The Unknown Object
Hannah Davis was wandering around the splendid vacation suite that Ryan had so thoughtfully booked for the two of them, looking for the phone in order to call room service.
The room had an excellent view of the beach (she could almost hear the rolling sound of the waves), and she pondered whether she and Ryan might go scuba diving tomorrow, if the weather permitted.
But before anything else, she wanted to celebrate this fantastic evening by ordering some champagne. Where was that phone?
She turned around to ask Ryan, saw him stand up and face her. Hannah took a moment to admire his handsome face with its trimmed beard, his sculpted physique, wide chest, the tribal tattoo on his right arm, and, of course, the girth of his phallus. He looked, she remarked to herself, like an ancient Greek sculpture, all muscle and sinew.
Their lovemaking that evening had been different than usual—Ryan had seemed frantic and fevered. It had been a long time since he’d had so much stamina in the bedroom, as he usually left work exhausted. But this particular evening, every time she thought he was about to fall asleep, his hands began caressing her again and he’d just…
God, it had been good.
She was about to tell him that, when he spoke.
“…It’s time to wake up.”
What does he mean, ‘wake up’?
Ryan put his hands together, clapped loudly. At that moment, Hannah felt herself lose balance, and she stumbled. Her vision became blurry, and her head began to ache, as though a migraine were coming on.
She closed her eyes, rubbed her temples. What was going on?
The pounding in her head grew in intensity, and then diminished into a dull ache.
As it did so, something strange…something truly bizarre…happened.
It was as though two sets of memories were competing inside Hannah’s head.
Her eyes darted in confusion around the room.
Superimposed onto the beautiful holiday suite was a messy bedroom, with Fortnite and Dragon Ball Z posters taped to its walls. The large table in the corner became a small desk, with a laptop and textbooks and papers scattered about. Strewn about the floor were dirty t-shirts, boxers, and rolled-up socks.
The luxury hotel bed with high thread-count silk sheets was now a twin sized bed with a pale blue checkerboard-patterned bedspread. On the headboard were stickers of anime characters and superheroes, some of them somewhat torn as though the owner had haphazardly tried to remove them before giving up.
She tried to fix her vision on Ryan—but Ryan was no longer there.
In his place was the student she’d come to reprimand that evening—Timothy West. He was standing in front of her, sallow-skinned, out-of-shape, his member dangling between his legs.
He was standing naked, leering and ogling her. Because she was naked too. Hannah quickly put one arm over her breasts, a hand over her crotch, covering herself up as best as she could.
The memories of the past few hours suddenly seemed to shift and change.
She’d kissed Ryan…no, she’d kissed this teenage boy…the rough feel of her boyfriend’s scratchy beard was replaced in her mind with the bare skin of Timothy West’s face.
She remembered pushing Ryan onto the bed, pulling down his pants, taking out his erect penis. Except it wasn’t Ryan—had never been Ryan.
She’d taken this teenager’s penis…into her mouth…
She’d stripped for him.
Grinded her crotch onto his face.
She’d had sex…
She’d had sex with one of her students.
Hannah felt sick, her stomach churning with nausea.
This boy—he’d done something to her. He’d drugged her, or…or worse…
She’d been violated. That was clear enough.
She screamed loudly, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, loud enough for someone to come help her.
Timothy’s eyes opened wide and a look of panic came over his face.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He shouted.
Almost reflexively, Hannah did so…and when she tried to scream again, found that she couldn’t. She grasped at her throat, tried to squeak out a sound. Nothing. Whatever was happening, perhaps due to shock, she found that she was completely mute.
But her legs still worked, and she sprang into action, covering herself with a bedsheet and running full-speed towards the bedroom door—even if she couldn’t speak, once she was out, surely a neighbor could take her in, take her to the police station and the hospital.
Once Timothy realized what she was doing, he moved as if to run after her, but tripped on one of the pieces of clothing lying on the floor (Hannah’s brassiere, ironically enough). He fell flat on his face, and tried to grab her ankle, but she slipped easily past him. For a split second, Hannah was tempted to kick him in the face for good measure, but decided against risking it.
She was almost past the doorway when she heard him call out, “Stop! Don’t leave!”
The muscles in Hannah’s legs froze. She tried flexing her legs—nothing. Dropping the bedsheet, she tried leaning over and grabbing at her thighs—she could feel them, but they refused to move. She was stuck in an awkward position, almost mid-stride.
What had this boy done to her, she wondered in horror. It was as though she were a marionette and this cruel little monster was holding her strings. Her vision began to blur, and she brought her hand to her cheeks. Tears. She was crying.
Timothy lifted himself up, went to stand in front of her.
“Calm down, Ms. Davis,” he said, almost as if he were soothing a small child. “Just come back into the bedroom and sit down, okay?”
Her body moved as if on its own, back towards the teenage boy’s filthy bedroom. She took a seat at the edge of the bed—now that she had calmed down, she could smell it in the air…the scent of sweat, semen, and her own fluids. It made her gag.
Not even bothering to put on underwear, Timothy grabbed a chair and moved to sit in front of her. He looked at her curiously—his expression somehow reminded her of how some children would tear the wings off bugs and then examine them, seeing how they survived without being able to fly. That’s how she felt right now—like a bug that had its wings torn off.
Why couldn’t she control her own body? What had he done to her?
This wasn’t just a drug, this was…she couldn’t even begin to fathom what it was.
“At least you’re following my commands, but this isn’t really how I expected this to work,” Timothy mused. “I fully expected that you’d be in love with me once I removed the illusion. That’s the impression the old lady gave me anyway. Hmmm.”
What the hell is he saying? Hannah thought. He was rambling, but maybe there was a clue to her predicament in the things she was saying. She narrowed her eyes.
“So, uh, I’m gonna let you talk now, but you can’t scream—you can’t run away either, okay? All you can do until I say otherwise is sit there and talk with me. Oh, and don’t lie—whatever I ask, you have to be honest. Understood?”
Hannah somehow felt her vocal cords…unlock, for lack of a better word. She somehow knew she couldn’t shout, but just the fact that she could speak was a relief. Hannah decided to let Timothy West know exactly what he thought of her. He wanted honesty? She’d give it to him.
“Oh, I understand, you rapist little shit, and I guarantee you, I will see you behind bars,” she said, with a virulent look at the teenager. He blanched when he heard her speak.
“W-what? B-but we…you and I…we m-made love…I didn’t force you to do anything!” he protested.
“Is that how you’re trying to justify it to yourself? I don’t know what you did to me…what you’re still doing to me…but I know this much. You made me believe I was somewhere else, with a person I cared about, and you made me…do things.”
“I…I just wanted to see…to see what it was like to be your boyfriend,” he said, a sad, petulant tone in his voice. He looked down at his lap, as though ashamed to meet her gaze.
“You’re a sick little degenerate—no wonder this is the type of thing you have to resort to in order to be with a woman. No one would willingly be with you unless you tricked them, or forced them, or manipulated them. How did you do this to me, huh? Did you drug that tea your mom gave me?” No…that wasn’t right…Hannah hadn’t drunk the tea…had she? Her memories of the evening were a bit blurry, illusion and reality still all jumbled up together.
“Never mind how I did it,” he sighed, and waved his hand dismissively. After taking a beat to think, he stared at her, and continued speaking. “Listen, uhm…how do you feel about me? Not what I did, but about me.”
“How do you think I feel? You horrify me. I came here, to your home, to do my job, to help make sure you didn’t get in trouble after getting that report that you were at the library claiming to be doing research and—”
Oh my God, she realized. Oskar Müller. The librarian said Timothy West been researching a man named Oskar Müller. Could that somehow be the reason behind everything that was happening here?
Tim hadn’t seemed to notice that she’d paused, followed up with another question.
“Maybe how you feel about me isn’t the right question to ask…uhm…what’s our relationship?”
“We have no relationship, except victim and assailant. Unless you’re talking student and teacher,” she sneered defiantly.
“Hmm…that’s strange…Ms. Sommer said you’d realize from the bottom of your heart…” he frowned, stroked his chin as though deep in thought.
Hannah kept thinking. Timothy had told the librarian that he was doing research on this man, Oskar Müller, for history class. So obviously this man must be a historical figure. Why was it so important for him to cut school to research this person, unless he was involved in whatever it was that he was doing to her?
Yes, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that this Müller person must be the key to everything. Him, and the old lady he kept talking about—that must be Ms. Sommer, Hannah presupposed.
Whatever Timothy was doing, it was clear to her now that he was flying by the seat of his pants. His little illusion had worked, but now he had no clue what to do, or how to do it. If only she could get free…send a message to Ryan. Her purse must still be in the living room, she thought.
“What are you thinking right now, Ms. Davis?” Timothy said, eyeing her suspiciously.
“How…how to get a message to Ryan…” she replied. Fuck.
“Why would you want to do that?”
“T-to get free from you,” she acknowledged, angry tears forming in her eyes again.
The teenager stared daggers into her eyes.
“Listen—you belong to me now, alright? You’re not going to call Ryan. Do you understand?”
“Your life is going to be different from now on, Ms. Davis, but I promise I’ll take good care of you,” Timothy said with an earnest tone. He put his hands on top of hers, and Hannah had to fight the urge to slap them away.
“Th-the thing is, Ms. Davis—I’m your master now,” he said.
Hannah tried to pull her hands away from Timothy, but he just grasped them in his own.
“W-what the hell are you saying?”
“I’m your master, and you’re my slave. You know that, don’t you? Deep down?” Timothy’s tone was almost pleading now, as though desperate for her affirmation.
And, to her own shock, she gave it to him.
“Y-yes…s-somehow, I know that. You’re my master…and…and I’m your slave,” Hannah admitted, tears streaming down her face freely now, her entire body trembling in fear.
“I don’t like seeing you sad like this, Ms. Davis, but…the old lady promised, eventually you’d realize that being my slave was your purpose, that you’d feel fulfilled.”
Hannah somehow doubted it. The nausea she’d been feeling this entire time was just getting worse and worse.
A life of slavery? To some jejune, sex-starved teenager? She knew what he wanted of her—the same thing he’d been doing that evening. She’d be a tool for his personal pleasure.
No. There had to be a way out. Hannah Davis was a smart woman. She would figure out what Timothy West had done to her, and she’d get free.
And then she’d make him pay.
The teenager, seemingly oblivious to her thoughts, had apparently been come to a decision.
“Okay, Ms. Davis, I’m going to give you some instructions about what you’re going to do next…”
Tim had Ms. Davis shower. He watched her as the water hit her skin and as she gently rubbed the soap all over herself. If he hadn’t already orgasmed multiple times that evening, he would have been tempted to join her in the bath.
After the shower, he had her sit next to him and ordered her to record a video on his phone in which she, completely naked, confessed her love for him. That way, if something happened, he threatened her, he’d release the video and make it seem like she’d seduced him. She gazed at him with hatred in her eyes, but nodded curtly, showing she understood.
Then, he had her put her clothes back on and head home, as usual. He didn’t want any disruptions in her routine—he couldn’t afford anyone noticing that there was anything ‘off’ about her. He ordered her to act completely normal outwardly, not giving anyone (especially Ryan) a hint about what was going on between the two of them.
As he walked her to the door, he gave her a peck on the cheek. She shivered slightly in displeasure—but Tim was confident in what the old woman had said. Ms. Davis would eventually see that this was her true purpose.
“Ms. Davis, tomorrow, you’ll act totally normally—if anyone asks about your visit with my mother, what will you say?”
“I-I’ll say that it was a false alarm. There’s no problem…no problem at all…but, Timothy…”
“Yes, Ms. Davis?”
“Y-your mother…h-have you done this to your mother as well?”
“What do you think?” Tim couldn’t help but grin.
“Jesus Christ,” Ms. Davis muttered under her breath. “She’s your…she’s your mother, for God’s sake…”
“With Heather, too,” Tim said, now a bit angry. Who was Ms. Davis to judge him? He was her master, after all. She was nothing but his slave.
“Heather West? For fuck’s sake…your own sister…she’s just a girl…why would you…?” Ms. Davis shook her head.
“I’ll go to your classroom tomorrow at lunch time with further instructions,” Tim said coldly. He didn’t like the way she was looking at him. “Remember, you’ll say and do nothing to draw suspicion to yourself, or to me. I’m your master, and you’re my slave. Got it?”
“…You’re my master, and I’m your slave. I understand…goddammit.”
He gave her a light slap on the buttocks, and sent her on her way.
Well, that was a little…different from what I expected, Tim thought. Still, Ms. Davis was fully compliant and her personality had apparently been fully preserved, just as Ms. Sommer had promised.
Now it was time to repeat the procedure with Mom and Heather.
He went to the kitchen, where his mind-controlled mother still sat at the table, and brought her to the living room. Then, he went to Heather’s bedroom and summoned her downstairs.
The two of them sat next to each other on the sofa, across from Timothy. At this point, they’d been mind-controlled zombies for more than a day. Time to fix that.
Timothy took out the guide to obedience as well as his phone. He figured he would record the commands this time for future use. Luckily, in both their cases, he’d already broken down the taboos related to incest and had increased their feelings of love for him. Now, he figured all he’d have to do is make them comfortable with the idea that they were both subservient to him.
That, and the fact that they were just the first members of an expanding harem.
“Okay, Mom, Heather, you will listen carefully to everything I say from now on.”
Tim opened the guide to its first page, hit the ‘record’ button on his smartphone, and began to read…