The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sea Foam

Chapters One through Four

Categories: mc, ff, fd, ft, gr, in, mf

Description: Amelia is transformed and changes the lives of those around her.

* * *

Prologue

It had been drifting through space for eons.

How long was an eon, and how many had there been? It did not know. It had no curiosity about such things. Anything not directly connected with its Purpose was ignored or forgotten. It couldn’t even begin to estimate the time, anyway. It didn’t even track the stars it visited for longer than a billion years or so—a lot can change in a billion years, after all, and they might be worth visiting again. It didn’t track its speed or how long it took to get from star to star. None of that was relevant to its Purpose, so none of it was even noticed.

And yet, it had been very long. The vast pinwheel of the galaxy had spun dozens of times. Stars had been born, grown old, and died. Planets that had harbored life had been burned to cinders as their stars expanded into red giant dotage and then frozen as the star collapsed into white dwarf senility. And it still drifted on.

Had it been created by some ancient, long-forgotten race? Had it been brought into existence by some vagaries of chance? Perhaps it had been born in the fires of the Big Bang itself. It could not remember, it had no desire to remember, and there were no others left that could say.

It had some control over its motion. It could nudge itself in the direction of a promising star or away once the promise faded. It could not hope, and so could not be disappointed when hope was dashed. It could simply examine, evaluate, and move on until it found what it was looking for, until it could fulfil its Purpose.

And so it was that it came across one particular, average yellow star in a quiet corner of the Milky Way. From parsecs away it could tell that there were three planets that were possible candidates. By the time it reached the Oort cloud, it could tell that the innermost was too hot and dry and the outermost too cold and dry. The middle one, though—the middle one had liquid water and an atmosphere rife with oxygen, and free oxygen meant life.

It did not count the planets, asteroids, and moons it passed as it plunged inward; it merely used their gravity to help it steer. Only one planet held its interest. Long before that planet’s large satellite was passed, it was clear that among the its many forms of life, there was one that counted as intelligent and had developed a rudementary civilization. This was the most likely candidate it had seen for a long, unfathomable time. Before it reached the point of no return, it could tell that isoprene polymers were available and used by the planet’s inhabitants. That was the most promising point of all. It slowed itself just enough that friction could take over and send it flaming to the surface, and as its casing ablated away, it selected a host.

* * *

Chapter One: Amelia

Amelia Bronson looked at herself in her bathroom mirror and pouted. She didn’t like what she saw. She never did.

She ran through the catalog, although she knew it well. Drab, lifeless hair. Acne scars. A nose that had broken and not healed properly. Thin lips, small boobs, no hips, no butt, and a small but distinct pot belly waiting for the matching love handles that were on their way. At least her ears were OK. Maybe she could find someone with an ear fetish.

Amelia took a gulp of the wine she brought with her into the bathroom. She wanted to get good and pissed, and wine was all she had.

That was her problem, she thought. She was too pathetic even to buy vodka or go to a bar when she wanted to get drunk, nor did she have any idea where she could get pot or something else to get high on. Unless she wanted to smoke catnip or sniff masking tape, she was stuck with wine. She took another gulp and had to steady herself as her stomach rebelled.

‘I should place an add in the personals,’ she told herself. ‘Single, white doormat seeks man to walk all over her.’ It would be better than being alone.

She ran fingers through her hair. Mousy, mousy, mousy. That’s what she was. She was timid as a dormouse, quiet as a church mouse, had mousy hair, mousy skin, and mousy looks. She raised her hands like little paws, stuck out her front teeth, wiggled her nose and made a few experimental squeaks.

‘God, I’m pathetic,’ she thought. ‘I can’t even do a decent mouse. So much for investing in cheese futures.’ She took another gulp of wine, winced as it threatened to come back up, then staggered back into the living room-—well, living room, bedroom, only room of her cheap studio apartment. She made liberal use of the wall and furniture to keep herself upright.

The room was spinning a little. She grabbed a handful of peanuts to give her stomach something to work on, then poured more wine into her glass. Most of it went in. She took a swig directly from the bottle. Most of that went in, too.

Amelia had left her DVD player running, and Cary Grant was waiting for Deborah Kerr on top of the Empire State Building. Fuck Cary Grant. Fuck Deborah Kerr, too, and fuck the fucking Empire State fucking Building.

She collapsed onto her sofa, hide-a-bed neatly tucked away. It complained but stayed firm. She held her wine glass in her left hand and with her right picked up the paper that had started the binge. “Fuck you, cousin Becky,” she said to the invitation. “Fuck you and fuck your fiance with his perfect fucking hair and fuck your wedding and fuck everything!” Her voice rose to a scream and she threw the wineglass across the room. It shattered against the wall. She fell forward onto her knees, sobbing..

It wasn’t fair, she told herself. It just wasn’t fair. No man wanted to touch her, not even her asshole of a boss who did his best to get into every woman’s pants but hers and who was very vocal about why. She probably couldn’t even sell herself. She’d dated a bit, but it was usually disastrous. She’d tried masturbating, but it had never worked. She wasn’t sure what an orgasm was, but she was pretty sure she’d never had one. It went without saying that she was a virgin.

“What’s the use?” she said. “What’s the fucking use?”

She tried to stand up to get more wine, but she only managed to make herself double over and throw up. She felt awful. She tried again. She knocked over the wine bottle, overturned the peanut bowl, and otherwise made no progress. She lay with her head on the couch, breathing heavily. The room was really spinning now.

That’s when it happened. The room stopped spinning and the world stood still. There was a sudden warmth in her heart and it spread in waves through her chest and body with every heartbeat. She knew that drinking too much did not do this, and she knew she should be worried or curious or scared—but she wasn’t. It was as if this was as normal and everyday as breathing.

She was very aware of her body as the feeling spread. Her stomach settled. Her headache cleared. She could feel air going in and out of her lungs. She could feel her heart beat and the blood rush through her body. There was her stomach, there was her liver. There were some other things down there she couldn’t name, but she could feel them working away, and she knew what they were for. She could feel almost feel her fingernails growing and every strand of hair as it stretched and woke up.

She could hear the clock tick by the refrigerator. She could hear the cockroaches scramble in the walls. She could hear the other tenants in her building as they ate or did housework or bathed or made love. She could hear the cars drive by, the wind blow, and the birds sing. She could hear their wings as they flapped.

She could feel the electricity as it surged in up and down the power lines. She could hear cell phone calls as they flashed through the air—every word clean and clear. She heard all the songs her radio could play and watched all the channels her TV could show.

She felt no surprise. It was all as it should be. She was as she should be for now. It didn’t matter that she had already ceased to be what she had been. That was fine. And it didn’t matter that she wasn’t what she would finally become, either. The rest would come later.

Her awareness stopped expanding, hesitated, and closed back in on Amelia herself. She was calm and comfortable. This was as it should be. Everything was going to be all right. How did she know that? She couldn’t possibly know that—but she did. Everything was going to be all right. She just had to sleep. Get some rest, get some sleep. It would all be taken care of, everything would be taken care of, and and when she woke up she would be ready to begin.

Everything was getting fuzzy again, but a nice kind of fuzzy—the fuzzy of hot chocolate and warm blankets on a snowy evening, the fuzzy of holding a favorite toy while getting tucked in at night, the fuzzy of suckling on a mother’s nipple as she sings a lullaby, the fuzzy of the womb.

Amelia crawled up onto the couch and leaned a cushion against the arm as a pillow. Everything was going to be all right. She was coming along nicely. She smiled, curled up a little, and promptly fell asleep..

* * *

The eastern sky was beginning to turn light when she awoke. It was the most beautiful thing Amelia had ever seen.

She stood up and wiped some cold vomit from her arm. She had all the time in the world and none of it to waste. First things first, and the first thing would be cleaning up, starting with herself.

Never had a shower felt so nice. Best of all, there was a pleasant buzzing sensation between her legs. She knew it for what it was and let her fingers linger as she washed herself down there. Her nipples were nice and hard and sensitive, and she could feel her clit rise to attention. She smiled and hummed as the sensations built, but she stopped herself before it was too late. She felt no desire to bring herself to a climax. It wasn’t time yet.

There was surprisingly little to clean up—she was generally a very neat person and the only real mess was what she had made while she was drunk the night before. The spilled peanuts were easy, and the broken wineglass wasn’t much harder. She got out some rubber gloves and cleaner and did the best she could with the vomit and wine. It was red wine, too, so it was leaving quite a stain. She giggled as she thought that she would never get her cleaning deposit back now.

She didn’t have much of a wardrobe, but it would serve for now. Her clothes from the night before went into the laundry bag. She got on comfortable jeans and a baggy t-shirt. “Room to grow,” she said to herself. It never even occurred to her to take off the yellow gloves she’d been using as she cleaned up. Why would it?

Spare clothes and toiletries went into a bag. Underwear seemed an unnecessary inconvenience and so was left behind. Ditto socks. It was impossible to avoid wearing cloth, and she could endure pants and t-shirt for now, but anything else was just too much.

Her purse and keys were on the table where she left them the night before, just before she opened Becky’s wedding invitation. She dug out her phone and flipped it open, dialing work. She got the machine. “Hello, Mr. Morris?” she said in her sweetest voice. “This is Amelia Bronson. I just thought I’d let you know I won’t be coming in today, or ever again. Fuck you, and I hope you burn in Hell. Have a nice day.” She hung up, then carefully removed the SIM card and battery from the phone. She snapped the SIM card in two and put both pieces, the battery, and the phone carefully into the trash.

She rummaged up some paper and a couple of envelopes. First she scribbled a note to her landlady, Mrs. Pantelopoulos.

“Mrs. P, I’m taking your advice and heading off to start my life over. Do what you want with my stuff, because I won’t be needing it. Sorry about the mess. I promise you’ll see me again, but don’t be surprised if you don’t recognize me when you do!

“Amelia”

She was more careful in her letter to Becky.

“Dear Becky,

“I am so thrilled for you, thrilled and jealous. Jared looks and sounds like quite a catch. I wish you both every happiness that life can offer.

“Sorry that I won’t get to the wedding, but the time has come for me to follow your example and make my life, rather than waiting for it to make itself for me. I’m heading out into the wilderness, Becky my love, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.

“If you don’t hear from me soon, don’t worry. It’s OK. I’m going to be a work in progress for a while, and I don’t want to reveal myself until I’m done. And don’t forget the details of your wedding (and wedding night!)—I’m going to want to hear them all when we get together again. Remember in sixth grade when you told me that Eric Hansen copped a feel? Or the time you told me about making out with Mike Norton in Mrs. Francis’s supply closet back in junior high? I’m going to want to hear about more than just squeezed tits and getting a finger up your pussy this time around!

“Give hugs and kisses to all and sundry, even Uncle Al.

“With all my love,

“Your favorite cousin,

“Amelia

“P.S. Tell Jared that if he doesn’t make you happy, I’ll rip his balls off when I get back. Seriously. XOXO A.”

She addressed the envelopes and sealed the letters inside. She was ready. Purse on her shoulder, keys and gloves in her hand, she headed out the door and locked it behind her. First stop, the post office. Second stop, breakfast. Third stop—who could tell?

* * *

Chapter Two: Sara

Sara Tomlinson ran her fingers through her short, black hair and brushed some dust off of her ripped denim jacket. It was barely sunup and the day was already uncomfortably hot. She didn’t worry much about whether or not her sweat was making her smell bad. She could always get a ride, even if she stank like a sewer. She was more bothered by the fact that she was getting very thirsty. Hungry, too, but thirst was a bigger problem right now. Her last ride had been a middle-class, middle-management type who dropped her off at a gas station just off the Interstate east of Omaha, but that had been the night before and she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since. It had hurt the last time she pissed, there was no way that getting dehydrated would help that.

The owner of the gas station had chased her off, and the fast food joint next door hadn’t opened yet. There was a motel down the street. Maybe someone checking out from there would give her something to drink, or some food, or some money, or maybe even a ride.

There was only one person in the parking lot as she approached: a tall woman in jeans, a t-shirt and sandals. She didn’t seem to have much luggage, hardly more than an overnight bag, which was kind of weird. Sara giggled to herself. Maybe she was on the run, too.

The woman looked up at Sara and smiled. She had a pretty smile, and Sara was reassured. More striking were her eyes—a dark, emerald green. Sara find herself staring at them and it was only with an effort that she could turn her gaze away.

“Good morning,” the woman said cheerfully.

“Hi,” Sara said. “On your way out?”

The woman nodded. “All ready to hit the road,” she said. “How about you? You heading anywhere in particular?”

Sara smiled and shook her head. “Just away.”

The woman folded her arms on the roof of her car, a fairly new, sliver hybrid sedan. Sara didn’t pay much attention to news or anything, but she thought that hybrids were pretty cool. Amy had told her they were good for the environment and really high-tech. Maybe not sexy, then, but responsible, and Sara liked that. The woman was watching Sara intently with those eyes, and it was making Sara a little light-headed. It felt like the gaze was penetrating her to her core, like her soul was being carefully examined.

“How does San Francisco sound?” the woman asked at length.

“It, um, it sounds great.” Sara had to pinch herself to clear her head.

“Well, hop on in, then.” The woman nodded to the passenger seat. Sara pulled on the door handle. It was unlocked. This woman was obviously a very trusting type.

They got in together. The car was scrupulously neat, almost as if it had just come from the dealership. It obviously hadn’t, but it was Sara’s experience that even the cleanest of car owners had some gum wrappers or empty soda cans tucked in here or there. The only thing that seemed out of place was a pair of yellow cleaning gloves on the seat next to the driver.

There was an awkward moment while the two of them buckled up. The woman had her hand on the ignition, but stopped to look Sara over with those eyes of hers. It was another long, lingering examination. She seemed satisfied with what she saw and held out her hand. “I’m Amelia,” she said.

“I’m Sara,” Sara replied as they shook hands. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Amelia laughed. She gave Sara’s hand a squeeze before releasing it.

Amelia’s hand had been clammy, and Sara noticed that her fingernails were irregular and broken. In fact, now that Sara had a chance to look Amelia over closely without being distracted by her eyes, she looked awful. Her skin was pale and blotchy and her hair was thin and stringy. Her eyes were hollow, and yet with that incredible green color, they were the only part of Amelia that was healthy-looking.

Amelia was steering with her left hand. Her right was holding the yellow gloves and rubbing them between thumb and fingers. “Here’s the deal, Sara,” she said as she pulled onto the Interstate. “I’ll cover expenses—food, lodging, gas. I just need someone to talk to and drive part of the time. That sound OK?”

“Fine by me,” Sara said.

“You can drive, can’t you?” Amelia asked.

Sara snickered. “Well, I can drive,” she said. “But no license.” Daddy had never let her get a license. He had his reasons.

“That won’t be a problem,” Amelia said.

“So long as I don’t get pulled over,” Sara noted, but Amelia shook her head.

“No, not even then,” she said in an odd sort of voice and then fell silent.

For a person who said she needed someone to talk to, Amelia proved to be a rather quiet companion. Sara had nothing she wanted to talk about anyway, so that was just as well. Amelia didn’t turn the radio on or put in a CD, either, and Sara was fine with that, too. She just sat and looked out the window as Omaha flew past. She tried not to think and closed her eyes. She was feeling very warm and comfortable. Maybe she could nap.

Sara woke up suddenly with a start. She’d nodded off, but obviously not for very long. They had just gotten off the freeway and were pulling to the side of the road with Omaha just behind them. Amelia was not looking well at all. “I’m sorry, Sara,” she said. “I need you to take over for a while.” She smiled at Sara and there were those eyes again, looking intently into hers. Sara had to blink a couple of times before she could look away.

“Sure,” Sara said without any real enthusiasm.

“Thanks,” Amelia said, obviously relieved. They got out and switched places. Amelia was having trouble holding herself upright. She was still clutching the gloves the way a child would do its comfort toy.

Sara took a second to adjust the seat and mirrors. She was a little nervous. She hadn’t driven anything at all for a long time and certainly nothing like this. As if reading Sara’s mind, Amelia said, “Don’t worry about it. Just relax and do what seems natural. You’ll be OK.” She reached out and touched Sara’s arm. Sara felt a sudden jolt as she did, as if she’d been shocked. It didn’t hurt and was even kind of pleasant, but it surprised her.

“Sure,” Sara said again, although she was far from sure. She started the car and put it into gear without even looking for the gear shift. How had she managed that? When she glanced at it, it didn’t even look much like a gear shift, certainly not like any she’d seen before. Maybe she’d paid more attention than realized as Amelia drove. Sara carefully pressed down on the accelerator and relaxed as the car responded. She could feel Amelia’s smile.

Sara stopped the car before she got on the on-ramp. She had, in fact, never driven on a freeway before. This promised to be an interesting experience. There was something else, though. She looked over at Amelia, who was leaning against the glass of the window with her eyes closed, breathing deeply and slowly.

“Look,” Sara said, “are you OK? Do you need me to take you to a doctor or something?”

Amelia smiled but didn’t open her eyes. Sara found that somehow disappointing. “No,” Amelia said, shaking her head. “I’ll be fine. Just bear with me. This is taking more out of me than I expected, that’s all.” She didn’t offer to explain what “this” was and somehow Sara didn’t want to ask.

Amelia was asleep by the time they got on the freeway. She obviously needed it, so Sara tried not to disturb her and left the radio off. That was a mistake. It left Sara alone with her thoughts, and that meant that Bad Sara started talking to her.

It was a nice car, Bad Sara said. Amelia was obviously comfortable, financially. Why not check her purse? There might be something in there that Amelia wouldn’t miss if it vanished.

Good Sara didn’t want to. Amelia was being nice to her. Amelia was helping her when she needed it. She was going to take Sara to a big city where she could vanish, she was going to keep Sara fed and comfortable. Amelia trusted her. She shouldn’t betray that trust.

And yet, Sara found herself groping around for Amelia’s purse and then digging through it for her wallet while keeping one eye on the road. Sara found Amelia’s drivers license. She was Amelia Bronson from Council Bluffs. For someone who’d spent the night in a motel, she wasn’t at all far from home. She was in her early twenties, five foot nine inches tall, one hundred and sixty pounds, with red hair and hazel eyes. Amelia’s hair was red with a sufficiently generous definition of “red,” but her eyes were very much not hazel.

Other than the drivers license, there was hardly anything in Amelia’s wallet—no pictures of family, for example, and no credit cards, but there was a debit card, a AAA membership card, and a whole lot of twenties.

Bad Sara got very excited when she saw the money and almost let go of the steering wheel to count it. Good Sara had to tell her to pay more attention to the road. She did, but she didn’t stop thinking about the money. She could get herself to San Francisco with all that money, all by herself, no problem. It would last her for a long time. She needed the money, and need justified anything.

Good Sara told her that stealing was wrong, and that she didn’t really need the money, and didn’t need to get herself anywhere. Amelia would get her to San Francisco. Bad Sara didn’t care. If Amelia were out of the picture, she could drive herself to San Francisco or anywhere else and last for weeks, months maybe.. If Amelia were out of the picture, the car would be hers, too, and how much would she get for that?

Good Sara was frightened. What did she mean, “If Amelia were out of the picture”? How would Bad Sara do that? Bad Sara had no reply—not at first. There was an obvious possibility, but even Bad Sara was too scared to think about it.

They went back and forth for a some time. Sometimes Bad Sara was driving and arguing with Good Sara, and sometimes it was the other way around. Bad Sara finally decided to pull off the freeway, find a quiet spot far away from anything, and push Amelia out the door. She pretended she wanted to go looking for a doctor, but Good Sara wasn’t fooled and wouldn’t let her exit. Bad Sara got frustrated and decided to turn the radio on and find a very loud station. She said it would help her stay awake while she drove. Good Sara wasn’t fooled about that, either. Bad Sara just wanted to do something to prove that she didn’t care about Amelia, didn’t care if Amelia was asleep or awake, healthy or sick, alive or—whatever. There was that sudden surge of fear again, but Good Sara didn’t take advantage of it to start driving again. She had an idea. She realized that if Amelia woke up, she could look at Amelia’s eyes again, and Amelia’s eyes would make Bad Sara go away.

It worked. Bad Sara turned the radio on and made it as loud as she could. Amelia stirred, opened her eyes, and looked over at Sara, and the instant she saw those eyes, Bad Sara was gone. Sara breathed deeply and relaxed. “Where are we?” Amelia asked.

Sara saw a sign flash past. “Pretty much where we were before. There’s a town called Waverly coming up,” she said.

“Pull off when you get a chance, Sara dear,” Amelia said. “I need to get something to eat.” It gave Sara an unexpected thrill that Amelia called her “dear.”

They found a Denny’s.. They were both ravenous and between them ate four or five full breakfasts. Amelia practically drowned herself in milk and Sara got herself rather jittery on too much coffee. Amelia drove after they got back to the car, but she didn’t drive far. She went down a back road until she found a narrow lane running through seemingly endless fields of corn.. She pulled in a hundred yards, stopped, and turned off the ignition.

She got out of the car, and Sara got out with her. Amelia got a ratty blanket from the trunk and spread it on a grassy spot next to the road. “Picnic already?” Sara asked.

“Something like that,” Amelia said. She took Sara’s hand. Amelia’s hand was warm and dry now and so very soft. Amelia stepped forward, still holding Sara’s hand, and kissed her slowly and tenderly.

Sara-the-Slut leaned into the kiss. She knew what was coming.. It’s what happened whenever she was alone with almost anybody.. Certainly when she was alone with a boy, sometimes when she was alone with a girl, always when she was alone with Daddy. It was time for Sara-the-Slut to prove that she deserved her name.

After all, she really was a slut. A slut and a whore. Daddy told her that, as often as he could. She was a slut and a whore and a stupid fucking cunt, just like her Mama. She liked it when she had a cock in her mouth or her pussy or her ass or all three at once. She would lick or kiss or suck any part of any body. She would drink piss and eat shit. She loved the taste of cum more than anything and wished she could live on cum alone. She was everybody’s fuck-toy. She was good for nothing but fucking, too stupid to do anything right but fucking, too ugly for anybody to want except for fucking. Fucking and hitting.

Sara-the-Slut first found out that she was a whore years and years ago, only a few days after Mama went away. Daddy came into her room and beat her while Amy hid under the bed. Then Daddy dragged Sara into his room, ripped off her clothes and made use of her. All the time he told her she liked getting fucked, that all she wanted in life was to eat cock and drink cum and be fucked and fucked and fucked like the stupid fucking whore that she was. Just like her Mama.

For a while, she was a slut just for Daddy, but the boys found out about her soon enough. Was it a matter of months or just weeks? She couldn’t remember. She’d been fucked so many times by so many people now it was all a blur.

When Daddy found out that she was letting the boys fuck her, he hit her and fucked her harder than before and told her that a proper slut should dress like one. He got her high heels, short, bright skirts and a tight tops that squeezed her blossoming tits. He wouldn’t let her wear panties or a bra. He made her put make-up on. He told her to make herself look like a whore because she was a whore and then he hit her when she did a bad job of it at first.

The boys liked her new clothes. She liked the boys. She liked their cocks. Daddy told her so. She sucked them and swallowed their cum, she let them fuck her pussy, she let them fuck her ass. Her pussy was getting looser from too much use, but her ass was still tight and bled when they rammed their cocks in. And they all talked to her while they fucked her, and they all used Daddy’s voice. They asked her if she liked it, and she said she did. They asked her what she was and she said she was a slut and a whore. She didn’t say that she was just like her Mama. She knew Daddy wouldn’t like that, not if she said it in public.

When they drove around town and happened to see some streetwalkers, Daddy would point them out and tell her to pay attention because she was just like them. She was going to be one of them soon enough. Daddy made her learn to dress like them and wear makeup like them and walk like them. Once or twice when Daddy and Amy were asleep, Sara-the-Slut snuck outside and was a proper whore. She hid the money she got where not even Daddy could find it, but she didn’t really care about the money. She let people fuck her because she liked it.

And Sara-the-Slut liked it all. She was a slut. Sluts like being fucked. Sara-the-Slut liked being fucked, over and over and over and over, every day, every way, every hole, all the time.

And they all talked to her with Daddy’s voice. Everybody talked to Sarah-the-Slut with Daddy’s voice, everybody but Amy. And she agreed with what everybody said about her because she knew it was true. The boys in school, her teachers, the policemen, the social workers, the doctors who treated her STDs, the workers at the abortion clinic. Even the women. They all talked in Daddy’s voice, and they were always telling her that she was a slut and a whore just like her Mama, even when they were saying something else.

Sara-the-Slut loved it. She loved it because Daddy told her she did, and because Daddy told her that if she ever stopped loving it, if she ever wanted it to stop, if she ever did anything her Daddy didn’t like or made him unhappy in any way, then it would be Amy’s turn. Sara-the-Slut always tried harder when he said that. Sometimes Daddy made Amy watch when he fucked and beat Sara-the-Slut. He wanted both girls to know what Amy’s future would be if they misbehaved.

Then one day Sara-the-Slut came home, her cunt dripping with some boy’s cum the way it always did, and something felt very wrong. There were noises coming from Amy’s bedroom. Sara-the-Slut tiptoed to the door and looked in. Amy was on her bed, her skirt off and panties pulled down around her ankles. There was blood on her legs. Daddy was zipping his pants up. Amy was sobbing.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t like it,” he told Amy. “I know you did. You’re all alike. You’re all cock-sucking whores who can’t get enough, every goddamn last one of you. Your Mama was a whore, your sister is a whore, and you’re—”

Someone else came then. Sara didn’t know who she was, but she was dark and large and strong and full of hate. She grabbed Amy’s bedside lamp and started swinging it over and over. Amy began to scream and there was blood everywhere but she didn’t stop, she kept swinging and swinging and swinging until there was nothing left to swing at. And then she was out in the yard hosing herself off and while she was still dripping wet she started running. She ran and ran and—

“Sara.”

Sara blinked. Whose voice was that, and who was she that she could hear it?

The world was coming back into focus. She saw the eyes first, dark and green, deep and mysterious. The eyes were inside her, filling her with a satisfying warmth and driving out the dark.

It was Amelia’s voice. They were on a blanket in the middle of a field of corn in the middle of Nebraska. The sun was shining, birds were singing. Amelia was naked. So was she—but who was she?

Amelia spoke. “Relax, Sara. Calm yourself. Breathe slowly—in through the nose, out through the mouth. There we go, just like that. Let your mind empty. Listen to my voice. Let it fill you. Just think one thing, that I am your Amelia, and you are my Sara. Forget the past, forget what happened, forget everything. You are here with Me now, and I will keep you safe forever.”

Sara looked into Amelia’s eyes and then suddenly all her confusion vanished. She started to cry. She felt Amelia’s lips against hers and returned Amelia’s kiss—not because she was a slut or a whore or like anybody else. She kissed Amelia because there was a feeling in her heart she had never felt for anybody other Amy and her Mama, and even then it was deeper and wider, like a river instead of a brook, and it was washing everything away.

She kissed Amelia’s lips, then she kissed Her nipples. Her kisses lingered, and her lips and tongue brought the nipples to life. Her fingers reached down and found the folds of Amelia’s labia. Sara opened them and the air filled with a heavenly scent. Sara was suddenly very hungry.

Her mouth was against Amelia’s labia. Her tongue slipped inside and circled Amelia’s clit, already hard in anticipation. Her tongue was inside Amelia’s pussy, savoring its taste. She was like a hummingbird sipping nectar and never able to drink its fill.

Amelia started talking to her. “Yes, Sara, just like that. Drink from Me, Sara. Let your strength and your life come from Me now. Make Me the center of your world, the heart in your chest, the blood in your veins. Take Me inside you, let Me fill you, and and make yourself a part of Me.”

Sara pushed her tongue deeper into Amelia. The sharp taste was manna to her. Her own pussy was getting wet, and she reached down with her hand and began pumping her fingers in and out.

“Close your eyes. Think about Mine. Let them grow inside you until you can see nothing else. Listen to My voice. Let it force all other sounds from your mind. You can feel My skin against your skin and nothing else. My scent is filling your lungs and My taste is spreading from your tongue to every part of your body. I am becoming your world.”

Sara was licking harder now. She nuzzled Amelia’s clit with her nose and trembled as she finger-fucked herself harder and faster. Her own nipples were hard and as they rubbed against the blanket they shot little jolts of pleasure into her body.

“Empty your mind, Sara. Empty it completely. I will fill it for you. You can feel it. You can feel Me permeating you. Second by second, instant by instant, you are draining away and I am taking your place. You have no will of your own now, only Mine. You have no thoughts of your own, only Mine. Your hopes, your dreams, your future—all are gone. Everything is Me.”

Amelia shuddered. “I’m going to cum soon, Sara dear,” she said. “I’m going to cum soon, and you will cum with Me. Your orgasm will be lit from Mine and will be a blaze like you have never felt. It will burn you all away and leave nothing but Me, and then you will be Mine utterly. Always and forever, Sara, you will be part of Me and—oooooh, yes, oh yes oh yes oh yes oh—nooooooooooooow!”

Sara felt Amelia cum. She felt it because Amelia was cumming inside of her, too. It was her own first orgasm and it was like nothing she could have imagined. It was a flame, and it was consuming her. Dark Sara was gone, Sara-the-Slut was gone, Bad Sara and Good Sara were gone. There was no Sara left at all. There wasn’t even Amelia. There was just the Goddess, a fountain of fiery joy, filling them both, forever..

* * *

Martin Cuthbert saw the car first. He sighed. Maybe somebody had broken down and was needing help. Cell reception was bad out here, after all. Maybe somebody was sick. Maybe it was nothing. Probably it was somebody up to no good, but he needed to know. They were trespassing, if nothing else. The gun in his jacket was a comfort at moments like this.

He saw them when he got closer—two women, naked as jaybirds, asleep on a blanket on the ground. Despite the breeze, the smell of sex lingered—with an odd tinge, as if of rubber.

He hit his hand against the car. “Hey, you two!” he shouted and hit it again. They started awake. The smaller one, the brunette, leaped to her feet and tried to cover herself. She had bright, icy blue eyes. The taller one stood up slowly and left herself fully exposed. She looked like shit. Her skin was a sickly white. Her hair was falling out in patches, with a bright coppery fuzz showing underneath. Her breasts were small but obviously swollen, and they were pulsing. Her areolae were large, puffy, and dark, and from what her nipples had to say, she was either very cold or very aroused. Not that it mattered to Martin.

She looked at Martin with her dark, green eyes and smiled. He smiled back. She was the most magnificent creature he had ever seen.

He realized he was going to say something. “S-sorry, ladies,” he stammered. “This is private property, not a wh—not a hotel. Best you two get going. Don’t make me call the cops.”

The tall one kept smiling. She took a step towards him. “We’ll be on our way, of course,” she said. Her voice was rich and low and sent a chill down Martin’s spine.. “Our apologies for inconveniencing you.” She took another step. “Perhaps there’s something we can do to make up for it.”

Her breasts were all-but touching him now. His breathing was quick and shallow and his heart was beating a mile a minute. Those eyes—

Her hand was against his crotch. There was a stirring.

What the hell?

There was a very distinct stirring. In his pants. In his pants. His goddamned cock was waking up.

What the fucking hell? He hadn’t had an erection for years. Nothing the docs could do helped. Not Viagra, not Cialis, not diet, not pumps, not anything. His wife was trying to talk him into getting an implant and he was almost desperate enough to go along.

“Bets is waiting for you at home, Marty,” the strange woman was saying. At the mention of his wife, his cock sprang fully to attention and he was hornier than he’d been in—well, ever. Even when he was a teenager watching the cheerleaders and getting the occasional flash of panties, it hadn’t been like this. “Go to her, Marty. Go to your wife and enjoy the afternoon with her. Our present to the two of you.”

Martin started running across the field. It’s a wonder he didn’t drop dead of a heart attack after two steps. He was somehow through the door and into the kitchen, where he pressed his wife against the refrigerator and kissed her madly, his tongue making up for lost time. One of the girls was in the room—was it Caitlin? She made a disgusted, gagging sound. “Get a room!” she said.

Martin had his crotch hard against Bets’s leg. He gave it a twitch. Bets was still in shock from the frenching, but it suddenly dawned on her what she was feeling. He gave it another twitch and her eyes went wide.

“Marty?” she said. He nodded, grinning. “Oh. My. God!” He grabbed her hand and they raced to the bedroom.

“We’ll finish later, Caitlin,” Bets called as they went upstairs. Caitlin made more disgusted noises.

“You two are sick!” she yelled after them.

It was well into the night before the two of them were finished and sank, sweaty, into a very contented slumber. And when their daughter was born nine months later with her emerald eyes—a good ten years younger than any of her siblings—there was never any question but that she would be named Amelia, although neither of them could ever explain why.

* * *

Sara and Amelia took their time getting to San Francisco. Amelia needed frequent stops to eat or shit out whatever she ate that her body couldn’t use. She needed to rest a lot. They also took advantage of every opportunity to get to know each other’s bodies better and watch Amelia’s body change. The only times they drove more than an hour at a stretch was when the towns or rest stops were too far apart.

The really bad time came when they were crossing Nevada, and Amelia’s face began rebuilding itself. It was very painful, and they had to spend two days in a motel in Elko before she could move on. Sara didn’t mind. She’d pop out to get some food every few hours and once to do laundry, but otherwise, she was content to be with Amelia, whether it was brushing her hair, or helping her in and out of the bathroom, or just lying with her and cuddling.

Sara did all of the driving and all of the shopping. Amelia pretty much slept when she was in the car and pretty much slept and fucked when they were in a hotel room. Sara would take advantage of this to prepare little surprises. One day she filled the car to the brim with balloons, which made Amelia clap with delight like a little girl when she saw them. One day Sara went into a drugstore and bought one of every brand of condom they had for sale. That night, under the pretense of doing stress testing, she put them over her fingers one at a time and tried to see how long she would need to make Amelia cum with each.

Sara was careful to drive the speed limit, to signal every lane change and turn, and to generally be a model driver. She relaxed a little more with every mile they drove west. Every mile took her a little further from what had happened, and a little closer to what was going to be. Every mile, and she felt just a little safer.

* * *

Chapter Three: Judy

Judy Russon braced herself as she walked through the door. The cold air from the air conditioner bit at her. She was a desert girl herself, born and raised on a ranch not fifty miles away. Being outside with a sheen of sweat while the sun beat down on her was second nature. It was air conditioning that always felt a little queer.

She took off her sunglasses and looked around, blinking a little as her eyes adjusted. This was the moment she liked. Someone from law enforcement walks into the room and is for an instant the most important person there—sometimes somebody to fear, sometimes somebody to respect, always somebody to notice. Not that she got an awful lot of either fear or respect from the locals, who all knew her since she was so high. It’s hard to take someone seriously as a deputy when you can remember when they played with Barbies. But they did notice her, they always had, especially the men. She had a nice, taut body that was strong but not too muscular. Her curves were very feminine, breasts average but with a nice cleavage, and a pretty, smooth, round ass. Yes, it was annoying sometimes to have to make sure that the guys knew that “No” meant “No,” but she enjoyed the attention nonetheless.

The coffee shop was pretty empty, as usual. There were just two customers. Judging by the amount of food they had on the table between them, maybe there was a third in the john or something.

She hardly gave the petite brunette so much as a glance. Her taller companion seemed to demand all Judy’s attention. She had dark, copper-red hair that reached the nape of her neck. It looked like a hairdo that was halfway grown in. Her large t-shirt was not quite enough to hold her breasts, and the points of the nipples were visible through the fabric. Well, the air conditioner was on rather high; she must have been cold. She had a watch with a rubber band on her right hand and a couple of tight elastics around her left wrist. That was as much as Judy could see.

Judy did a quick mental check. She had a good memory for faces and was almost obsessive about keeping track of notices that came into the sheriff’s office. Only two freeways to use in crossing Nevada, and she was square on one of them. A lot of people passed through town. Judy was proud of the fact she’d already managed to nab a bigwig drug dealer. She was always looking for a chance to repeat her triumph.

This woman didn’t match any description in Judy’s memory, and she was about to turn her attention back to the little one when the redhead looked up at her. She smiled benevolently. Judy was giving an automatic smile and nod in return when she saw the woman’s eyes—deep green, mysterious, mesmerizing.

It was like the air conditioning had suddenly broken down and all the heat from outside poured in at once. Judy tensed. Her breathing sped up, her eyes went wide, her skin flushed, and little beads of sweat broke out. Her own nipples started hardening and scratched against the inside of her bra. She wanted to rub them. There was a tightness in her crotch, a demand for attention. She wanted to rub that, too.

She was a little dizzy. What was going on? She was straight, never had even been tempted by a girl before. Yet here she was staring at a bimbo with big tits like a horny teenage boy. She wanted to pull her uniform off, wanted to start masturbating there in public, where people who had known her since she was a baby could watch. She wanted everybody to watch her. She wanted that woman to watch her.

It was with an effort that she tore her eyes off of the woman and dashed into the bathroom. She could hardly pull her pants down fast enough and began frigging herself vigorously. She came almost at once but that wasn’t enough. She lost track of time and didn’t even try to count how many times she came. Through it all, the image of two emerald green eyes stayed vivid in her mind.

It was some time before the world came into focus. She was breathing heavily, one arm on the sink holding her up. She still had a couple of fingers inside her slick cunt. Her bra and uniform were pulled up, exposing her breasts. The nipples were dark and hard.

She stood upright and turned the water on. She wanted to lick her fingers but washed her hands instead, splashed some water on her face, then put her uniform back together. She was horribly embarrassed, of course, because she was sure that whoever was at the counter had seen her and would know what she had gone to the bathroom to do—hell, they probably heard her do it—but her best option was to brazen it out.

She stepped back out of the bathroom. The two women were still there, and her pussy clenched briefly on seeing the redhead, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as before. She could handle it. She strode over to the counter and asked for an orange juice.

It was Rhonda Miller who was manning the counter. She was a sweet kid, just out of high school and saving some money for college—just for some spending money, because she had a scholarship, smarter than smart. Rhonda had no intention of remaining where she was and wanted to see the world, but everyone figured she’d end back at home eventually. Towns like this really got in your blood. Rhonda was also as straight as an arrow and modest as a nun.

“She got to you bad, didn’t she?” Rhonda said casually as she rung Judy’s orange juice up.

“Got to me?” Judy tried to feign ignorance.

Rhonda just smiled as she handed Judy her change. “Everybody who’s come in since those two showed up has gone out a horny mess. I’ve had to go polish my pearl twice already, in fact. But you—I’m surprised you made it to the bathroom.”

Judy was relieved to hear that she wasn’t the only one to be affected, but a little embarrassed to be reminded that she had been so obvious. She tried to maintain a casual tone. She didn’t really succeed. “How long have they been here?”

“Pretty much all morning. They took their time with breakfast and are working on lunch now. Not only is Amelia there sexy as hell, but she’s been eating like there’s no tomorrow—and it looks like it all goes to her tits. I swear they’re bigger than they were when she came in. It’s just not fair.”

Judy was a little surprised to hear Rhonda use a word like “tits”—but, then, she’d already confessed to masturbating. This Amelia was definitely getting to her, too.

Rhonda leaned in close. Judy could feel her breath, hot against her cheek. Rhonda’s lips were just inches from hers. Judy suddenly wanted to kiss them.

“You know what I think?” Rhonda asked in low tones. Judy just shook her head. Rhonda’s lips were so red and full, glistening in the coffee shop’s lights. Her own lips were dry. “I look at her, and I think, ‘Aphrodite’—the goddess herself, down mingling with us mortals.”

Judy swallowed. “Aphrodite?” she managed to ask.

“Aphrodite, you know, Venus. The Greek goddess of physical love, desirable beyond the ability of humans to withstand—born out of sea foam when Ouranos was castrated and his balls were thrown into the sea—coming ashore at Paphos on a scallop shell—”

“Wait, wait.” A memory was stirring in Judy. “You mean like that picture?”

“Botacelli’s Birth of Venus?” Rhonda nodded. “Yeah, that’s her—and that—” Rhonda nodded in the direction of the strangers. “That is her, too. Aphrodite herself in the flesh, in this coffee shop, on my shift. And she’s got her goddamn cestus on.”

Rhonda suddenly stood. “Sorry,” she said, “but I gotta go fuck myself before I explode.” She looked at Judy, and there was desire in her eyes. Judy wanted to throw herself on Rhonda and do the fucking for her. Rhonda turned away with an obvious effort. “I gotta go fuck myself now,” she said, and hurried into the bathroom.

Judy looked back at the stranger. What had Rhonda called her? Amelia? Whoever she was, she was talking to her friend—no, not her friend, her lover. Just the thought that she was meeting her first lesbians gave her a dirty thrill and made her think of Rhonda and feel guilty all at the same time.

Judy tried to distract herself by paying more attention to the brunette. The girl was acting nervous, and it seemed like Amelia was reassuring her. She happened to glance over her shoulder in Judy’s direction, saw that Judy was looking at her, and quickly turned away, but it was too late. Judy knew the face.

Sara Tomlinson, wanted for murder in Pennsylvania. Judy’s lust suddenly diminished as her sense of duty took over—that and her thirst for more glory. She smiled and walked over to the two. She tried not to look at Amelia.

“Good morning, ladies,” she said cheerfully. “Welcome to our little town.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said in low tones that sent a shiver down Judy’s spine.

“Are you staying here long?” Judy was surprised that she was able to glance at Amelia and even look at her incredible eyes. Did the effect wear off? Or was Aphrodite here just toning it down deliberately?

“No, no, just passing through. We’re on our way to San Francisco.”

Judy managed a nod. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,” she said. “It’s a fascinating city.” She’d been there once as a little girl and had hated every minute of it. Judy prided herself on being open-minded despite being raised in rural Nevada, but she couldn’t help smirking to herself and thinking, ‘Where else for a couple of dykes?’ And then she was thinking about Rhonda again.

“Yes, we’re looking forward to living there very much,” Amelia said. Her voice was gentle, but it penetrated Judy to her core, and she shivered.

“My name’s Judy Russon, by the way,” she said, extending her hand, “part of the local constabulary.” She gestured towards her badge.

“Amelia Bronson,” Amelia said sweetly as she shook Judy’s hand. Her skin was warm and soft and Judy’s skin got a pleasant buzz from the contact. Her pussy was buzzing again, too. “And this is my Attendant, Sara.” Sara tried to keep her attention on her plate and did not look up.

“Attendant”? What the hell did that mean? Judy filed it under the kind of weirdness she imagined anyone deliberately moving to California (let alone San Francisco) would naturally exhibit. Anyway, time to start reeling them in. “And does Attendant Sara have a last name?” Judy asked, letting a little of the deputy into her voice.

Sara looked very nervous and guilty. “No,” Amelia said innocently. “Just Sara.”

Judy smiled to herself. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I would sure like to see some ID, if you don’t mind. You see—” May as well lay all her cards on the table. “—there’s a warrant out for a girl named Sara Tomlinson who looks an awful lot like your Attendant there. It’d be nice to know for sure that it’s someone else.”

“I’m sorry,” Amelia said. “She doesn’t have any identification other than Me.”

Judy kept smiling sweetly. “Well, perhaps you could come with me and we can straighten this all out.”

“Of course, officer.” Amelia stood and Judy’s knees nearly buckled. She was even more overpowering when she stood up. “May we pay for our meal first?”

Best get this done quickly. “No, don’t worry about that,” Judy said in a weaker voice than she would have liked. “I’ll—I’ll square things with Rhonda later.” She had sudden visions of her face buried deep in Rhonda’s snatch, her tongue slipping carefully inside and finding Rhonda’s hard little nubbin waiting for her. She could smell Rhonda’s musk, and the taste of Rhonda was tart on her tongue—both suddenly deeply familiar although she had never, ever done anything like what she wanted so much to do right now. She’d square things with Rhonda all right—no, no. She shook her head. She had to stop thinking like that.

Silently, barely able to walk straight, she escorted them out into the welcome heat of the desert sun.

* * *

“What do you mean, it’s not her?” Noontime had given way to afternoon and the shadows were growing long as evening approached.

Judy’s fellow deputy, Mike Walters, looked up at her as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s not her,” he said for the tenth time. “Yes, the resemblance is uncanny, and the only part of the name we’ve got is the same, but there’s no way on God’s green earth that that is Sara Tomlinson.” He motioned towards Amelia and Sara, sitting on a bench.. Amelia was looking weak and distressed and Sara was leaning against her, speaking softly to her and stroking her hair. Rhonda was right. Those breasts did look a little bigger than they’d been when they arrived at the station.

Mike had a hard-on. Judy knew it, just like he doubtless knew that her panties were a soggy mess. Hell, he had a semen stain from one of his three (three!) visits to the bathroom. Judy had made four of her own. The Sheriff had excused himself and hurried home for an unscheduled lunch with his wife. He hadn’t come back yet, and Judy figured he probably wouldn’t until tomorrow.

Mike had a hard-on, and Judy wanted it badly. She wanted that cock ramming itself deep into her cunt, pounding hard until she screamed. The only thing she wanted more than Mike’s cock was Rhonda’s tongue, and that was out of reach. So far, professionalism had managed to keep anything from happening, but Judy didn’t know how much longer they could hold out, even with occasional bathroom breaks.

Aphrodite, indeed.

“Look,” Mike said, “I’ve been over it with the boys in Pennsylvania three times now. The eye color is very definitely wrong. Sara Tomlinson’s eyes are not that shade of blue and our girl here is not wearing contacts, so we can rule that out. There’s a scar on Sara Tomlinson’s left temple that this girl shows no sign of ever having. Sara Tomlinson needs braces and Attendant Sara doesn’t. And of course there’s the trivial matter of the fingerprints. There is absolutely no doubt but that they’ve got Sara Tomlinson’s fingerprints on file back East, and there’s absolutely no doubt but that they don’t match our little friend’s fingers.”

“Damn it!” Judy said, slamming her fist against the desk in frustration. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“Judy,” said a soft voice behind her. “Is everything all right?” Judy made the mistake of turning around. Amelia was standing, holding Sara’s hand, and she was looking right at Judy. Those eyes, those infinitely deep emerald eyes were looking at her, and she looked back.

It was like a volcano erupting in her pussy. It was like diving into liquid glass. Her whole body burned as she came harder than she would have thought possible. She was drowning in a pleasure she had never dreamed of.

Judy wanted it to last forever, only—it stopped. Everything stopped. The orgasm stopped, the clock stopped ticking, the radio stopped playing, the fans stopped blowing. It all stopped. The world dimmed, all of it except for a light that was around her and around Amelia. Amelia was looking at her with those eyes, and Judy had lost all desire to look away.

She’d planned all this, Judy realized. Amelia knew what She wanted to happen even before Judy walked into the coffee shop. She made Judy cum over and over again just to prove She could. She’d made Judy want Rhonda and Rhonda’s body more than she’d ever wanted anything before because it suited Her whim. Amelia wanted Judy to understand very, very clearly that there was no point fighting Her.

Yes, the Attendant (Judy couldn’t think of her as “Sara” anymore) was indeed Sara Tomlinson. The Goddess (“Goddess,” not “Amelia”) knew that. The Goddess knew what the Attendant had done, and the Goddess didn’t care. Judy could insist and insist on how right she was, she could fight for the truth until the world came to an end, absolutely certain and absolutely right, but nobody would ever believe her because the Goddess wouldn’t allow it. Even if the Attendant’s physical body hadn’t been altered, nobody would believe what the Goddess wanted them to disbelieve. She would let Judy keep fighting for justice if she really wanted to, because it didn’t matter. Goddesses make their own justice.

Instead, She was giving Judy a choice. She wanted Judy for Her own, but She wanted Judy to submit to Her voluntarily.

Judy could stay here, if she wanted to.. Judy could keep being a deputy and build a successful career. Judy could have her long afternoon rides out into empty country, just her and her horse, sweat beading her tanned arms and forehead. Judy could spend nights out in the cool, dry air, the dark sky above her glittering with a million stars, just as she always had. Judy could stay with her family, with the people who had known her since she was so high, could stay the thing she had spent her life becoming. She could keep her life, her dreams, her ambitions, her hopes, her identity. She could retain her will. If she really wanted to.

Or she could leave it all behind her. She could become Rhonda’s sister Hierodule and lover, spending endless nights tangled together in bottomless passion with each other or with whomever else the Goddess selected. She could worship at the Goddess’s feet, her tongue lovingly cleaning Her boots inch by inch, the taste of rubber in her mouth. She could discover the rose between the Goddess’s thighs, discover it and drink the nectar there. She could become a creature of pure lust, a provoker of infinite desire and provider of infinite satisfaction, always at the Goddess’s beck and call and ever unable to resist Her. If that’s what she wanted instead.

It really wasn’t much of a choice, was it? Judy made her decision without being aware that she had and the fire returned.. She was awash in an endless orgasmic sea, and the Goddess was there inside her making it happen, deep green eyes burning in her mind.

Night had fallen before she stopped cumming. The Goddess and Attendant were gone. She could hear Mike jerking off in the bathroom and giggled as she thought of just what she could do with him now. Her uniform, bra, and panties were in shreds at her feet. Her equipment was scattered around the floor.

Judy reached her hand up and felt the Goddess’s mark on her neck. She belonged to Her now, and she had never been happier.

She stepped over to her locker and got her civvies out, uncomfortable though they would be. At least she wouldn’t have to put any underwear on, just enough to keep herself from getting arrested, assuming that Mike or the Sherrif was in any condition to arrest anybody. Her motorcycle was out back.

And Rhonda was already waiting for her, waiting and hungry. It was time to go.

* * *

Chapter Four: Kathryn

Bob Johnson was not happy.

He stood in the living room of a four-bedroom house on Telegraph Hill. He looked glumly out the picture window past the trees and watched the sailboats on the Bay. He was very unhappy. Why was he even here?

It was just before he was going to head out to lunch that the four freaks came in, evidently fresh from a fetish shopping spree, all decked out in kinky latex and creating quite a stir. They insisted on talking to the President of the firm. His underlings and flunkies brought them to him. They wanted to see a furnished house. He didn’t show clients houses. He had salesmen for that.

And yet, here he was, standing in the living room of a very choice home while the four weird lesbos looked around.

Not that he really minded dykes. The only reason they preferred women, after all, was that they’d never been with the right man, and Bob knew that he was definitely the right man for any woman. Two of the four—Bob thought of them as twins, because they were dressed in identical black catsuits and had identical bright, sapphire eyes—were off in one of the bedrooms. When they could tear their eyes off each other, they had looked at Bob in a predatory way that he frankly encouraged. He could easily handle two women at once—but four at once would have been a bit much, even for him, and it was the other two, the ones looking over the kitchen, that he was particularly interested in. The smaller of the pair was a nice little morsel, very cute. Pretty face and arresting ice-blue eyes over a button nose and a mouth made for kissing and cock-sucking. Nice tits. He couldn’t get a good look at her ass because of her skirt, even though her hands were cuffed together behind her back and kept calling attention to it. Her ankles were cuffed together, too, and it was all she could do to hop from place to place. She was dressed in a latex maid outfit that screamed, “Here I am, ready to serve you!” She would make Bob’s cock rigid any day.

The tall one, though. She was probably the reason why Bob had been willing to forgo lunch and play salesman. She was incredible. Her copper-red hair was long and thick, cascading down her back to tickle her sweet, round ass. Her breasts were nice and big: not so big as to be a joke, but big enough to make you want to bury your face—or your cock—between them. Bob estimated a FF cup. She was wearing a tight, red latex catsuit that showed every curve, with a black corset buckled around her waist. Bob was usually a breast man, but looking at her made him an ass man and leg man and everything else man at the same time. Kathryn was the only woman he’d ever wanted as much as he wanted this one right now.

Her skin was only exposed on her neck and face. It was pale and smooth, like porcelain. Her lips were red and full, her eyes dark green and bottomless. Bob could drown in those eyes.

He could picture what she would look with that damn catsuit off. He could picture what she would look like on her knees, worshipping his cock as she sucked him. He could picture those huge tits of hers bouncing back and forth as he fucked her doggy-style.

He squirmed. He never bothered to hide an erection when he had one—it was one way to impress the ladies, after all. He just couldn’t remember ever being this hard before, not even when he fantasized about Kathryn, and it was getting very distracting. Maybe it was time to turn on the charm.

The redhead and her companion came back into the living room, and Bob gave them his best salesman smile. “So, what do you think, ladies?” What were their names? Had he forgotten them? Had they never even told him?

“It’s delightful!” the little one squealed. “Don’t you think so, Goddess?”

“Goddess”? What a town. The action in San Francisco wasn’t always to Bob’s liking. He liked his women on the bottom with no notions of bossing him around. He always got his way with the women he wanted, even when some bitch didn’t quite want to cooperate at first. Kathryn was bound to give in any day now, just like every other woman eventually did. The problem was, there were always the fruits and nuts to watch out for. Sometimes he felt like he was in a city full of cuckoos and he was the only sane man around.

Still, San Francisco was a godsend for anybody in real estate, and Bob had managed to do very well for himself after only twelve years. He was already toying with the idea of retiring, but his net worth could still use another zero at the end. He wasn’t going to move away any time soon, perverts or no perverts.

“It’s perfect,” the “Goddess” said. “It’s ours.”

Bob cleared his throat. The “twins” had arrived on the back of a motorcycle, and these two in a new but hardly expensive sedan. At a guess, their total net worth was a couple of decimal places too low for this market. Now it was time to be sure—

He named a price in the seven figures, noting that it was a bargain, then added, “Now, you’re sure that won’t be a problem…”

The tall one looked at him and smiled. Those eyes—

“There’s no problem,” she said. “It’s done. The house is ours.”

Time to start the end game, then. Get a fuck out of them and then get them the fuck out of his hair.

“I’m delighted that you’re going to take it,” he said smoothly and heading over to the bar. A fully stocked bar was always handy at moments like this. “Why don’t we celebrate a little before we talk terms?”

“There are no terms to talk,” the tall woman said. Her voice was low and penetrating. Bob shivered a little. He had to shake of a wave of dizziness. “The house is ours.”

His brain was on automatic. “Well, we will have to determine how much a down payment you can manage and arrange a mortgage...or will you be paying cash?” Like they had several millions on hand hiding somewhere under their freaky clothing.

The tall woman strode over to Bob and took his chin in her hand. She looked him square in the eyes. He wanted to slap the bitch but his hand wouldn’t move. Nothing would move. He was drowning in a green sea. His cock had never been so hard. It was hard for him to even understand what she was saying. All he could think about was his yearning cock, the scent of latex filling his lungs, and two dark green eyes.

And then she squeezed it. She squeezed his cock. Hard. It practically made him cum.

She chuckled. “No cumming, Bob. Not yet—not for a few minutes, at least. We have to straighten some things out, first.” Then she unzipped him as he stood there frozen and brought his cock out. He could feel the rubber on her fingers as they stroked it.

The little one hopped over and looked Bob’s cock over. “It is a nice one, though, Goddess,” she said.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” and the redhead gave it another squeeze. “But I’m sure you know what he was planning to do with it, don’t you?”

“Well, he wanted to fuck us,” the brunette said. “But anybody could tell that.” Then she leaned against the redhead’s side and kissed her cheek. “And who wouldn’t want to fuck you, anyway, Goddess?”

The redhead smiled. “He was planning to loosen us both up with some alcohol and suggest that if we were cooperative he’d knock the price down to something we could more easily afford. Then he was going to make you give him a blow job, and after that, he was going to fuck Me doggy style. He wanted us to behave as if he were in charge. It’s all a power trip to him. He likes to pretend that he’s the one with the power.”

The brunette giggled, but the redhead’s low voice continued. “Listen to Me, Bob,” it said. “You need to cum now, don’t you?” He nodded involuntarily. “You need to cum really bad, don’t you?” He nodded again.

“Please—” he said, despite himself. His earlier confidence had been swept away by incredible need he was now feeling.

Those emerald eyes twinkled as she smiled, and she started to stroke his cock. “You’re beginning to understand now, aren’t you? You’re beginning to understand that for all those years, you were trying to prove that you were in charge of women because you were too afraid to face the facts—to admit that they’re in charge of you.”

He shook his head and said, “No,” but faintly.

“Yes, Bob. You’ve fucked woman after woman and tried to degrade them because you were too afraid to let nature take its course. Only I’m Nature, I’m taking My course, and it’s took late for you to keep pretending.

“Look at Me, Bob. Look at Me and listen to Me and feel Me as I touch your pathetic cock, that cock you thought you were going to stick up My cunt. Your cock is never going to feel the inside of My cunt, Bob. Not the inside of My cunt, not the inside of My mouth, not the inside of My ass. It’s not your cock anymore, Bob. It belongs to Me now. I control it. I control your cock, your balls, your everything—feet, legs, hands, arms, body, and soul. I’m in your head now, Bob.. Can you feel Me there? I’m in your head and getting rid of everything in it I don’t like. And there’s an awful lot I don’t like.”

Bob whimpered. Yes, he could feel parts of his personality as they were pared away. He was being diminished in broad, quick strokes, and every stroke burned.

There was a command whispered in his head and he fell to his knees. He could see that her hands were free, but he could still feel her fingers stroking his cock. Her cock. It belonged to her, didn’t it? Didn’t it?

She unlocked the cuffs on the brunette, and she began unbuttoning his shirt. Once his chest was bare—and he kept it nice and hard, to impress the ladies—she made an appreciative smile and ran her hands up and down it, playing with the thick hair. “Ooooo,” she enthused, “this is nice, too. Are we going to keep him?”

The redhead shook her head. “No, I have something else in mind for him.” The brunette made a little pout. “Don’t worry, my love,” the redhead continued. “There will be others, as many as you want.” The Attendant squealed happily and continued to pull Bob’s clothes off. The other two must have come back in quietly, because suddenly there were three pairs of hands all over Bob’s increasingly exposed body, touching him, stroking him, making his need greater and greater.

And through it all Bob could still feel latex-bound fingers stroking his cock, down then up, down then up, down then up.

The redhead knelt down and turned his head so that he could see her eyes—and once he did, he could see nothing else.

“Who am I?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “I—I don’t know,” he whined. There was a sudden pain like a thousand needles had been stuck into body, with special attention to his cock and balls.

“It hurts when you lie to Me,” she said. “Obedience brings pleasure. Disobedience brings pain. Those are the two rules of your existence now. Try again. Who am I?”

“You are my Mistress?” he ventured after a moment. He knew what word she wanted him to use, but he was fighting not to use it. He tried a compromise instead, but the pain came back and he screamed as he doubled over.

“Just how stupid are you, Bob?” she asked. “This is your last chance. Who am I?”

“You are—you are the Goddess,” he whispered. “My Goddess.” There was a jolt of pleasure this time and he gasped. He wouldn’t have thought his cock could get any harder, but it did.

“And who are you?” the Goddess asked.

“I am yours, Goddess,” he said. It felt good to tell Her the truth. He should always tell Her the truth.

He was naked now and the hardwood floor was cold against his shins. Hands were still all over him, now joined by lips giving soft little kisses, tongues giving soft little caresses, and teeth giving soft little nips. The Goddess stood up.

“I’m going to let you cum now, Bob,” she said. “And when I do, that will be the end of everything you used to be. From that moment on, you will be an extension of My will and nothing more. You will exist to serve Me and anyone else I tell you to serve. And remember—disobedience will bring pain, and obedience will bring pleasure. That will be your world—the pleasure and pain you bring on yourself as you obey or disobey.

“Admit it to yourself, Bob. Admit that you are nothing and I am everything. Admit that you are Mine, everything you have is Mine, everything you are is Mine. Admit it in your heart of hearts. And when you do, when you embrace your future—only then will you cum.”

Bob could hardly manage any thought. Part of him was fighting, telling him to get out of there, to call the cops, to do something, anything but let this weird bitch fuck with his mind, but it was being drowned out by the overwhelming need for release. It seemed that he was being touched everywhere at once and it was driving him to a frenzy, but he couldn’t cum now unless She let him, and She wouldn’t let him unless he obeyed. He knew that. Cumming is pleasure, obedience brings pleasure. Obedience brings cumming. He needed to cum, so he had to obey. Disobedience brings pain. It is painful to need to cum and not be allowed to. He could not cum so long as he disobeyed; but he needed to cum. So he needed to obey, didn’t he? He had to give in. If he gave in, if he stopped fighting, then he would be obeying, and obedience would mean he could cum. He needed to cum so badly. He had to silence the voice that telling him to disobey. He had to—

And then it happened. His cock throbbed as he pumped and pumped cum that shot across the room and splattered against the far wall, and with it the last remnants of Bob’s ego.. It was more pleasure than he would have thought possible and it seemed to last forever, and with every drop a little more of Bob Johnson was drained away until there was no cum left, there was no will left, and there was no Bob left.

When it finally ended, he fell over onto floor, breathing heavily, sweating, dizzy, and he nearly passed out. He heard Her boots as She walked up to him and he wanted to worship them but he was too weak.

“Take a minute to get your breath back,” She said. “While you do, I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen next.

“There will be no payment, not for this house nor for anything else you give Us. Once you’ve licked up this mess you’ve made, you will call one of your associates and have her—her, mind you, whichever poor woman you’ve harassed the most—come over here with the proper paperwork for your firm to deed this house to Us. Do you understand?”

Bob nodded.

“And you’re going to kneel in front of her when she arrives, naked as you are now. You’re going to beg that she take pictures of you and put them on your intraweb for all your employees to see. You’re going to tell her that she can put them up anywhere else that suits her fancy—Flickr, Facebook, her blog, your corporate blog, the front page of the Chroincle, anywhere.

“And then when those papers are drawn up, My Attendant will take you shopping. You will pay for everything she tells you to buy. And then there will be other errands for you to run on your own.

“But first, before anything else—first of all, you’re going to tell Me all about Kathryn.”

* * *

Kathryn Willson closed her eyes and massaged her forehead. It had been a long day. She was thinking of maybe knocking off a little early—that is to say, before seven o’clock. She’d earned it, surely. She’d been at work early and had gone non-stop for at least nine hours. She needed her breakfast.

The intercom on her desk buzzed. She pressed the button. “What is it?” she asked, more than a little annoyed.

“Oh my God, Kathryn,” her PA said breathlessly. “You have got to come out here!”

Kathryn sighed. “Look, Marla, I’m through for the day. Can’t it wait?”

“No, no, you have got to see this. It’s Bob Johnson, and he—”

“Tell the prick to go away and come back tomorrow,” Kathryn snapped. She didn’t care if he was close enough to the intercom to hear. She did not like Bob Johnson. The man was an important client, yes, but he was also a first-class asshole whose only thought, it seemed, was to get into her pants. She was willing to bet that was the reason he’d gone with her and not any of the other partners in the firm. It was only her professional pride that kept her going this long—that, and the fact that the senior partners knew the score and told her to double her fees when billing him.

“No, no, Kathryn,” her assistant repeated. “You have really, really got to see this. He had a trench coat on when he came in, but then he took it off, and he’s practically naked now, and he’s wearing a leash!”

The hell? “He’s wearing a what?”

“A leash, Kathryn. He says he’s got an important message, he has to deliver it to you personally, and he has to deliver it in public.”

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” Kathryn said, getting to her feet. “But if this is the bastard’s idea of a practical joke, I’ll have his head.” She stormed out of her office.

It was, indeed, Bob Johnson. He was, indeed, all but naked. (And Kathryn had to admit to herself now that she saw him without clothes, he did look pretty good.) He had a metal chastity belt locked onto his waist. It hid his penis completely—thank God!—but it would also clearly not let it point any direction other than down, no matter how hard an erection he got. That would have to hurt and Kathryn couldn’t help smiling to herself. He had a thick rubber collar on his neck, and his collar had a leash that was dangling to the floor. There was nothing else except a small tattoo on his neck—except it couldn’t be a tattoo. It was kind of puffy, sort of like a brand, except it wasn’t scar tissue since it was a shiny black. It was shaped like an egg with a Venus sign looped through the bottom.

Bob dropped to his knees as soon as he saw her. “Mistress Kathryn,” he said. He looked steadfastly down at the floor.

There was a small crowd gathering and tittering. Everybody in the firm knew Bob Johnson. Nobody liked him, not even the women he’d manage to screw (even though they all admitted he was pretty good in bed). Office doors were opening and various partners poking their heads out.

“Bob, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I don’t have time for sick jokes,” Kathryn said sternly. Bob shook his head.

“This isn’t a joke, Mistress,” he said. “I’ve been sent by someone who wishes to engage you as her legal representation. She is hoping you’ll come out to Her home and meet with Her. Meanwhile, She is giving me to you as a retainer.”

There was a little round of laughter at that. “She’s giving you to me as a retainer?” Kathryn repeated. What the hell was going on?

Bob nodded. “Yes, Mistress.” He handed her a small satchel he’d been carrying. She opened it and took out a thick sheaf of papers.

“The cashier’s checks represent the assets from my American bank accounts,” Bob said. “The number for my Swiss account is there, and that paper has all of my computer passwords. The stocks and securities have been signed over to you. There are the deeds to my cars and homes. The plastic shreds are what’s left of my credit cards. That’s the confirmation that my cell phone services have been canceled. That’s my real estate license.

“My body is yours to use however you want. I will sleep where you tell me to, eat what you tell me to. I may not touch any woman or myself without your permission. I may not cum without your permission. She is giving you complete control of my life and being.”

Kathryn leafed through the papers. “These all look real,” she said, astonished. Some of the partners came over to her and she handed them around. They all agreed.

“Perhaps if you went to my corporate Web site…”

Kathryn stepped over to Marla’s computer and found what she wanted with a quick Google. Others did the same on every available computer, and those without a computer either used their iPhones or crowded around those with one. According to the main page, Bob Johnson was stepping down and the firm was undergoing an extensive reorganization with one Meredith Blackwell as the new CEO. Meredith explained on the corporate blog that Bob was leaving the firm because he was retiring and devoting himself to public service.

“Oh my God!” someone shouted. “Look at his Facebook page!”

There was some shouting back and forth as everybody tried to find the right “Bob Johnson” on Facebook. There were some pictures on Bob’s wall of him next to someone wearing a pair of red boots. “Bob Johnson is now the property of Mistress K.,” it said. “If he should have ever displeased you in any way, please put it on his wall so that Mistress K. can punish him properly.” There were a lot of comments on his wall already, most of the “How Bob Johnson screwed me” variety, but a few of the “What the hell is going on?” variety. Bob’s mother seemed particularly confused.

Marla had found the sheet with the passwords and was squealing that she could log on as Bob, and that he’d changed all the privacy settings so that anybody could see everything there.

Flickr. More pictures of naked Bob and the red boots. In some he was licking them, in some they were resting on him, in some he was just kneeling in front of them. Some pictures were of Bob obviously eating out someone with a cute body wearing a latex maid outfit, or licking something white and sticky off of a hardwood floor while four black boots stood by. None of the pictures showed the faces of the women involved. “They’re probably ashamed to be seen in public with him,” somebody giggled.

Blogspot. Bob had come to realize that the proper order of things is for women to be in command and men to be subservient to them. He himself was now the happy property of Mistress K. and devoting himself to pleasing his Mistress. The picture accompanying the new entry was particularly revealing. Kathryn wondered if it violated Blogspot’s terms of service.

Twitter. “I am now the property of Mistress K.” Various disbelieving responses, some complaints that he couldn’t be reached by phone or IM and that emails to him were bouncing.

Kathryn was sitting down in Marla’s chair, almost in shock. Someone came up and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She looked up. It was the senior partner, Tilden Matheson.. He cleared his throat loudly.

“OK, people!” he said over the hubbub. “People, hang on just a second here, OK?” People quieted and turned to him.

“Now, I don’t pretend to understand what the hell is going on here.” Tilden had a loud, low, rumbling voice that was like distant thunder and just made for public speaking. The joke around the office was that when he got too worked up, the Seismology Department at UC Berkeley would call and ask him to tone it down. “I don’t know who’s managed to get Bob to commit professional suicide like this—although frankly, I think I’m in love with her already—” There was some scattered laughter. “—but I’m glad that nothing is pointing to our Ms Willson as the ‘Mistress K.’ referred to. We value all our employees at Matheson, Jones, and Patel, and we value your privacy. Do not under any circumstances let anybody know that Ms Willson is in any way involved here, at least not until we’ve got more information and above all not until she is comfortable with it becoming public knowledge. We all live in goldfish bowls, so let’s not make things harder for her than they’re going to be anyway.

“Now, one of our own could be facing some challenges here. Assuming all this is on the up-and-up, it’s going to be pretty easy for someone who wants Bob’s money to make a case that he’s gone insane. Maybe he has. And if he hasn’t, if this is a trick or a joke of some kind, we could be setting ourselves up by going along with it. Either way, there may be a fight.

“Right now, the highest priority for this firm is to make sure that Kathryn’s tail is covered. I’m going to go with her to meet this mystery client who has worked such magic on Bob here. And before anybody asks, yes, I do have a permit and yes, I am a very good shot.” That last wasn’t really news to anybody who’d been with the firm for any length of time. Tilden had various awards for marksmanship on the wall of his office, plain enough to see.

“Joe, Kelly, I want you two to follow us and keep an eye open, just in case. Marla, take all of Kathryn’s calls.. If anyone asks for her, she’s not available. If they ask about Bob, he’s a client of ours and we don’t discuss the affairs of our clients. If they want to know if she’s ‘Mistress K.,’ the personal lives of our employees are private and we do not discuss them. Everybody else, check these documents out and make damn sure they’re legal. We have to find out what’s really going on before we can confidently do anything about it.

“Don’t you people link to any of this, email anybody anything about it, blog it or tweet it. Period. First person to do so will get their ass out the door before you’ve finished typing, and if any partner leaks anything, they’ll have me personally getting them disbarred. Whatever else he may be, Bob is a client, and we do not discuss the affairs of our clients with anybody, no matter how nutty a client they may be.

“Above all else, keep Kathryn’s name, and the name of Matheson, Jones, and Patel out of any scandal.”

Tilden looked around the room. “Everybody know what you need to do?” There was general assent. “All right then, get on it.” People reluctantly pulled themselves away from the computer screens. A couple quietly put their cell phones away.

Matheson got down on his haunches so he could look at Kathryn face-to-face. He was smiling and avuncular. He’d always taken a personal interest in her and been a mentor for her since she left law school. It was reassuring to have him there for her.

“You OK, Kathy?” he asked her quietly.

She nodded. “Yeah, I just…I just don’t know what to make of it all.”

He smiled. “I don’t either. You know, I came to San Francisco for the Summer of Love, and I’ve been here ever since. I’ve seen some crazy stuff over the years—some of it when I was stone sober—but this has to take the cake.” He shook his head. “This is just…I don’t have words for it.”

Kathryn stood. She was a little shaky. This was potentially a big scandal and she was potentially at the heart of it, willy nilly. “Well,” she said, “we may as well head out. The sooner we meet the woman at the other end of Bob’s leash, the woman with the red boots, the sooner we’ll know what kind of shit we’re in.” She managed a wan smile, then ducked in her office and grabbed her purse.

As they rode the elevator down to the garage, Tilden looked at Bob and fingered his leash, smiling. “I’m sure this is going to be a fascinating opportunity for you, Kathy,” he said. “And meanwhile…God, but I love this town.”

To be continued…