The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Zabzik, Part IV

10

The world was Zabzik. Zabzik was the world.

A landscape of blistering deserts, tawny windblown sand grains stinging against bare sweating flesh like a swarm of biting flies. A world of sudden green exotic oases, crystal water under sapphire skies. Of mountains jagging purple toward the clouds brush-painted in grays and glowering whites, of bright glaciers giving birth to cold winding rivers.

Ancient ruined keeps thrust from worn-down hills, like rotted teeth jutting from moldy gums. Splendid castles spread their banners colorful on the air, humble tents quivered in the same breeze. Strong men strode, half-naked women served them. Beasts lurked, treasures beckoned.

A world of monsters, a world of men.

Zabzik.

Zabzik was Shock’s world, and Shock had lost herself in it. Monsters ignored her now, saw her not even as prey, as food. She was nothing to them. The creatures of Zabzik seemed not even to notice her, for that was the power Mistress Wynn wielded. Stripped of powers, stripped of clothing, clad only in her chains, she willingly submitted to all humiliations. A magic wielder who had lost magic was worse than worthless, even less than nothing. In the beliefs of Zabzik the rest of her existence was to be selfless service, to be the plaything of anyone, of everyone, until she died and her soul was released to seek a new incarnation, a new chance at the game of life.

Sometimes—the treacherous thought gave her a bite of headache—sometimes she thought that Mistress Wynn did not fully understand the rules of the world of Zabzik.

But no, that could not be so. Mistress Wynn knew all, controlled all, a goddess outside the game of the world. She owned Shock body and soul.

Mistress Wynn told her it was so, and so it was. Whenever Mistress Wynn had to be away from the new place where they lived when Zabzik became a dream and dream world became real, Shock was always sent into Zabzik, her body sitting naked or almost naked (for Wynn liked her clad only in fishnet stockings) in the chair before the computer screen, headset in place, following the winds of chance as they blew her now to this master or mistress, now to that. Some of them became so enthralled with this slave who knew no shame, who would present her body in any posture, in every way to a ravisher, that they violated the rules and asked her for a meeting in the real world.

“But this is the real world,” she always responded. How could they enter the realm of dreams, where only she and her goddess could go?

Zabzik was the world, and the world was Zabzik. Nothing else could she remember, nothing else imagine.

And without realizing it, if Shock could prolong the moments of their mating, most of the players she encountered became enthralled another way, their minds yielding to the commands of Mistress Wynn, of the Goddess, as they called her on Zabzik. Each sexual conquest of Shock led to a new slave’s being born. So far the slaves had not come out of the world of Zabzik and into the other world, the world where Wynn commanded Shock to taste her pussy, to please and serve her, but if ordered to, they would. It was a pity that so few of them were women. Wynn had no use for men with their intruding cocks and their strutting ways.

Zabzik. The Scarlet Desert, where a few players had keeps of unimaginable richness amid a sea of poverty. There were rich targets here.

Shock had been walking naked save for the restricting manacles and wrist chains for—how long? Days. Sweat had flowed over her nude body, had dried, had flowed again. Her eyes, slitted against the desert sun, no longer ached from its glare. She walked in the cool of the mornings and the twilight of the evenings, and spent the furnace blaze of noon and the icy chill of midnight in huddled sleep. It was curious how she saw herself and was herself at the same time, but that is how the world of Zabzik was, a place of double vision, of encounters with sight and sound but no smells or tastes or sensations of feeling.

But imagination supplied the lack. Her body sat in a chair, but her skin all but felt the burn of sun, the crunch of sand beneath sole, the slow trickle of sweat over reddened skin. The agony of Shock in Zabzik was felt no less in that other world, the world where Wynn commanded and she had to obey.

The coarse sand beneath her bare feet was beginning to shimmer with the heat of a desert day, and the clanking of her chains had become as hypnotic as a drug. Their tinkling accompaniment shaped into words, and the wind in her ears whispered commands of obedience and surrender and she stored them deep within her and they became a part of her, and to rid herself of them she would have had to tear out her living soul.

The hot, dry wind caressed her buttocks and toyed with her permanently erect nipples. The wind had been sent by Mistress Wynn, who controlled all that Shock did, Wynn the goddess who was everywhere even when she was not present in body. Shock felt beads of heavy sweat creep their way down the slopes of her deeply tanned breasts and crawl over the breathing dome of her stomach, down her shaven pubis, and the chains that linked her wrists to the steel circlet that pierced her labia were growing warm in the leveled sun. Soon it would be time for her to seek shade and flee the blaze of day.

But there in a valley, just a short walk ahead, lay a walled town, white and domed under the strange orange sky. No doubt this was the desert city of Four Wells, the place from which so many quests had set out, and into which so much gold had flooded after heroes returned triumphant.

Where a town was, people were, and where people were she could perfect her humiliation, win servants for her goddess, suffer her penance, work toward her death and whatever lay beyond.

Shock was in love with restful death.

Death, night without end, a release from the cage of consciousness, from the weird dreams that still scuttled like roaches through the darkness of her mind. No sting in death, nothing to fear, just release from this self, this soul, this husk of Shock. Maybe in the next turn, the next life, she would have luck, maybe next time there would be no Mistress Wynn—

A bolt of pain exploded beneath her eyes, and the nude form of Shock staggered, dropped to her knees, struck down by shame and horror at the ungrateful and treacherous thought that had almost formed.

In her chair, Lacey writhed and moaned, imagining in her own shins and knees feeling the hardpan desert floor of Zabzik. When on the screen Shock murmured, “I am sorry, Mistress, I am sorry,” her lips moved, but Lacey’s voice came out to scatter its words on the desert wind, penance and prayer to the Goddess that was Wynn.

Shock painfully rose and staggered onward.

Two players, also walking toward the town, shimmered out of the heat haze. Shock could always tell players from NPCs. They had a kind of solidity about them, a dimension that an AI character somehow could never duplicate. She plodded on, and because she was free of the weight of armor, she moved faster than they.

One of them noticed her and said, “Good God, look at that!”

“Whoa,” the other muttered. “Jesus Christ, this is a good game!”

“Halt!” the first one exclaimed, holding out his hand. “Stop, wench! Who and what are ye?”

Her lips were cracked as a dry arroyo. “Shock,” she said in a croak of a voice. “My name is Shock, good masters, and I am a broken magic wielder. I will fuck you for a drink of water and a morsel of food.”

“She kidding?” the second one asked. “That wasn’t in the game manual! I mean, Jesus—”

“Wayne, play the damn game!” the other one snapped. “Remember, you’re Lord Venture, and I’m Sir Havoc!”

“Man, I’ve never even done it with a real girl—”

“Lo, wench!” Sir Havoc said, motioning to Shock. “If thou’st—thy’st—if you do what you said, we will share what we have with you. But beware! If this is some trick of yours, and you try magic, Lord Venture has a Cloak of Shielding that will save us, and we will have your life!”

“I have no magic left, good sirs,” Shock said. “I am broken. My goddess has made me a wandering whore to punish me for my failures. You may take me as you wish.”

“Look at her damn pussy!” Lord Venture said. “She’s got a ring through it! How are we supposed to—”

“You may take me in the mouth or in the ass,” Shock said, hot tears creeping across her sunburned cheeks. “My goddess has forbidden me to let anyone thrust into my passage of love, but nothing else is forbidden, good sirs.”

“Do we have dicks under this goddamn armor?” Lord Venture asked urgently, tugging at the plate he wore.

Shock dropped to her knees before him. “You do, my good lord. Let me undress you. You will see. I will honor your cock and will take it as you wish.”

With reverent hands, she unfastened the buckles and released the cuisses from his thighs. Her eager palm stroked his bare legs, and she fumbled with the laces that held the metal codpiece in place. It dropped away, and an enormous erection sprang out at once.

“Jesus Christ,” Lord Venture exclaimed again. “I don’t remember that being an option when we designed the characters! Hey, Phil, are you jackin’ off? ‘Cause I sure as hell am!”

“Shut up and let her suck you off,” Sir Havoc groaned. “I’m next!”

In her chair, Lacey mimed the action of fellatio, thrusting two fingers of her left hand into her mouth, sucking them, licking them, trying to remember if she had ever tasted a man’s cum before and if she had if it was different from Mistress Wynn’s wonderfully slippery pussy, tangy with her juices. On the screen, in Zabzik, Shock took the length of Lord Venture’s cock completely into her mouth and throat, and her cheeks hollowed as she sucked it, bobbing her head. Because of the manacles her hands had limited mobility. She could not stroke the rigid shaft as she would have liked. But when she moved her hands, the chains tugged on the ring that sealed her pussy, and it tugged at her labia, painfully but pleasurably too, and she began to thrust her hips involuntarily as she knelt on the hard, hot ground and sucked and sucked. The wind rose, and she knew that words rode in the wind and in their focus on her as their fuck-slave the two players were involuntarily absorbing the commands of Wynn, that her voice was urging them, focusing them, taking their minds.

“God, I just came!” Sir Havoc moaned. “Jesus, look, I’m still hard in the game! Does this game let you shoot off or what?”

“Beat me,” Shock begged. “While I suck your friend, beat me, Sir Havoc.” She sucked harder, faster. When they focused on pleasure and pain, Wynn found easy pathways to their minds.

“Could I—I mean, I want to fuck your ass, wench,” Sir Havoc said. “In fact, I command that you take me up your ass. Then maybe I’ll beat you.” He got behind her, and his cock, fully as long and hard as Lord Venture’s, plunged into her ass.

In her chair, Lacey writhed, imagining she could feel the knob of Venture’s cock pressing into her mouth and the head of Havoc’s dick invading her tight asshole. “Yes,” she whimpered. “I am a dirty slut. Use me, masters. Listen to the chant of my goddess and use me, use me! Befoul me and beat me. I deserve that and more!”

They fucked her without mercy, and then both took turns beating her naked back and buttocks, using a whip that they did not even remember having. The whip cracked and bit deep, and streaks of blood appeared on the brown, tanned flesh. Mistress Wynn supplied all, sex and whip and pleasure and pain, and with each thrust of cock into mouth or ass, with each spurt of hot semen and each snap of the whip, Lord Venture and Sir Havoc felt increasing pleasure, increasing dedication to the unknown Goddess who was moving in their minds. By the time they left Shock lying exhausted, her body streaked with blood and striped with glistening cum, they had become thralls. In their minds they had given the exhausted bitch a drink of water and a crust of bread, but they had given more, much more. Now if Mistress Wynn sent throughout Zabzik a call for acolytes, these two would also answer.

When Shock lay alone, with preternatural speed the wounds laced across her flesh healed themselves. The snail-tracks of cum dried and flaked away on the wind. Evening came, and Shock staggered to her feet, her chains jangling. The town lay ahead. Evening was a good time, when the towns filled with players. Others would use her there, women and men, and her sacrifice of her body and her self would win her goddess more converts. Part of her penance. Part of her path toward death and darkness and release. . . .

Hands came from behind her, down over her shoulders, down to caress her breasts and pinch her nipples, hard, painfully. “Shock, I’m home.”

“Mistress Wynn,” Shock murmured gratefully.

Her Mistress turned off the machine, and Zabzik faded, the world went away, and Shock found herself in the dream world, where Wynn was a real, breathing presence, where she had a different body, one that was permitted to lick Wynn’s pussy and drink her pee. “You may rise,” the goddess told her.

Stiffly, Shock rose from the chair, her hot flesh peeling away from the black leather. Wynn reached between her legs and fingered her shaven pussy. “You’re wet. How many today, Slave Shock?”

“Two, Mistress. Men. Lord Venture and Sir Havoc. They took me in the ass and in the mouth and they whipped me.”

“Are they mine? Completely?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Are you sure? You know what happens if they get away.”

Shock cringed. She remembered all too well the cruel pinch of the clamps, the sizzling burn of the heated wire that had branded an angry W on her bare left breast. “They are yours, Mistress. You may command them. I have their secrets.”

Wynn took her place in the chair and opened an Internet browser. “All right, tell me their codes.”

In an empty voice, Shock recited Sir Havoc’s code first. Wynn typed it in, then watched as the screen flickered to a new display. “Hmf. A new player. He has a little over two thousand gold pieces, that’s all. I won’t even bother to convert it to my PayNow account. At the current rate of exchange, it won’t amount to five hundred. The other one?”

Shock told her Lord Venture’s code, and Wynn typed it in. “Mm. That’s a lot better. Three castles and land and equipment worth nearly a hundred thousand gold. All right, Lord Venture. Let’s sell some of those castles and you can pay, oh, three quarters of your fortune to your new goddess.” A couple of keystrokes, and Wynn nodded. “Very good. I’m nearly twenty thousand dollars richer this week.”

“Are you pleased, Mistress?”

“Moderately pleased, Slave Shock. You have done well. I think . . . . I think I will fuck you tonight, Slave Shock. You need to be reminded that no one can have your pussy. No one but me.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Shock’s heart was beating faster. The strap-on dildo! It was enormous, a great bobbing thing of latex, like the cock of a giant. It stretched her to her limits, plumbed her depths, and, God, it hurt, it always hurt. Shock never came anymore, that was not permitted, but pain, oh, pain let her feel something, pain was as good as orgasm.

Mistress Wynn was so good to her. She had not deserved this, but Mistress Wynn was graciously going to make her scream, to make the tears pour from her eyes.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

She lusted for the pain.

11

“This may be it, Mistress Cassandra,” Tek said from deep within the world of Zabzik—not the world of avatars and imaginary weapons, of coruscating gem-scaled dragons and mysterious lone towers fingering heaven atop needle peaks of bleak black stone, but rather the world behind and underlying that one, the world of computer code and firewalls, worms and viruses. The hacking here was not done with sword or broadaxe. Tek studied the readout, a frown of concentration drawing his eyebrows together. “It looks like an unusual number of players has been cashing out.”

“Cashing out?” Cassandra leaned on the back of his chair. To her the numbers and symbols were gibberish, but faithful Slave Tek, with a boost from his conditioning, could read them as easily as an orchestra conductor could make melody from a music score. “What do you mean, cashing out?”

“Mistress, the world of Zabzik operates on its on coinage,” Tek explained patiently. He called up an illustration on screen of several slowly-spinning, exotic coins. “One gold dragon is worth ten silver basilisks. It takes a hundred copper wyverns to make one basilisk, and a hundred brass wyms to make one wyvern. A good sword will cost ten silver, and a supreme sword, like my Sword of Destruction, will bring a thousand dragons or more—”

“Okay, I understand that. But what’s this about cashing out? It’s imaginary gold, right?”

“To a degree,” Tek agreed. “But you know how if you travel from here to France, you can change dollars to Euros? It’s like that with Zabzik, too. You can use a credit card to buy gold, so you don’t have to spend such a long time wandering the landscape hunting treasure. Ten dollars will buy twenty gold pieces, so the exchange rate is two to one.”

“So a gold dragon is worth fifty cents?”

“Not exactly. When people want to cash out, they can have their gold credited to an online account, but the exchange rate the other way is lower on purpose. That helps keep mercenaries out of the game, Mistress. If you cash out, right now you get—” he tapped the keyboard—“twenty-once cents for each gold dragon.”

“Weird,” Cassandra said with a frown. Her brief time playing had seemed like just another time-sink video game—put the warrior princess Karm through her paces, kill the little teakettle dragon, find its small hoard of sapphires and rubies. “What did you find about people cashing out?”

“There’s a new religion spreading,” Tek said. “Worship of the Goddess. Adherents are pledging money to her—selling their lands and castles, their armor and accoutrements. There’ve been about fifty people cashing out in the last week, where normally there’d be two or three at most.”

“How much money are we talking about?” Cassie asked suspiciously.

“As of today, Mistress, nineteen thousand, three hundred and fifty-odd dollars.”

“In a week?”

“Yes, Mistress. And it’s all gone to the same PayNow account. From there it can be diverted into a bank account or it can be used as Internet currency.”

Cassie bit her lower lip. She had a feeling that this was it—Tek had tracked down Wynn. “Who owns the account?”

“I don’t know, Mistress,” confessed Tek in a humble voice. “I don’t have the level of skill I need to track that. But,” he added more hopefully, “I know someone who could.”

Cassie sighed. It was two on a Saturday afternoon, and since eight that morning, they had been trying to hack into the inner secrets of Zabzik, with less than complete success. “Who is it?”

“Mistress, I don’t know his real name, but his character is Steelhawk the Sorcerer.”

“Great,” Cassie grunted. “So we have to find him in the game.”

“He usually is online all weekend.”

Cassandra put her forehead on the back of the chair. Damn it, this was the part she hated. When she had to bring that video character to life, had to inhabit that body—even though it was imaginary—she wound up suffering from what she thought of as seepage. Wynn had controlled her, damn it, had controlled her through Karm. Of course, Karm had died, Karm had been reborn, but some things lingered, and they drove Cassie crazy. But if it was the only way—yes, it was, she knew—and if Wynn was beginning to seduce followers to her—and she had to be doing that—Cassie sighed and gave up.

“Let’s suit up,” Cassandra said, pulling a chair up and reaching for Tek’s spare headset and controller. She was wearing a pink pajama top, open so that her breasts half spilled out, and under that, pink bikini underwear. Tek, in jeans and shirtless, didn’t notice her state of undress and wouldn’t until she gave him permission. “Fire up the Zabzik program,” she told Tek.

A few moments later, she and Tek, or rather their avatars, stood on the outskirts of a tent city clustered around a waterhole in a red desert. Following death and resurrection, Karm had changed. She no longer wore the blue and chrome armor of her first incarnation, but now stood clad all in black, a gleaming ebony shell unrelieved by decoration. Tek, all muscle and sinew, stood tall in his golden armor. “Lead the way,” the reborn Karm said.

They passed through a bustling marketplace, jostling with camels, alive with the shouts of NPCs with armor or spells for sale. Tek searched through the tents until at last he pointed. “There, Mistress. He will be in that tent.”

They stooped through the flap, and in the dimness of the tent, Karm saw a lean figure sitting in a corner, apparently lost in meditation. She and Tek drew near, and Karm went to her knees. “Master Steelhawk,” Cassie said, and her headset took the words to the player behind Steelhawk.

The dark, lean figure raised his head. His features were thin and cruel, hawk-nose, deep-set, brooding eyes, an ironic mouth half-hidden behind a goatee as dark as midnight. He raised a hand and pulled back his hood, revealing a mane of black hair. “I am he who bears that name. Who seeks me?”

Damn, he’s been at this a long time, Cassie thought. But she called on her acting abilities and put seduction and a soft plea into her voice: “Master Steelhawk, there are those who call me Karm the warrior, and this is the Golden Prince of wide fame, Tek the Terrible. We need your skills, O Steelhawk.”

The thin face stared at her, and Cassie got the creepy feeling that whoever was behind them, wherever he was—and he could be sitting at a computer terminal anywhere in the world—could look right through the imaginary black-armored warrior woman and see her. “I have but recently returned from a weighty campaign,” Steelhawk said. From his voice, Cassie imagined him at twenty or twenty-five years old. It was a purring, catlike voice, sexy in a kind of brutal way. “I need rest and recuperation before I undertake another quest. Why should I even listen to thee?”

Cassie nudged Tek. On screen, Tek the Terrible froze in position, unmoving and still as a statue. Steelhawk seemed not to notice. He had eyes only for the female warrior who craved a boon.

Now it was starting, damn it. Cassie hated what she was going to do, because she knew that what happened in Zabzik didn’t stay there. This would fire up her motors, and as soon as the game was over, she would become Cassie the cum-hungry slut, out of all control, slave not to Wynn but to her own desires. But to entrap Steelhawk, to get the one behind him to serve her, it had to be done. Already Tek, beside her in the chair, was beginning the mind-control program and directing it at Steelhawk.

Cassie made the woman warrior begin to strip—not the most graceful of strip-teases, since what she was removing consisted of plate armor, greaves and brassards, helmet and tasses. On screen the sorcerer watched impassively as the woman before him released her bountiful breasts, then at last stood totally naked before him. God, Cassie thought, don’t let him be gay! This has got to work.

Karm began to run her hands over her breasts, cupping them, caressing them. The nipples stood up, unnaturally pink on the avatar, throbbing and pulsing. “I give you the gift of lust,” Karm told Steelhawk. “Do with me as you will, and then let me ask my boon. You will think it worth your while, I promise.”

She leaned in and kissed the mouth of the Steelhawk avatar. He was frowning faintly, as if dimly aware of the perfumed whispers in the air of the tent, the subtle voices urging him to submit, to yield, to be conquered even as he took this woman in conquest. “This has never happened before in Zabzik,” he murmured.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Karm told him, guiding his long-fingered right hand to her mouth. She sucked on the first two fingers, lasciviously, slowly gyrating her hips. Then she guided his fingers to her pussy—

Cassandra felt heat in her own center. Damn it, she wanted to come, and not on the screen, but in real life! She needed Tek’s fingers and tongue and cock, but until she had finished with Steelhawk, that was out of the question. Tek was managing the specially altered program that was working on Steelhawk’s runner.

As Steelhawk explored her folds, Karm threw back her shoulders, thrusting her ripe breasts forward, cuddling his head so that he began to lick and nibble at her offered nipples. With her free hand, she peeled back his robes, and they parted to reveal a muscular torso criss-crossed with scars of old conflicts. Typical game, Cassie thought through a haze of desire. Lots of blood, but very little pussy.

Steelhawk was caught up in the moment. His avatar pushed Karm back, onto the sandy floor of the tent. His strong hands rolled her, making her lie only on her shoulders, her ass in the air. His cock, longer, springier, thicker than any real cock, quivered at the lips of her pussy. She took it in both her hands and rubbed its head against her slit. The program was so sharp that the purple bulge of Steelhawk’s cock head began to glisten, as if it were really getting wet from Karm’s juices.

“Damn it,” Cassie grunted. She was fingering herself, her panties pushed aside. She couldn’t help it. What the hell had Wynn changed in her? She didn’t use to be such a slut, she didn’t use to want to suck every man’s cock, to swallow his seed. So far she had been able to satisfy herself with Tek, but the lust was deep in her, and she was more and more aware of it. She couldn’t help looking at her teachers now without wondering what it would be like to suck their cocks, to lick their clits, to command them to fulfill her. Mistress Cassandra, but a slave to her own lusts.

Now, in that uncomfortable-looking position, Steelhawk was fucking Karm, his enormous cock pistoning into her opening, making very realistic sounds, slushing, slapping sounds of sex. Cassandra could imagine, could all but feel, the pounding of that noble member into her, the slapping of the man’s balls. She was cooing encouragement, interspersed with groans: “Oh, Steelhawk, thou art a man! Fuck me, yes! Oh, fuck me faster, Steelhawk the mighty, Steelhawk of the proud cock!”

Tek would look on and smile, even as he would smile approvingly at Cassie in the real world, if she should decide to fuck another man, another two men, in front of him and order him to accept that, to like it, to enjoy the sight. He had no choice in the matter. Cassie had told Tek that he would like to see Karm fuck anyone and everyone, that it would make him feel sexier, stronger, and so it did. Oh, she was getting hot now, her pussy was aching—Cassie was masturbating, gasping with need, as Karm was being fucked hard on the screen.

Bent over her, Steelhawk was groaning and panting. Wherever his runner was, he probably had one hand on the computer controls and the other on his cock. Good. Sex, more than anything, opened a player’s mind to the subtle hooks of control. Let him bring himself to orgasm. Her turn would come—

With an inarticulate cry, Steelhawk pulled his cock from Karm’s pussy, and it leaped as it shot an incredible load of cum. The hot liquid splashed right into Karm’s upturned face, and she opened her mouth to it. Cassie groaned, her own mouth gaping and tongue thrusting out, eager to catch that hot liquid—though at some level she knew it was only imaginary.

“Did I satisfy my lord?” Karm asked in Cassie’s voice.

Steelhawk knelt in the sand, and over the speakers came the sound of his rasping, deep-drawn breaths. “Yes,” he said in a far-away voice. “Yes . . . Mistress Cassandra.”

12

“Suck me!” she commanded a few minutes later.

She sat on the edge of Tek’s bed, and Tek, enthralled, delighted to serve his Mistress, knelt on the floor before her, his tongue busy at her slit. He pursed his lips around her clit and sucked, making it engorge even more, wringing an orgasm from Cassie. She moaned, pinching her own nipples, feeling the electric jolt of stimulation. But this wasn’t enough.

“Get on the bed,” she ordered him, and then she climbed atop him, her ass in his face, his cock in her mouth. She twisted and thrust, grinding her labia against his soft, hot tongue, seeking an orgasm that would release her from this frenzy. At her command, his licking grew lusher and longer, clit to asshole. She masturbated his cock, running her fingers over its wonderfully smooth surface, spreading the delightfully slippery precum, then licking it up, feeling strings of it tying her tongue to his cock.

Slut, I am a slut.

“Finger me!” she ordered, and felt his thumb probe into her slit, his forefinger into her asshole. With a groan, she bucked her hips, double-fucking him, feeling the delicious friction in ass and in pussy.

It wasn’t enough.

“Come for me!” she moaned, then covered his cock head with her open mouth.

His cock jerked, and jets of scalding cum shot into her mouth, covering her tongue, making her swallow desperately. Even when his cock had grown still, she sucked, feeling the last reluctant drops ooze out, greedily capturing them, savoring them on her tongue.

Slut, slut. Oh, God, I’m still horny.

Each time it seemed to take longer, more orgasms, to cool the fires that Zabzik stirred within her. But without Zabzik, she could not find Lacey.

At last, exhausted if not sated, she lay naked beside Tek in the gathering dusk of evening, her eyes brooding and deep.

Steelhawk was a man named Donnie who lived in Salt Lake City. She’d pegged him about right—Donnie was twenty-four, unmarried, fat (he had told her all this in an unemotional, flat tone after he had confessed her his mistress), but a genius at computers. He had promised his new mistress that he would be able to pinpoint the computer controlling the PayNow account—and Cassie thought that would have to be, could only be, the computer belonging to Wynn.

Goddess, indeed.

She was in for a surprise.

* * *

They didn’t visit Wynn’s old haunts anymore, but there were plenty of lesbian hang-outs. Shock sweated inside the tight, hot leather corset, but she did not dare complain. Mistress Wynn might be unhappy.

Mistress Wynn was quite a hit in this new place, a dark, crowded bar with raucous music and expensive drinks. Women clustered around her, admired her, and whispered about how Wynn, not at all pretty, had snared this gorgeous creature to be her lover, her slave. Right now Wynn was demonstrating some of Shock’s tricks to a cluster of a dozen eager onlookers.

“Now fuck my ass with your tongue,” she cooed. Wynn lay on her back atop a table, her legs drawn up. Shock, at the end of a chain—one end of it was hooked to her dog collar, the other clutched in Wynn’s hand—obediently pointed her tongue and began to thrust it in and out of Wynn’s asshole.

The onlookers murmured in surprise and admiration. “Make her do me,” one of the other women said. “I like a girl in black leather and fishnets.”

“She’s mine, this one,” Wynn said comfortably. “Faster, Slave!”

Shock flicked her tongue harder, feeling the rasp of her own teeth on the tender underside. She had made her tongue bleed before, pleasuring Wynn. Inside she ached, humiliated at this public display of her utter subservience, but she felt obscurely proud of herself, too, pleased that she could honor Mistress Wynn in this degrading fashion.

“Give her a drink of whiskey. Slave Shock, swish this in your mouth for a minute before you swallow. Drink it all.”

Someone handed Shock a highball glass. Obediently, she took a mouthful of the burning liquid. It washed the astringent taste of Wynn’s asshole from her tongue. She counted the seconds as she swirled the whiskey inside her mouth. She gulped it down, then swallowed another mouthful, then again and again. With what she had already had to drink, the alcohol made her head spin.

Wynn grasped her hair and pulled so hard she brought tears to Shock’s eyes, but her mouth followed the unspoken directions and located Wynn’s clit. She gave it all her attention, grateful for the change. The taste of pussy was better than the taste of ass.

The heated whiskey made Wynn moan and grind, gasp and flow.

Wynn was kind to her, kinder than she ever deserved.

Shock concentrated on making her mistress come.

* * *

The call came close to midnight. Cassie picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Mistress?”

“Slave Steelhawk,” Cassie cooed. “What have you to report?”

“I have the information you want, Mistress,” Donnie said in a submissive, placating tone. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”

Cassie had rolled out of Tek’s bed and stood at the desk, a paper and pencil ready. “Go ahead, Slave Steelhawk,” Cassie said, feeling the hot, stabbing desire that even the memory of that cock woke in her.

Donnie talked for half a minute, and Cassie wrote down what he said. Then she smiled. “Thank you, Slave Steelhawk,” she said. “Now do you have your other orders?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Steelhawk said. “I am to bring others into your service, women, and then through the women, men. We are to search for skilled players, to take only the best at the game. We are to be your slaves and your servants, in Zabzik and in the world.”

“Yes,” Cassie said. “You have done well. I am pleased, Slave Steelhawk.”

To her surprise, she actually heard Donnie’s voice catch in a sob. “Thank you, Mistress. I did not think I would ever meet a woman who—thank you. I will seduce more women. I know of three players I can meet online tonight. By tomorrow morning, they will be your servants.”

“And you will hide this from outsiders.”

“Yes, Mistress. I have those skills.”

Cassie was horny again, feeling slutty again. When she hung up, she woke Tek. One wonderful thing about the conditioning was that it gave Tek so much extra stamina. With a minimum of rest, he could fuck her three or four times in a row, could squirt all the cum she could swallow or take in her pussy.

The part of her that had been the slut Karm was aching for abuse.

“Fuck my ass,” she whispered to Tek, lying face-down on the bed. “Take me rough, Tek.”

Tek did not respond. She felt him between her spread legs, then felt the press of his cock head against her asshole. She savagely thrust back, enjoying the flash of pain, then the welcome slide and clench. She reached down and stroked her clit, played with her own pussy. Oh, God, it was wonderful to be the receptacle of a man’s cum! She wanted, oh, she wanted Tek, and more—she wanted to be the star in a gang-bang, wanted one cock in her pussy, one in her ass, one in her mouth. She wanted to be covered, glazed in cum, glistening with it, frosted with it. She wanted to sip it from a dozen cocks, to savor the tastes and the smells and the textures—

Oh, God, she thought, I didn’t use to be a slut.

END OF PART IV