I remember the fire.
Even brainwashed, I couldn’t forget that. The police wanted me to remember, the doctors wanted me to forget, then remember, then forget again, as if it was part of healing. Yeah, right.
I remembered the smoke, the way it filled my bedroom as quickly as it filled my lungs. And the voice in my head telling me to run.
Run! I screamed myself hoarse in the hallway unable to get to my parents behind their burning door. Then I ran, flew down the stairs and into the cool night air. Red lights flashing and a gathering of onlookers behind the uncoiling, snakelike hoses. The echo of commands from firefighters too late to save anyone else inside.
I stood stupefied in the doorway. I looked into the crowd for a kind face, but they were all cold, even as the heat of the flames slapped at my skin. A firefighter began to run toward me, but I turned away. I had to go back in. I had to!
“Carla. Carla, dear. Come here. Everything is going to be okay.”
I turned back into the crowd for the calm voice calling to me, but the faces all melted together. Everything was burning down in my mind.
A strong arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me from the door, but I jerked loose.
I backed toward the door. This is going to sound crazy, but I felt like there were two of me inside my one body. One wanted to be safe, the other wanted ... I wasn’t sure, but it was in the house alright.
“Carla. Come here. It’s safe here.”
But I couldn’t stop myself, even as my arm slipped through the thick, gloved fingers and I stumbled backward across the threshold.
I barely heard the urgent voices as I ran back inside. I don’t know why I ran back in. I knew my parents were already toast.
I was blind—really blind—but for the flickering orange glow through one closed eyelid. I felt lifted and rolled as the gurney slid me into the ambulance.
The activity outside was more rushed, I could tell, as the fire sprang from house to house, leveling the row houses of my neighborhood street. The thunderous blasts from the hoses.
I felt the sting of needles in my arms before realizing that my entire body was in pain. I mean everywhere. Broken to pieces. Then a numb indifferences coated my body. Must have been shock. It just overtook me. I knew somewhere in my head I should have been freaking out.
“Am I going to die?” I thought I said. God. I was only flippin’ 12.
My arms and legs felt pinned down. I didn’t dare move my head for fear it might just fall off.
“My poor foolish girl.”
The Voice almost whispered from outside ...
Two soft hands were on me now, skin to skin. They slid along my ribs down to my belly with both gentleness and purpose.
Needles in the bend of my arms and two more in the back of each hand and in my ankles too. I thought there was even one in my neck. One warm, one cold, one numb, one ... I was blind, I knew, because my eye was covered. Not gauze. Maybe like a sleeping mask. I was sleepy. Dreamy. There wasn’t a sound. I didn’t remember the ambulance ride. Wait! That was years ago!
I felt warm wetness on my nipple and stiffened into the hands on me.
“Am I naked?”
“Sleep, Carla. Sleep.”
I wasn’t in pain. Just the opposite. I was comfortably numb.
There was a computer screen in front of me with spirals spinning slowly like some hokey hypnosis video I saw on YouTube once. I tried to move my head, but couldn’t see much. I was in a large room without windows. Maybe a basement? One door. There were machines all around, but nothing I could recognize even after all my experience in hospitals.
Where the hell am I? How did I get here? I was bound to a chair. Or was it a hospital bed? I knew I was healed, not smashed into a million pieces. The fire had done a number on me, so I knew what that felt like. No, I was driving in my car ...
“Watch the spirals, Carla.”
The Voice. The Voice that put me to sleep. Yeah, I remembered that. I was stuck. I could have fought to keep my eye off it, but what was the use? I wasn’t going anywhere.
So I watched it. Spinning round and round. Then I felt something between my legs. A soft buzz on my clit. I could tell something was taped to my pussy. Just like I could feel the dull ache from needles in my arms. And hands. And feet.
I shut my eye. No, this is wrong. So wrong. The buzzing stopped. Open. Buzz. Closed. Off. Open. Buzz.
Even as gorked out as I was, I knew the deal. I was getting a kinky reward for watching the screen. As bad as things were—or at least as bad as I thought they were—I wanted to believe it might be less terrifying if I just let The Voice get me off. Let HER get me off. So I watched.
“What do you want?”
I didn’t get an answer. Or maybe I did. I don’t remember. I had let the spirals take hold of me. And the sounds. A low, constant hum. And, every so often, a high-pitched squeak that sounded like an off-key pluck from an old violin.
I could hear The Voice, but the words went in one ear and out the other. I couldn’t even guess how long they lingered around inside. And there would be a flash behind the spirals, and I thought I saw an image shooting into my mind before the spirals were back again. Flash. Picture. Violins. Spinning. And the calm, static, female Voice that came through the speakers on each side of my head. Like listening to a talk-radio station in my crappy car. “Today’s topic, listeners, is brainwashing...”
“Surrender. Submit. Obey.”
I was obviously being hypnotized, but I was aware. I could tell things were happening to me, but I wasn’t out of it. I was IN IT. The buzzing on my pussy increased and decreased with teasing regularity. I concentrated harder on the spirals hoping to either blank out completely and end this feeling of helplessness or embrace the hypnotic programming and hopefully get the orgasm I was increasingly longing for.
I didn’t know why someone wanted to do this to me, but I wasn’t going to start screaming to be released. I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to get me in this situation and until I knew why there wasn’t much I could fucking do about it.
“I need to cum,” was all I said.
When I heard her talk to me directly it sent a mini-climax through my hips.
There was a strange familiarity to all of it. The way my body and mind reacted to everything. This wasn’t the first time I’d been hypnotized. I could tell.
The Voice had told me to sleep and I went to sleep. I heard my name and I began to shudder and dampen. Déjà vu, anyone? Well, shit, then just say the magic words will ya!
“Cum for me, pet.”
I did. Gratefully. I’d had plenty of orgasms from all the masturbating I’d done. I was 18 and an expert in masturbation. One of my foster parents—I don’t remember which—must have caught me a dozen times. Magic words. Where did that come from?
So this was the way it was going to be. Drugs flowing into me, wheels spinning before my eye. Strange images flashing into the back of my mind. And The Voice pushing me to a sexual frenzy until I begged for release. The weirdness of it all only made the whole thing feel even more surreal.
There was someone else in the room. I couldn’t see who it was with my eye plastered to the screen, but every now and then my “roommate” would give me eye drops to keep them both from drying out. I wasn’t sure right away, but I thought it was a woman. I thought I could tell by the smell of her. Maybe it was just me.
“Help me,” I said again, as if she hadn’t heard.
She’d heard. This wasn’t The Voice. I knew that. This was a lab assistant. Igor. She heard all right, but the words didn’t register. I couldn’t really see her, but I had a good idea about my “roommate” right off. This wasn’t a willing participant. This was a drone for the Queen Bee hiding behind the speakers. A dronegirl.
I laughed. It seemed ludicrous. Impossible. But true. I knew it was true as surely as I knew I was slowly being brainwashed. Had she sat here in this chair before me? Was that my fate? Oh, yeah, I could definitely smell her sex. Had she been kidnapped, drugged and made to serve The Voice?
Abducted, tortured, brainwashed. Lucky me. I would have—should have—fought harder if I had anything to fight for. As it was, I didn’t have much choice but to take it. I just let my pussy do my thinking for me until I had a clue about where it was all leading. I didn’t want to be a dronegirl that’s for fucking sure.
“Sleep, pet. Sleep.”
How was I going to get out of this? I didn’t even know what THIS was. I was a prisoner to The Voice. The Voice that got her kicks out of fucking me up and making me orgasm. Could have been worse, I guess. But not by much.
Nobody was going to come looking for me. The cops probably hated me as much as I hated them. I was totally alone in the world. Except for Diana.
I’d had a handful of shrinks and therapists after the fire before Diana came into my hospital room. She was beautiful. Short blonde hair and a nice figure. Always dressed well. And we just talked. She didn’t try to stick her psychiatrist fingers in my head and wiggle them around like the others had done. We just talked.
And we kept talking. More or less every week or two for five, maybe six, years. A couple of my foster parents tried to cut it off, but eventually they let me see her again. They knew we had a connection. And the more of a “problem child” I became, the easier it was to keep our sessions going.
Funny, I couldn’t remember her voice, lying there strapped down and marinating, but I remembered her face. I was never very good with that stuff—faces, names, places, voices. I remember Bill Tucker’s face, that’s for sure. My mom’s kinda. I remember my aunt’s face as she lied there after she tried to O.D.
I was drugged and zombiefied now, so trying to think about anything was hard. The spirals were spiraling. The images were clunking around in my skull. It made it so easy to want to just get washed away and forget about the life preservers bouncing needlessly on the rapids rushing through my head.
I mean, I wasn’t a bad kid. Maybe I was. I sure got passed around a lot. A teenage hot potato. But I didn’t really care. I never felt at home with any of them. Maybe the Tuckers. Well, at least before “the incident.”
When I got out of the hospital, I went to live with my aunt about 20 miles outside of town. It was a hassle for her to take me to see Diana, so we started having our meetings at my aunt’s house. She liked Diana a lot.
My aunt was twice divorced, so she took me in. It was hard on her. I didn’t realize how tough. I could hardly walk or do much of anything those first few months. She did her best.
I don’t think she liked helping me in the bathroom, but I could barely do anything but brush my teeth. Even after three months in the hospital. But my back healed, for the most part, by winter.
I shivered. I knew I was still being brainwashed in my torture chamber. The spinning and the low hummmmm. The high squeaks. When I first thought about my aunt I remembered a lot, but the more I thought about her the less I could hold onto. Brainwashed. It didn’t really scare me so much. Wiping the slate clean on my life was a little bit of a relief really. And it was a hell of a lot more tolerable having my pussy stimulated while it was all going on.
Still, I tried to hang on to my memories, afraid that if they all slipped out I wouldn’t remember Diana.
Or even my own name.
There was someone in the room again. A woman. I couldn’t tell if it was the same person as before. I was locked on the screen. But I could smell her. I mean really smell her. Either she just had sex or was just about to. I knew I was wet, but this was different. Sweet and heady. I wasn’t into girls, hell I wasn’t into boys much either, but the scent of her pussy gave me a homosexual pang.
The Voice was a woman and this person was a woman. How many of them were there or here?
My pussy buzzed just then. I’d been kidnapped by a band of crazed lesbians. Somehow, that realization made it less frightening. I don’t know why, it just did.
What did frighten me was what she did. She was putting a catheter and everything else in me. There weren’t going to be any potty breaks for this hypnoslave. I knew all about going to the bathroom in a bag after the fire left me immobilized for weeks. I was going to be in this bed or table or chair or whatever it was I was strapped to for a very, very long time.
I guess it takes a long time to brainwash someone. Who knew? All the time the woman tended to business, I could feel the programming punching holes in my gray matter. And, every so often, there’d be a buzz on my clit, reinforcing what I just saw or heard. Although I couldn’t for the life of me tell what it was.
Except the mantras. Like the chanting of some faraway religious cult with sex as its golden idol. Surrender. Submit. Obey. Again and again. And images of sexual things, but not always. They popped in and out of my head so fast I really couldn’t say exactly what they were most of the time, but my pussy responded to them. And the happy buzz would follow.
The brainwashing session was over. The woman was still there. I was able to move my head slightly and look at her from top to bottom for the first time. I knew instantly it was dronegirl.
Wow. She was stunning. Oh, yeah, and naked. Long brown hair and pretty green eyes. Killer body. But no one was home. She stood unblinking and rigid after turning the machinery off. Must be waiting for new orders from The Voice. It was both arousing and very sad. She was maybe 35. Beautiful. And dead from the neck up.
Good ol’ dronegirl. She absolutely, totally, definitely was. slavegirl? Nope. This chick was wiped clean of everything. I could see it. All she did was obey The Voice. I didn’t even have to hear the orders being given to know that much.
And I could also see two long trails of wetness between her legs. One on each side as they ran slowly toward her knees. It was hot. Though not so hot that it was going to distract me from my opportunity.
“Hey! dronegirl! Get me the fuck out of here!”
I yelled a little more harshly than I intended, but I was still pretty drugged up and didn’t have much control of myself. She didn’t even blink.
I needed to pee anyway. I figured a couple of the IVs were giving me what I needed to stay alive. Not exactly the best diet plan, but I was stuck with it.
I didn’t do drugs very much, but my aunt did. Lots of them. I remembered being in her garage and finding bottle after bottle of some liquid. Did she shoot herself up? I could hear a commotion in the driveway. They were taking her to the emergency room. I had to hide this stuff. I didn’t want them to think she was a junkie for God’s sake. Hide the drugs, Carla. No one must know.
It didn’t matter in the end. My aunt wound up staying in the hospital longer than I did! Homeless again at 13. Off I went to foster family number one. I didn’t remember a single thing about them except that I sure as shit didn’t want to be there.
Enough was enough. I had to think. But I was so foggy-headed. The Satanic needles were in my hands, like serpents injecting venom into my body. Think! The last thing I remembered before finding myself in this horrific predicament. Yes. Yes! I was walking to my car after work. The first real job I’d ever had that didn’t require me to stand at a cash register or mop something up.
I could see the beaten-up Toyota I managed to scrape together the $900 to get, leaving a job that I didn’t remember getting. Probably out of the kindness from some patron of the Home For Wayward Teenage Fuckups I wound up in after the rape. That dormitory from hell.
I’d stayed at this job for nine months or so, which was a record. My bank account still read zero.
As I pulled out of the lot with the autumn cool fogging the windshield, I thought about my independence. Alone in the world. I had moved in with three other roommates—all different, all pleasant enough—but none I could call a friend. Even after six months. Anyway, I took what I could get after they shoved me out the dormitory doors on birthday 18 plus one day.
I stopped at the lot exit and noticed an energy drink in the cup holder. I didn’t drink that shit. I opened it anyway and began to drink it down. I was still chugging when I turned left, instead of right, toward home.
The drink was tepid, but it warmed me. My thoughts drifted to Diana, like they often did. Must have been the warmth inside me. No. It’s the needle in my left wrist, heating me up from my waist to my pits. Then numbing. Fucking drugs. Diana, if you could only see me now ...
Remember, Carla. Come on! The drive. Going left. I was going the wrong way, but I couldn’t find the strength of will to turn the car around.
“Carla. Turn the car around.”
I jerked the wheel and pulled a U-turn in the street. This way home. I began to laugh. Idiot. This is the way home.
I didn’t remember ever getting there.
Even as I fought to remember, I knew it was time again. The drugs were doing their job alright. Wiping me out. I knew I was seeping shamelessly again from between my labia. The treatment was starting. The spirals, the flashing images. The low hum and the tinny violin. And the mantras—Surrender, Submit, Obey. It was actually getting boring. Yeah, yeah. Surrender. To whom? Submit to what? Obey who? Oh, yeah, The Voice. The deep, staticky, sexy woman’s voice that drummed her words into my head through the speakers.
“Who are you?!” I almost wretched from the screaming.
It did no good, of course. I went back to being bored. Even when I closed my eye I could still see the images on the screen. Or dronegirl would be there with drops if I kept them both stuck open too long.
God, this one must have gone on for hours. I knew because my ass was wet from all the juice that dripped out of me with the same seductive gradualness as the fluids the serpents were feeding me.
Stimulation without release. I wasn’t bored now. I was needy. I needed to cum and quick. The torture of being bound and drugged and brainwashed was nothing next to the torture of standing on the ledge of a fifty-story orgasm.
I knew I hadn’t spoken for a long time because my voice cracked from the dryness of being open-mouthed.
I was deep in the spirals, looking more for an escape from my sexual torment as much as anything. Then I felt a cool breeze on my pussy. I was long past caring that I was naked. Hell, not after days. Or was it weeks? The bags of waste I filled came and went without me counting how many times they were changed.
It wasn’t a breeze. It was a cool breath. I struggled to pull my eye down just far enough to see the top of dronegirl’s head in my peripheral vision. She was literally blowing me.
“Please...” Please what? Please yes or please no? I had no idea.
dronegirl, I guess, took it as an invitation and gave my pussy a long, wet, torturously slow lick.
Then The Voice said, “You may cum now, pet.”
I thought I saw stars. I really did. There are orgasms and then there are Orgasms. Even at 18, I knew the difference. I’d masturbated myself silly for years. But this? The Voice giving me permission, while dronegirl satisfied me with her expert tongue, turned my body and mind to jelly. Stars.
I didn’t know how long I was out. Maybe I was still dreaming the dreams of my captor. But dronegirl was gone and a different set of spirals danced before my eye. On and on and on it went. This wasn’t boring. This was horrible. Dizzy and nauseous. Tears streamed down my face. I would have screamed “I surrender!” if I’d had a voice. I had no choice but to submit and obey. I was frozen. Zapped out. Tied down.
Was I dreaming? I couldn’t feel the serpents, my body was all numb inside. But outside I felt a thousand tiny pinpricks setting me on edge. I was losing my mind. I tried to think. Of anything. Yet I couldn’t latch onto a face or a place. Or a time. No mother. No father. No work. No home. Nothing. The only solace I found was the fleeting image of Diana’s face smiling at me like she always did. But even that didn’t soothe me. It made me unbearably sad. I was dying. I couldn’t hold a single memory in my head. Was I always like this? Brain dead at birth, bed-ridden and drooling?
Then everything went dark. The monitor was off. My eye slowly adjusted and scanned my torture chamber. The room was dim, except for a few blinking lights on the equipment surrounding me and a sliver of light under the door. I waited. I filled my urine bag. Twice.
“Carla ... Pet.”
Spasm. My brain may have been fried, but my pussy was working just fine, thank you.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”
There was sympathy in The Voice. It threw me. Torture me and then apologize? This woman—this Voice—was fucked up. Maybe more fucked up than I was, lying there naked and twitching with no sense of self.
“The programming should have been fully effective by now. You’ve been very responsive. However, not as fully as I had hoped. The treatments have gone on far too long. I don’t want you suffering.”
More sympathy. Great. Just let me fucking go then!
“I don’t know who I am,” I croaked out. It seemed like the right thing to say.
“Some things will return in time. Others are lost forever. I won’t know for certain until the next session.”
The words bounced off my empty head. The Voice was patient, though. She gave me time. I was gradually becoming more alert, but what was alert anymore? I couldn’t tell dream from reality.
“The good news,” The Voice said, “is that I’ve discovered the problem. And I have come up with a few solutions.”
“Yippee for me,” I said in a whisper. I could still mock myself even if I didn’t know who I was.
“It’s your eye, dear. The one damaged in the fire. Viewing my programs through one eye eliminated the depth perception needed to fully take you through trance and accept the subliminals.
“Half a cure isn’t a cure at all. I’m surprised I hadn’t taken that into consideration. Melanie had accepted the programming so easily, effortlessly, that I thought you would be the same.”
Who the hell was Melanie? Then it hit me. dronegirl. dronegirl was Melanie. She was the guinea pig for The Voice’s experiment. I was the patient.
I would have patted myself on the back if I could have moved. But I quickly realized there was little comfort in knowing I was who The Voice was really after. There weren’t any other dronegirls at all. There was just blank, mindless Melanie. And me.
“Who was Melanie? Before.”
A million questions I could have asked, but all I wanted to know was who the other pawn in this twisted game of sexual slavery was.
“She was my girlfriend,” The Voice said matter-of-factly. “However, she was afraid of commitment. Now, she is totally committed.”
“To me,” The Voice could have added. But I knew that.
Poor Melanie. She wanted a girlfriend or a smooth break-up, and found herself completely brainwashed. A dronegirl. I was alert now. I wasn’t going to be like her. It scared me more knowing that some other fate besides being a whacked-out slave lay in store for me.
“Sleep, pet. Sleep.” Good night.
Another session. And another. And ... I didn’t notice any difference at first, other than a slight variation in the spirals—the color, the speed of the spinnnnn. The slight change in the tone of the hum. The different off-key notes of the plucked violin. Oh, and the various stimulations to my sex. The sound of The Voice saying her mantras that were beginning to feel like a quick pinch to my always-eager nipples. Eventually followed by the bland, heartless, “Cum, pet.”
Gradually, after days—days??—I figured out what was happening to me through my oversexed haze.
Instead of a long, flat, monotonous pulse that thump-thump-thumped until I hit overload, the treatments became like roller-coaster rides. With steep build-ups, my pussy practically gushing, and my need even more palatable. Then the crashing orgasm. Or orgasms. In a swift, merciless explosion of unwanted ecstasy.
Yet each time the loop went round, the steep build-up lasted longer, the need to cum greater, the wait longer. It got to be that my head—or was it my loud moaning?—called out to The Voice for release. More agonizing waiting. Then ...
“Yesssss!” The Voice let me climax. Deeper and stronger than the time before. Every time!
I was completely addicted.
By then I was calling, yelling for The Voice long before my body was ready. I didn’t see whatshername. dronegirl. My only company was The Voice. And I begged for her. Longed for her. I realized it wasn’t just to satisfy my pussy’s need to weep for her. I needed the connection. The lifeline to someone else. I was alone in the torture chamber and cried aloud for my torturer. I pleaded for her to send me plunging down the tracks at full speed.
When I was allowed to rest, to dream, I couldn’t. I kept my ears at attention waiting for The Voice even when I slept.
Diana! Please save me from this! The Voice was right. I did gradually begin to remember. I remembered the fire. I remembered a sunny day at the park with my mother. I remembered lying on the low couch in Diana’s office as she innocently crossed her legs.
And I remembered Bill Tucker.
I liked him. He taught me how to drive one summer, I think. And his wife. Foster parents number four. Or was it five? I was 16, so they didn’t have to keep me long. Still, they tried to make me family. Their kids were grown and I guess—what was her name?—Mrs. Tucker missed the full nest.
By then I was damaged goods, so I didn’t make it easy on them. They didn’t LOVE me, but they didn’t hate me like some of them did. Can’t remember their names either. Thank God.
But he had raped me. The bruise on my cheek took a month to disappear. The smell of his jizz took a lot longer.
Had he come to my room one night? No, I was in his bed. Looking down. I remembered tumbling across the floor as the cops swarmed in. But it was the look on his face that I could never forget. Not a million brainwashing sessions would ever take that out of me. It wasn’t evil. Or the look of a rapist caught red-handed. It was ... sorrow.
You should be sorry, fucker!
I didn’t remember testifying. I must have said all the right things. I don’t think I looked him in the eye.
I gurgled a drugged laugh. He’s less of a prisoner than I am. The serpents were at work again. Even in my sleep.
dronegirl was back. Strange as it sounds, I was happy to see her. Her blank face and perfect body. She cleaned and massaged me. Touched me just right, as if she was getting as much pleasure from it as I was.
I wasn’t a lesbian. I wasn’t bi. I wasn’t even straight. Bill Tucker’s penis notwithstanding. I was as crooked as a coat hanger. I stared at her the moment she entered the room and my eye lingered on the door long after she zombie-walked out again.
Between sessions I thought about her. And Diana. And The Voice. I tried to put a face and a body on The Voice but I always wound up thinking about Diana again. Or dronegirl’s breasts close to my face as she checked my straps or her shaved slit when she massaged my tight shoulders as she straddled me.
Her skin was soft and always slightly moist. Her perfume came from her body and I caught a whiff of her every time she moved. A few times I could even see the glistening dew between her legs after she was done washing me.
If I’d had a dick it would have jumped to attention every time she touched me. Yet all I had was this damned pussy that was wet more than it was dry. Like all the time. dronegirl. Or The Voice. Or the erotic dreams the programming was searing into my libido. I had to laugh. Maybe dronegirl needed another bag to collect all my cum.
The laughing turned to crying. I remembered the doctors checking me out after the rape. Sperm collection and removal. Bill Tucker didn’t need to be a daddy again. Then the cops would make me go over it all again and again. Shit. That violation was almost worse than the rape check. But Diana was there. Somebody must have called her. She helped me put the horror of it all out of my mind.
I woke up to voices. I guess they gave me a sedative. Diana was in the hallway with a doctor or a cop or the hospital shrink. Some boss. I heard her pleading to let me stay with her, but the man was firm. Doctor-patient bullshit. I could tell she was upset and it made me cry again. I was two months from 17 and got shipped off to the Wayward Teenage Fuckups dormitory.
dronegirl was walking me. I was staggering, really, with dronegirl holding me up. The serpents had done a real good job on me this time. I could barely see. Barely think at all. Although I was long past thinking too much by this point. All I wanted to do was get permission to orgasm for The Voice.
It had to be weeks by now. I needed exercise. I did my best, I think. dronegirl seemed to enjoy cupping my ass as I step-step-stepped. Maybe not. Her face may have been asleep but her hands sure were wide awake. I liked it. She was leading me and I was following. Clinging to her touch.
The sessions had become increasingly more erotic. More, well, lesbian. Images of women. Women having sex. Women orgasming. Women in bondage. The works. I guess this was one of the “solutions” The Voice had come up with. And all cut neatly between spinning wheels and bright flashes and those endless mantras of obedience and submission.
I could say that one day the light bulb just popped on over my head. But it wasn’t like that. It was a soft flicker of awareness. I wanted women. I wanted sex with women. I wanted dronegirl.
That first time I saw her naked and mind-zapped. I was drugged and scared and confused. But I wanted her. I know I did.
Every time she washed me or changed out something that was stuck into me or massaged my muscles, my eye never left her. And my clit throbbed.
I may have been 18, but I’d never had sex before. Never. Probably why I was such a chronic masturbater. The rape wasn’t sex, obviously. And there were never any boys. Although I thought I liked them. Liked the way they looked. Liked thinking about their dicks. But I turned down every date. Every one. Who knows why?
dronegirl’s fingers got me off now and then. Although I still had to wait for permission from She Who Could Not Be Seen.
I was deep under the serpents’ spell when dronegirl began fingering me again. I wasn’t enjoying it this time. I was in a session and other than making me slightly dizzy and zoned out, there wasn’t the usual bombardment of sexual images or the typical response my body gave to them—stiff nipples, wet pussy, burning desire.
Burning. Yeah. The fire was always back there. Even when I was at my most drugged-out, tranced-out, slaved-out state, that fucking fire still burned in the back of my mind like embers in a bottomless furnace.
It was easy to fall back into that memory, being strapped down, unmoving and helpless like I was. When the building collapsed on me it left me with two broken arms, a broken hip, a broken back, a broken fibula, a broken ankle and one heat-baked eyeball. My right eye looked fine on the outside, but it was dark on the inside. No one could tell that it was vacant, except for the thin, pink, surgical scar line from the corner straight across to my ear. Hardly noticeable, really.
Lying in that hospital bed, both eyes gauzed over and wrapped in bandages and casts, I must have looked like a mummy. I think I was questioned by twenty cops. Thirty doctor. Fifty nurses. It’s agonizing having nothing else to do but sleep twenty-four hours a day. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t lost my mind as The Voice’s prisoner. Been there, done that. Except for the brainwashing. Oh, yeah. That.
Then one night, I thought I was dreaming. Someone was in my hospital room. The feet moved to the end of my bed and stood there. A long time. I was blind. I didn’t speak, but I could have even though my face was pretty swollen and my jaw was stiff.
Then the person moved to the side of the bed and I knew it was a woman. I felt the nail of her finger on my lips as she shushed me. No problem. I was a little scared anyway.
The woman wasn’t rough. On the contrary. It was delicate. Even loving in a wildly inappropriate way. She stroked my head and belly. My arms and my thighs up and down to the casts.
dronegirl was speeding up—I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t thinking about orgasms. I was thinking about that mysterious visitor.
How many nights did she come to my room? Five? Six? I don’t remember. She never came back after that. I missed her.
My ass lifted into dronegirl’s hand as I came with an animalistic grunt. I wasn’t ready, was I? But I orgasmed just the same.
dronegirl was unstrapping me. Exercise time. But as I got to my feet, I saw a bed where one of the machines had been. How did that get there? Hey, I was being mindfucked half the time. A brass band could have marched through there a dozen times and I wouldn’t have noticed.
She was gentle as she led me to the bed. It was sweet. Almost the way I dreamed it would be. Well, with a girl anyway. Even a brainwashed one. I didn’t care. My first time was going to be special alright. Bizarre. But fun. Lots of fun. She was so careful with me, but so sexy. She kissed and licked and sucked me into oblivion.
I may have had a constant lust for The Voice, dreamed of sex with The Voice that seduced me time after time, but this was as real as I figured it was ever going to get now that the drugs weren’t pouring into me. I guess I liked girls all along. I sure liked what dronegirl was doing to me. I hoped she liked what I was doing. I think she did, with all the sticky wetness that covered my thighs and fingers.
Her fingers played me in tune, not like that damn violin. It was wonderful harmony. And she made me climax right on key.
I was coming down from the sexual high pretty fast. The forced orgasms from The Voice usually left me wanting for more, but the first real sex of my life seemed to satisfy my body enough to regain a little focus.
I wanted out.
It took me maybe a split-second to decide before I jumped off the bed and reached for the door knob.
I doubled over and froze. I was spasming like I had a million times before, but my legs wouldn’t move. I freaked out.
“No! Please! Let me go!”
“Sleep, pet. Sleep.”
I was pissed. Strapped down again. I didn’t remember dronegirl tying me down. Or washing me. Her smell was off my skin.
“Stop” and I stopped. “Sleep” and I was out. “Cum” and I came. The Voice had complete control of my mind and my body. I hadn’t fully appreciated what the hours and days of programming had done to me. I was too caught up in the roller-coaster. Too caught up in my visits from dronegirl and her perfectly round butt and soft lips. I knew the brainwashing was stealing my memories and thrusting only specific ones back in. But why? I knew with a couple of commands I’d be as docile and empty as dronegirl. The Voice had me. What more did she want? I surrender okay! Untie me and let me rub myself raw if that’s what you want!
Whoa. It was like she was staring at my brain. She’d cut a hole in my head and could just peek down at me from her throne or wherever she was that made me feel so small.
I wasn’t desperate to escape. I wanted to, sure. But I mostly wanted to end THIS. This torture. I would have licked her feet just to get off this table/bed/chair thing I was living on.
Why had I run? The door was probably locked anyway. Did I want to get away from The Voice or did I want to find it? I honestly couldn’t tell.
What kind of life did I have? A boring job. No family. No friends. No money. Death and ugliness had followed me around my whole life. All those doctors. All those cops. The kind of people you should trust and I hated. Foster parents with no love for me.
Real love. I missed my mother. My aunt loved me as much as she could. My dad loved me in his own way. Did Diana love me? Or did she just feel sorry for me? My mother loved me. Held me, kissed me. Made everything okay.
I was swinging. The spirals had been replaced by what looked like a pendulum. That was hypnotizing. Not sinking into a spinning hole, but rocking back and forth and feeling so tired. Limp. The Voice was filling my head with words, but I couldn’t tell what they were. If she didn’t say, “Cum,” it didn’t register in my mushy mind.
The sun was in my face and I could see my sneakers stretched out in front of me as I moved and they didn’t. I was swinging.
I loved swinging. I may have been too old at 11 to swing like a kindergartener, but it wasn’t going to stop me from doing it. It was the first warm day of spring and I was outside and happy.
My mother leaned against a tree reading. She read a lot. She didn’t need to push me on the swings like she used to. That would have been too babyish. Although I still did all the little-kid things, like pretending my feet were kicking at the people walking along the bike path at the edge of the park.
A woman walking her dog. A woman walking alone. Three boys with a basketball. The woman walking by again.
A few minutes later, I saw that same woman again as I lay spread out on the grass by my mother’s feet. I looked up at her, but the sun was in my eyes so I couldn’t make out her face. I saw the long, blonde curled hair. Even when the sun slipped behind her head, her face was in shadow.
“What a lovely daughter,” she said. “She’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” my mother replied. “Carla?”
I wasn’t really paying attention.
“Do you have children?”
“No. Sadly. I had a daughter. Pat. Patricia. She died unexpectedly. She’d be about Carla’s age. I’m Sylvia.”
They shook hands. I watched the clouds roll by.
“Patricia is a pretty name. It must have been difficult for you and your husband.”
“Oh, no husband. But I wanted a child. You look thirsty. Here.”
The woman, Sylvia, was wearing jogging clothes or something. She pulled a water bottle from her small backpack.
“Oh, that’s all right. We’ll be going home soon.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s hot today. Look. It’s not even opened. I actually have two.”
I don’t remember why, but my mother took the bottle and sipped from it. I guess she thought it was okay. I took the other one. It tasted weird for water. Kinda sweet.
I fought to remember. To hold onto this memory of my mother. I even pulled at my bindings as if to force the memory out of my muscles. Damned serpents.
I must have taken a nap, or the memory vanished, because when I looked back at my mom, Sylvia was whispering to her even though my mom’s eyes were closed.
“Carla. Let me see your phone.”
I handed it to Sylvia without a thought. She was writing something down. More whispers to Mom.
She handed me back my phone and petted my head. I liked that. It made me feel extra warm, even with the sun shining down and the warm water in my stomach.
Sylvia whispered to me too, I think. I’m not sure. I just remember seeing her again with Mom at the park. Seemed like a lot of times, but it all sort of blurred together. All my memories felt like dreams under the hypnotic programming.
I heard my mother moaning and Sylvia on top of her. They were making love. And it didn’t really strike me as odd. My dad travelled a lot. They were in my parents’ bed. What was I doing there? Watching? Or did I sneak a look after being awakened? I think I just dreamed they had sex anyway.
All I know is that’s when I started masturbating. My mother never caught me, but a couple of my foster parents did. You’d have thought it was a sin. For someone with sex on the brain as much as I did, I never was much interested in the real thing. I would just do it myself until I fell asleep and would wake up with my phone pressed to my ear.
I never really wondered about that either.
“Carla. How are you feeling?”
This was new. I was awake. Definitely awake. The serpents were gone. dronegirl was gone. I wasn’t even strapped down, just sitting up.
And The Voice wanted to know how I felt.
Honestly, I had no answer. I didn’t trust being awake. I mean really awake. This had to be a hallucination or dream or some part of the programming that made me not believe my eye.
I think I said, “Um.”
I waited. Didn’t that used to make me ...?
Oh, yeah, those spasms were automatic now. The Voice had that down. The trigger that had control over me. And my horniness. My hands were free and I wasn’t going to waste the chance to rub my pussy. Like I said, The Voice was always patient. I got good and wet. I even gave my breasts some needed attention.
I thought, “You know, I could get use to this.” But the climax wasn’t going to come. I knew that too. It didn’t slow my fingers down one bit.
“What will you do for me, pet?”
The words left my lips before I even knew it.
“Surrender. Submit. Obey.”
There was an approving purr on the other side of the speakers. Yet it made me whimper when I realized The Voice wasn’t going to say the magic words. It only made me finger harder, faster, deeper.
“We’ve come to the end of our journey together, pet. You’re free to go.”
I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t. It was a trick.
The door opened.
dronegirl—Madelyn? Marilyn?—was at the door. My clothes, I assumed, were neatly folded in her hands as she stood there still and straight and ... surrendered, submissive and obedient.
“I don’t understand?” Again, not the best question to ask, but hey I really didn’t understand!
“You’re free to leave. I’ve reconsidered. I don’t want you anymore.”
Are you kidding me? I was getting angry. It wasn’t all the hours of pointless torture I had endured that ticked me off. It was the dismissive indifference I felt from her. I had to mean something to her. She went to all this trouble, didn’t she?
“You mean ... Why?”
“Melanie has your clothes. I’ve arranged for someone to take you to your car.”
Part of me wanted to fly out the door. Didn’t I want that? But I knew once I stepped out that door I’d never hear The Voice again and I didn’t want that either. Did I like being brainwashed and tortured? Hell no! But I wanted the connection. I wanted The Voice to tell me when to orgasm and when to sleep and when to stop. Stop everything. Stop the way my life had been ever since that fire.
In a strange way, I was more of a person in the torture chamber than I ever was out in the real world. At least there I knew what I was supposed to do. I knew someone actually gave a shit about me, no matter how twisted it all was. She’d take away all those awful memories. She had to care!
“No,” I said.
I didn’t surprise myself. I meant it. I didn’t ask myself why. I knew why. What neatly parked in the spaces in my brain was that I wanted to surrender. The button I was pressing so feverishly with my fingers was the same one I pressed in my consciousness. I didn’t want to leave.
“You don’t mean that, Carla. I know you too well.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe The Voice did know how I felt better than I did. Was it just a programmed response? The hammer of submission that pounded into my psyche day after day, maybe it was calling the shots. I began to shudder from uncertainty much stronger than my body’s response to my fingering.
I didn’t know what I wanted. There was no ME anymore.
I stiffly got off the ride and shook with weak knees and a sore back. I took a few steps toward the door. The Voice wanted me out. So I went. Almost. I never made it to dronegirl.
“Why? Why did you do this to me?”
“Don’t you know?”
Nope. Not a clue. Standing there naked in the middle of a basement, clinging to the words of some unknown, I slowly began to glue the pieces of my fragmented memory together. At least, the ones my subconscious thought were important enough to keep. But there were no answers to be found there.
I looked up at the ceiling as if she were a god in the heavens.
“I wasn’t worth it, you know. I’m nobody.”
I tried to be brave, but I lost it. I collapsed to the floor and began crying. Really crying. For the first time in forever. Or had it just been a few weeks. Had my wobbly sense of time been just another illusion?
I froze. I moaned in frustration but I stopped crying. The Voice was robbing me of this one final release. I was kneeling on the floor, my hands at my sides.
As dronegirl put my clothes down, someone else entered the room. Tall, thin, blonde, beautiful.
She was expressionless, stiff. Empty. She looked right past me. Another dronegirl. Diana.
“No! You can’t!”
I should have run out that door when I had the chance. I wanted to. Now, I couldn’t. And not because I was stuck to the floor. I couldn’t because leaving meant leaving Diana. She was going to take my place. The only person I cared about was gone. So gone. Blank. Next to dead.
“Diana...?” I whispered. Nothing.
Then, slowly, Diana turned to dronegirl and they began kissing. Want to know about torture? This was real torture. I was off the drugs, off the ride, off the spiraling mindfuck. And I never felt so low.
The Voice had gotten to Diana. She had wanted me to surrender and I did. But she didn’t buy it. Even if I thought I really had. No, this was the kicker. This was what The Voice wanted me to see before I disappeared. I may not have been empty-headed, but I was empty of everything that mattered. There was nothing for me outside that open door now.
Strangely enough, I didn’t hate The Voice for doing that to Diana. I just hated the results. The Voice did give a shit about me or she wouldn’t have gone this far. I was the object of obsession. It gave me an odd sense of worth after all. I mattered to her. It’s just that the price of my freedom had to be Diana. And that broke me into a million pieces. Again.
All these thoughts rattled around in my head as Diana and dronegirl made love right before my eye. And it was lovemaking, not sex. dronegirl had sex with me. It wasn’t love. This was undeniable. Their two shapes moved with such grace and familiarity that even their blank minds couldn’t hide the passion of their bodies.
And it made me incredibly turned on.
Diana. My Diana. In bed. Naked. And OMG so fucking beautiful. In all our time together, all the times I had harmlessly daydreamed the impossibilities, I had never seen her even remotely sexual. Yet here she was.
I indulged my paralyzed self in wanting. Wanting her. Wanting dronegirl even. However, the more turned on I got, the more wrong it all felt. This was Diana! I didn’t want her fucking for some invisible voice day after day. All of who she is—was—gone forever. I wanted Diana back. My Diana. The way she was. The way she always was. For me.
“Stop this! Please!”
But they didn’t stop.
“I’ll do anything. Anything! Just let her go! I’ll do whatever you want! Please! I’ll take her place. Just set her free. Let her be herself again and I will never leave you.”
The Voice said nothing.
It was maddening. What could I do? What more could I say? Every part of me was in agreement. I wanted to free Diana. Even if that meant an eternity with The Voice. I was surrendering.
“Please let her go! I’ll stay. I’ll do whatever you want. Let me stay and let Diana go! I want to stay! Please!”
I must have begged for a long time because nothing changed except for the sexual positions of my beautiful Diana and the sexy dronegirl. On and on it went. More helpless pleading.
Then the lights went off and on again. They stopped.
Slowly, Diana rose, as if the lights had flicked something on in her mind-wiped brain. She walked toward me, right up to me, so close that my panting breaths nearly parted the hairs of her gloriously shaped fur above her dripping pussy.
“It’s all right, honey. I’m here. I’m okay.”
“Shhh ... Everything is going to be okay.”
She’d said that a zillion times to me before, but never with glassy eyes and an expressionless, cum-soaked face.
“I want this, honey. I want to protect you. I want to help you. I don’t want you to be alone ever again.”
No! She was sacrificing herself for me. Me! And I wasn’t worth a damn thing. She was bright, beautiful, smart. She could have anything she wanted in this world. And she was throwing it all away to protect me. To save me. I wanted to cry again.
“Don’t cry, baby. I want to help you.”
She looked down at me, and for a moment I thought I saw life behind those eyes. Some recognition. Her voice even deepened.
“Just like I helped you all along. Protected you. I protected you from the police after you watched your mother set that fire. Or when they got suspicious about you poisoning your aunt. I was there to help you. To keep you safe. Even after you lied about the rape. I knew you didn’t mean to do all those evil, terrible things. I understood. And I will never leave you. Ever.”
“I didn’t ...”
Did I? Did I do those things? I must have. No wonder I blotted them out from my memory. The horrible things I did. And Diana was always there. Always there to take the pain away. My savior.
“Shhh ... It’s all right now. I’m not going to leave you. I love you.”
She loved me! She must. She protected me all along. And I wanted to protect her now. To free her no matter what. God! She was so close and smelled so good.
“I love you, Diana.”
I needed to say it. I may never get the chance again.
She pressed her hand on the back of my head and led me into her.
I was in heaven. I licked her as if nothing else mattered, as if nothing else would ever matter.
Maybe this could work. Maybe Diana would want to stay. Really stay, not forced to. Her with me and The Voice. Two dronegirls in love. My lapping mouth began to shut down the rights and wrongs of it in my head. She was here. Finally here.
“My poor foolish girl.”
Then the flood hit. Like an ocean of water breaking through the dam in my soul. I shuddered from a powerful climax, more powerful than any of the free rides on the roller-coaster. It was me who was finally free.
Was it relief? Or capitulation? I really didn’t care. The Voice. That voice. The voice of Sylvia as she drugged and hypnotized my mother and me. The voice that forced me to masturbate, night after night, on the phone. The voice that tried to keep me from going back into that fiery house.
The voice that programmed me into submissiveness. It was all her. It was Diana. I submitted to her completely.
My savior. My doctor. My friend. The only person in the whole world I cared about was my tormentor. And I was glad.
“What will you do for me, pet?”
“Surrender. Submit. Obey.”
I said the words, and it wasn’t out of a tranced reflex. I meant it. Every word.
Her hand pushed my head between her legs again and I relished her taste. She wasn’t Diana. She wasn’t even The Voice come to life. She was someone else.
Through her satisfied moans and heavy breathing, I knew she was smiling. That kind smile I knew so well. I was a dronegirl with benefits. I was who she wanted and she had me right where she wanted me. And where I wanted to be.
“I’ve waited so long for this, dear. From that moment I saw you walking home from school. And then again at the park. I just had to get you back.
“So much time lost. But we’re together again. Forever. I waited so long. I built all this for you. It took me four years and still I had to wait. Melanie proved to be the perfect test subject. All I needed was for you to be free. Free of all of them. And ready to come back to me.”
I shuddered again from the next wave of orgasms. I had come back. All the way back. But now I had a place in the world. With HER.
“And now you’re all grown up. And there are so many things I want to show you, teach you. They were never possible before. You were so young. Now, you’re a young woman. And we can show our love for each other in so many ways.
“My dear sweet child. I missed you so. It’s all right. Mommy is here. And we’ll never be parted.
“Make Mommy cum, Pat.”
Well, that’s all I could remember.
Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m happy with Diana. Mommy. Yeah, the mommy thing was weird at first, but it makes her happy. Like her calling me Pat instead of Patricia.
I don’t really remember anything else before I made that U-turn to Mommy’s house. Every day I remember less and less, but I don’t do drugs anymore. I don’t need to. Mommy takes care of me and I take care of her.
Melanie does all the cleaning and cooking. She’s a great cook. She’s not always that much fun to play with, but the sex is awesome. And Mommy has her psychiatry practice. I don’t really do a lot. Mommy doesn’t seem to mind, though. She actually talked about getting another dronegirl. I don’t know. Mommy is all I need now.
Sometimes she takes me to the park like she used to. Although Melanie does the pushing when I’m on the swings. I don’t have a past or a future, just the here and now. But I sure sleep a lot. I think I’m too old for naps, but Mommy makes me anyway.
I just obey.