and running a nail provocatively along the girl’s sutured seam, creating a faintly musical chiming sound as she dragged it along the golden circlets.

“A not insignificant side effect under certain circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?” She smiled at me again; I was reminded of cats, and canaries.

The girl lifted her eyes proudly to mine, raising her chin high, obviously pleased to be touched in this intimate manner in front of me, to be singled out like this by ‘Dr. Bea’.

A dim, cartoonish lightbulb flickered fitfully to life in my fevered brain. Dr. Beatrix Mackay talked a good feminist game, but what she really was about was control—straightforward, brutal, absolute control. Shifting the locus of inspiration for the individual, as it were; literally standing nature ‘on its head’. Reversing the individual’s command center from the logic and reason of the mind, to the impulse and passion of the body...and then putting those impulses, and passions under HER complete control. Making absolute, utter slaves of her disciples, automatons that would obey her every command unhesitatingly, even if it meant their destruction.

But these were very intelligent, cunning, and deadly automatons. If a man had attempted this with any of these women, they would doubtless have left him gutted on a bedroom floor...but Beatrix Mackay had done it, and by doing so had become their Goddess.

Oh, yes, I was beginning to see the light here, alright. I only hoped that it didn’t belong to an oncoming train about to flatten me, as well.

“Ahhh, so your ‘Brave New Feminist World’ is not a democracy, then,” I sneered. “No outmoded concepts of ‘free will’, and ‘self-determination’ to muddy up the waters for you, eh, Doctor? Just take your marching orders, and fuck—or die.”

Mackay made a curt motion with her hand, and the girl slipped silently back into her leotard.

“All this is of no concern to you, though, Van,” she continued coldly, running a finger absently along the edge of the gauze bandage encircling her throat.

“I have other plans for you.”

A single, flawless Marquis-cut diamond of perhaps eight carats lay against the woman’s flushed, gleaming skin, depended from a slender silver post piercing the thin membrane of flesh just above her navel. It jittered and flashed, shooting lances of spectral colors randomly across the darkened walls of the room with the irregular rise and fall of her abdomen, her breathing harsh, and labored.

She was in every other respect entirely naked.

The angry-looking shiny red slash of a freshly inflicted burn diagonally traversed her otherwise perfectly trimmed and shaped patch of dark-blonde pubic hair. Its twin formed a cruel apostrophe across her left aureole. The sickly sweet aroma of freshly cooked flesh, and burnt hair permeated the air around the small room’s three occupants.

The nude woman inhaled shudderingly as the man snapped a capsule beneath her nose. The stench of ammonia mingled suddenly with the odd barbecue smells, and the sharp tang of sweat, and urine, and human fear, creating a mélange of scents as old as sin, and almost indescribable in its horror.

The man struck the woman in the face—once, twice—very quickly, and very hard, with an open hand. Her short platinum hair flew first this way, then the other as her head recoiled with each blow. A mist of fine droplets of moisture filled the air about her, forming a soft, foggy nimbus that framed and blurred her pale, bruised face for an instant.

She looked up lethargically into the man’s dark, brutal face, her bruised-looking eyes filled with contempt.

“Had I known that your mother had lain with a camel, Mustapha Abu, I would have been more delicate in my references to that wronged beast,” she whispered, in perfect, unaccented Farsi.

The musical notes of a woman’s laughter floated toward them from the shadows, arresting the big man’s arm in mid-course as he prepared to strike again. The helpless woman bound hand and foot to the small rattan cane chair turned her eyes listlessly in the general direction of the sound, as did the one she had called Mustapha Abu.

“She seems to know your family quite intimately, my friend,” the woman said, her voice still embroidered with a soft laugh. “But we are, unfortunately, still very much at a disadvantage in regard to your own, Ms.Analieou. A situation that I intend to rectify, if it takes the rest of the night.”

“The iron again, I think, Mustapha...”

Dr Beatrix Mackay disgustedly spun the handheld SatLink communicating device across the wide expanse of polished teak, then began drumming her nails on the mirror-like surface of her desktop in frustration.

Four days...twice the time allowed before a ‘red’ alert should have been narrowcast to the other networks... she slammed the palm of her hand down on the folder on the desk before her. The sound made her jump.

Got to get a little better grip on my nerves, she thought grimly.

Brie was gone...no question about it. The only question left to answer now was how badly her network had been compromised, and how messy the damage control would become. The soft warble of her interoffice communicator cut through her black thoughts.

“Doctor Mackay? Persephone.”

“Yes, ‘Seph,” Beatrix Mackay said, somewhat impatiently.

“All ready to proceed, Doctor.”

“Fine,” Dr. Mackay replied tersely. “Go ahead and begin. I’ll be down directly. I have a few things to wrap up first. I should only be a few minutes.”

A long pause.

“Are you calling the code, Doctor Mackay?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Analieou, Doctor Mackay...Brie.”

“Not yet, ‘Seph,” Beatrix Mackay answered testily, her voice edged with anger again, a faint note of panic beginning to creep into it as well. “She may still be alright, it may be nothing. She may very well still be alive...”

The hint of hysteria in Dr Mackay’s voice did not go unnoticed by her chief lieutenant. She didn’t like it very much. “If she’s still alive, Doctor Mackay, then she’s been turned. You know it as well as I do. There’d be no other reason not to kill her. It’s what I’d do. It’s what she’d do, if she were in your position.”

“That’s enough, Persephone,” Mackay snapped. “Just have everything ready when I get down there. I’ll take care of the Analieou situation.” She banged at a button on the console, breaking the connection.

Dr Beatrix Mackay sat motionless for several minutes longer, staring into space, her eyes tinged with sadness, and some deeper, more primitive emotion, a more personal interior horror. At last she reluctantly reached out for the phone again, and pressed a button on it, then another, marked ‘Secure’.

“Erica, it’s Bea. Get in touch with ME operations at once, please. Tell them to go ‘red’ in the Middle Eastern nets...yes, that’s right...I said ‘red’...Yes, all of them. And Brie Analieou is to be terminated on sight...

“With extreme prejudice...”

Four.

The answer is FOUR...

The current pulsed softly, seductively through my body, like the familiar caress of an old and trusted lover. One who would never betray me, my love, my trust, my secret hopes, and dreams...

I blinked rapidly as the numbers flashed across the screen again in front of me; black-on-white, like those numbers you used to see on the leader of the grainy eight-millimeter movies that your grandparents had.

“Two...”

I blinked again, furiously, trying to clear the stinging sweat from my good eye. My body was rigid with concentration, and fear.

“Plus two...”

My muscles tensed involuntarily, contracting rigidly in anticipation. I began banging my forehead softly against the padded metal bar in front of my face in frustration, and rage, a sob burbling up in my chest.

“F...”

“Fuh...fuh...”

I nearly screamed out the response.

“Four, godDAMNIT!! Four!!! FOUR!!! Two and two are FOUR!!!!”

There was a nearly inaudible pop on the voice-activated mic strapped around my throat. I felt the fine, invisible hairs on my body stand on end, moving gently, like a Kansas wheatfield before the first rough kiss of the tornado’s oncoming winds. I bit down fiercely on the hard rubber dowel centimeters from my whimpering, slobbering mouth, and waited. But not for long.

My body became electric.

I have heard it said, often, that one does not remember pain; that the body has no recollection of trauma inflicted upon it. I have never held any brief on the subject myself, one way or the other. Aside from the birth of my two children, my life has been relatively free of anything that could even remotely be considered physical trauma. And by the time that I gave birth to my second child, enough years had intervened to dull that memory. That, and the spinal block I was given when my daughter was born had eradicated any chance I might have otherwise had to test this particular hypothesis.

But I had an opinion now.

Oh, yes, I did.

Smoke rose from the contact pads beneath my palms, and knees, sending tiny curling plumes of acrid, ozone-laced smoke into my eyes, and nostrils. That’s me, I thought in a kind of dazed wonderment. That’s ME that I smell cooking...

I didn’t have long to consider the ramifications of this, however. The circuit having been completed by my body’s acting as a fuse, my attention was now drawn quite forcefully to the monstrous steel pitchfork as it began violating me again, slamming into me with the force of a small punch press. The longer of its twin appurtenances banged repeatedly against my bruised cervix, while the fatter one widened the accommodations in my posterior aperture, one which I had heretofore no experience of in any other than an eliminatory capacity. Punishing electrical shocks wracked my body, as current danced like St Elmo’s fire along the lengths of the steel shafts buried within me.

I was learning.

My body was learning, as well.

The twin horrors pistoned at me with the speed of a berserk assembly line robot, plunging into me again and again, nearly breaking my teeth as I clamped down on the black rubber bit between them. Huge bruises were forming already on my buttocks where the plate on which the shafts were mounted slammed into my tender gluteals. It was the only things that kept those horrible shafts from splitting me in two. I had no trouble screaming now. None at all.

Then as suddenly as the storm had begun, it ceased. I sagged in relief, held up on my hands and knees only by the metal brace beneath my chin, and another at my waist. I was cinched to this last by a leather belt wrapped tightly round my middle, so that the movements of my hips were severely limited, depriving me of any possible way to evade, or somehow accommodate my steel ravagers as they violated my body. Other straps held my knees, and my palms firmly in place on the metal contact plates beneath them.

I was wheezing like a hard-run brood mare, sweat coursing off my body in rivers, puddling in little pools beneath me, except where it fell on the hot contact plates, to be vaporized instantly, sending little wisps of steam redolent of my own stink up around me. I was astonished at the amount of fluids still left in my body, and cursed them—the moisture simply improved the connection, ensuring that I got the maximum effect from the current when it was applied. I thought of Beatrix Mackay’s throat between my teeth, and bit savagely into the rubber dowel again.

“Five...Five...Five...”

My skin prickled into goose bumps as the seductive, honeyed, asexual tones began to drip again from the speakers all around me in the darkness, a voice that could have belonged to the love child of Tori Amos and Billy Idol. Soft, sensuous, but with a low, gravelly, menacing and yet completely provocative undercurrent to it...a totally androgynous voice, and totally, disorientingly arousing. The single, erotically charged syllable made my pussy begin to tingle almost at once, my clitoris pulsing on the beats between each iteration of that nasty, filthy-hot word...

“Five...Five...Five...”

I saw rank upon rank of eager, carmine-lipped female mouths as they popped that initial consonant, blinding white teeth lightly touching full lower lips, petulant upper lips curling back in challenging, come-rape-me snarls. The steel appliances dipped back into my dripping holes again, but slowly this time, so lazily, tantalizingly slowly...

“Five...Five...Five...”

Now those greedy mouths opened invitingly, insatiably, voraciously; pink tongues drawing back slightly into even pinker mouths; enticing, begging me to accept the love that they so desperately sought to bestow upon me; flesh against wet flesh, grappling in the hot slippery depths of my lost, damned soul...mouths like cunts, my endlessly needy cunt, my dirty, hungry bunghole...friendly, gentle pulses of current danced now along the length of the chromed steel shafts ensconced cozily inside of me, making my slippery membranes ripple, and spasm softly, dancing to their twisted tune...

“Five... Five...Five...”

Now those ripe, greedy lips close again, shark’s teeth kissing swollen lower lips, bleeding now, threatening a sinister conclusion to any fulfillment, the soft sweet mouth that bites as well as kisses, and hurts as well as heals...salt tears mingling with the bitter-sweet savor of even saltier warm blood, lips wrapping ‘round warm, swollen clitorises, drawing them into hot mouths, tongues swirling, painting the throbbing lovebuttons with the vermilion of blood, and lipstick; salt, and love, eliciting their own sweet screams of passion, and denial, and despair...my nasty body clutches hungrily at the shafts now, on its own, lures them on, deeper still into my hell..the hot, wet hell of my aching holes...

“Five... Five...Five...”

My body began to shudder uncontrollably, my gluteals and pc contracting chaotically, alternately clenching, and releasing, clenching, and releasing, in a perfect frenzy of syncopation to my chattering teeth, my twitching clit. The long muscles of my thighs began to dance and quiver, and my skin blistered in goose flesh, I was freezing. I was burning up. I was drowning I was on fire so goddamned desperately hopelessly hornyhot that I imagined I could see my bloated pussy lips reaching out for their steel lover, see them wrapping around it with an almost audible sucking sound, see my torn sphincter mewling about abandonments, and lecherous reconciliations as it acts the part of the not-quite-so-innocent bystander to these obscene proceedings...

“Five... Five...Five...”

I began to climax. Not slowly, or laboriously; not with great forethought, or foreplay; not with intent, or premeditation...but just come, cum, to cum verb transitive, cum...I had always been so prissy, never catch ol’ VAN saying ‘cum’, how crude, how utterly lower class, uneducated trailer trash cum, cummm, cummmmm cummmmmm ...hummm ...hummmmmmmmnnn...lips dripping, hips whipping, clit throbbing head bobbing cumcumcumcumcum....

“..........”

The voice stopped, and love fled my world, a void I quickly filled with my wails of abandonment. I sobbed like a child. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and splashed in fat drops on my sweaty tits, on my burned hands, on the floor, like the rain in Spain goddamn that arid plain please please please god no more pain no more pain...no more pain...

“Two...”

I relaxed my deathgrip on the rubber dowel between my teeth, and opened my drooling mouth, sucking air deeply into my hitching, searing lungs...

“Plus two...”

My screaming would have put Faye Wray to shame...

“How long has she been on, ‘Seph?”

“A little over an hour is all...You were right, she’s a very promising subject, I must admit. I’ve not been so entertained in a good long time...”

“She’s not here for your entertainment, Persephone,” the first voice said coldly.

I felt fingers on the side of my face, prying my right eye open more widely. A pencil beam of light was shone into it; I tried to blink, and close it, but the fingers held it open. Other hands wrapped something slick and cool around my right bicep, tightly—blood pressure cuff, I thought numbly. Still being able to make such fine distinctions was a point of some pride to me just at the moment.

Something cold, and hard, but considerably more petite than my new boyfriend was slipped into my rectum; probably a thermometer, I guessed, judging from the other routine physical information that they seemed to be gathering. I exhaled forcefully through my nose, my teeth still clamped tightly on the rubber dowel.

“How are you feeling, Van darling?”

I rolled my good eye toward the sound of my demon’s voice, biting harder into the thick rubber bit. I said nothing.

Another hand moved into my field of vision, gently prising my jaws open, and swinging the dowel from range. Saliva trailed from my mouth in slender ropes, one still hooked onto the retreating black rubber bit. I panted softly, staring up at Beatrix Mackay, still saying nothing.

“Persephone here tells me that you are quite a quick study, Van. I had hoped that that might turn out to be the case, as time is rather of the essence for me just at the moment.”

She reached out a hand, and brushed my dripping hair back from my damp forehead. I shuddered at that cool, reptilian touch again, a touch that I had quickly come to associate with pain, and degradation, and self-loathing.

She moved her hand down to my shoulder, and over my back, down to my buttocks, insinuating her fingers into my crack. She found the end of the rectal thermometer and, after giving it an entirely unneccessary little twirl in my throbbing anus, slid it slowly out of me. I jerked as if I’d stuck my finger in a light socket.

She held the slender mercury-filled glass tube up to the light, a puzzled expression on her face. “Ninety-seven point nine, ‘Seph,” she said, shaking the thermometer down again, and sliding it back into a jar of alcohol. She turned to me with a pensive look.

“Are you about to begin ovulating, Van?”

I curled my lip back in a sneer. “Why? Wanna have my love child, Bea?” I cringed as a strong hand closed over my battered sex, pinching my swollen outer lips together painfully.

“Answer Doctor’s questions with a minimum of smart-ass, if you would, please,” I heard the woman called Persephone say. I clenched my pc, and snorted through my nose again.

“I don’t normally let someone touch me like that until the third date, dear.”

The woman squeezed harder, eliciting a little cry from me. “Your friend ‘Hercule’ here comes in other sizes, and flavors, little girl,” she hissed. “Would you like to try some of them now?".

“N...no, that’s alright...I’m f-fine here...,” I gasped.

“Well?” Beatrix Mackay waited patiently.

“If you’re asking me if am I about to start my period, the answer is ‘no’. I always run a little cool. Especially after I’ve been tortured for eighteen hours.” My voice dripped with sarcasm and, I hoped, the contempt I held her in.

Beatrix Mackay just nodded, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “Yes, well, that’s very promising as well...we’ll have to look into that in greater depth later. But just for now, I think it’s time for you and I to have another little talk. Shall we?”

She gestured at the woman behind me, and hands went to the belt around my waist, and the cuffs holding my hands and knees on the contact plates. Mackay herself loosened the straps holding my head in place in the metal frame. An arm was slipped beneath my abdomen, and I was slowly helped to my trembling legs. The woman called Persephone tossed a thick terry towel in my direction, and I caught it, swabbing my chest and belly with it, dabbing at my still dripping private parts as well. I cringed as I toweled off; Dr Mackay took my right wrist, and turned it palm up, examining the reddened burns on it.

“Not too bad,” she murmured again, opening a small jar and slathering a dollop of its contents over my palms, then kneeling and applying more to my knees. I closed my eyes, sighing with relief as I felt the cooling unguent being absorbed by my skin already. I wrapped the towel around myself, and followed the tug of Dr Mackay’s hand toward a small table and two chairs. As I neared the comfortable looking chair, Persephone reached out and adroitly plucked the towel off of me. I fell into the chair, my mouth hanging open in astonishment.

“Girls in training are to be nude at all times,” she said tersely.

“Saves on the laundry bill too, I imagine,” I said, glaring after her retreating back. We were not going to be best friends, I could tell already.

Dr. Mackay took the chair opposite me, folding her hands demurely in her lap.

“I imagine you have a million questions you’d like answered just about now, Van,” she said, looking at me carefully. “But I would ask you to please be patient, and bear with me for just a bit longer. All your questions, and more, will be answered soon, and to your complete satisfaction, I hope.”

“But first, Van,” she smiled beatifically at me.

“Two plus two...”

“Five,” I blurted out, with no hesitation whatsoever. Immediately

Unthinkingly.

Doctor Mackay positively beamed at me.

My pussy give a little spurt, and I felt my traitorous juices leaking out onto the cool leather of the chair. Dr Mackay leaned forward, brushing a fingertip lightly along my puffy cleft, capturing the glistening little drop of excitement that had escaped from my inner labia. She rubbed it thoughtfully between her thumb and finger, her eyes never leaving mine. She raised her finger deliberately to her nose, inhaling delicately.

“You have so much promise, Van.” Her green eyes darkened slightly, taking on a look of almost ineffable sadness now. She sighed, and returned her hand to her lap.

“But there is so damnably little time, as I said. Normally, you would be kept in domestic facilities, here, and brought along at a pace that would allow you to maximize your potential, become completely attuned with your body, and your powers. But there is not time for that now, unfortunately.”

“What are you talking about, Dr Mackay? And why on earth have you kidnapped me, and tortured me like this? Look, if you’ll just get me my clothes, or something to wear, I’ll be out of here in a flash, and we can both forget all about this, forget any of it ever happened. I have no idea who you are, or what you want, but believe me, you’ve got the wrong wo...”

Mackay held a restraining hand up, palm toward me.

“Too late for that, I’m afraid, Van. And as for a mistake, no, I’ve made no mistake with you. We’ve been watching you for quite some time, you know. Ever since you made young Jolie’s acquaintance nearly two years ago. I had hoped to bring you along gradually, and willingly into our organization.

“Unhappily, events have moved beyond that now.”

“I don’t understand...”

Mackay studied me intently in silence for a moment. Finally she spoke.

“I have lost something, Van. Something very valuable, and very important to me, to the organization, to the very future of our movement, if I might be permitted a small bit of hyperbole. A member of WISDOM who has been functioning for quite some time as an agent for the the disruption and eventual destruction of several major drug smuggling networks operated by various terrorism-sponsoring states.

“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand ...what does any of that have to do with me?”

“It is not that common to find a woman who speaks French, Italian, Greek, Arabic, Farsi and Amharic, wears a Versace as if it were made for her, and can converse intelligently about pre-Persian Mesopotamian antiquities while she plans the interdiction of multi-million dollar shipments of heroin from the Shinwar Valley via Istanbul.

“Brie Analeiou is such a woman. ”

“I have lost a very valuable asset. You are going to locate that asset for me, and extract it.

“If that is not possible, you are going to liquidate it for me.”

I gaped at her as if she had two heads, and I was only just for the first time noticing it.

“You’re mad,” I laughed, when I had recovered from my initial shock. “What in the world would ever lead you to think that I could possibly pull off... would even remotely consider...I just... I mean... why ME?”

“You minored in Arabic languages at university, and speak French, Italian and Spanish fluently. You ran your own business at the tender age of twenty-one, mixing, and holding your own with the the literary heavyweights and cognoscenti of New York city for the better part of two years. For the last seven years, because of your husband’s business dealings, you’ve been hostessing fancy dress do’s and rubbing elbows with some of the most high-powered financial movers and shakers in the world. You’re as at home at a formal dress reception for Prince Turki al Faisal—who I understand you have met, incidentally, several times—as you are at a social mixer for the faculty of a university, or chairing a women’s community outreach meeting. You’re intelligent and you’re savvy, with looks and style. Those are things that one is born with, and that simply can’t be taught.

“And you possess one other unique quality for us at the moment...You’re completely expendable.”

Beatrix Mackay flashed that cool, infuriating smile at me again

“As I said, your indoctination into our little fold would have been handled in a much different fashion had we the time. Now, I need you in Alexandria. And I need you there by the end of the month. So I will be sending you to the Mediterranean, this very evening, to complete your training. To an island we own there. A quite private, very special island, Van.”

I stared dumbfounded at Beatrix Mackay, momentarily deprived of the power of speech again. Finally I recovered the use of my legs, and my tongue, if not my wits. I leaped from my chair.

“If you think I’m sticking around here to listen to anymore of this paranoid delusional fantasy of yours, Doctor Mackay, you’re even crazier than you appear to be! I, however, am not, and am getting the hell out of this looney tunes laughing academy cum whorehouse, clothes or not! Now if you’ll just excuse me please...”

I began to turn away from her, wondering which of the panels on the brushed steel walls might be the exit, when Dr Beatrix Mackay clapped her hands once, then folded them in her lap again. I heard footsteps approaching me from behind. I sensed Persephone behind me again, and others. Before I could whirl on them, gloved hands closed on my biceps, and another gripped me by the neck like a vise. Persephone, I had no doubt. I felt the sharp sting of another needle stick in my right buttock, and sagged almost immediately in their grasp.

“Take our guest to the helipad waiting area, and get her ready for travel...at once. Oh, and have Erica get her young friend ready as well. She might as well have someone she knows around to keep her company, if she becomes too homesick...” She jerked her head in the general direction of the door, indicating that our little téte a téte was at an end. I turned on her, snarling, my eyes already unfocused from the drug.

“There’s a rubber suite at the local HoJo’s for the Criminally Deranged with your name on it, you know that don’t you Dr. Mackay?” I slurred, my tongue and lips already going

numb.

She smiled frostily at me. “Just learn your lessons, dear. Quickly.”

“You’re going to need them...”