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World on a String

By: Catalingus2005



This story is part of a series that includes two other stories: Fight Test and Victims of the Revolution. The characters are not recurrent, and it can be enjoyed without the other stories.

--

Homeless. Jobless. Pregnant.

In this city, just another way of saying 'dead.'

Corporations ruled the day, moving unchecked across a landscape that grew more arid and less forgiving every day. There was no government anymore to keep their ambitions in check, and the CEOs with the greatest control were truly, truly powerful indeed.  

Chuck, my husband, had been laid off for fairly mundane reasons. The company was about the future, and two weeks worth of sub par performances were more than enough to get you escorted off the premises. It didn't matter how many years before that you had worked hard and well. A dozen other mongrels were waiting to grovel for your job.

Unable to pay our rent or find work, Chuck made a last ditch desperate attempt to win over the landlord's heart and spare us from what was, now, certain doom. In response, the fat and piggish Daniel Welch had calmly told my husband that he would forget about past due rent if I would "bang" him. If I wouldn't, he would be calling the police and informing them that we had stolen from him. 

"She'll enjoy it, mate," he'd sneered, "and you'll not have to end up on the streets. You know what happens to people on the streets?"

"Go to hell," my husband spat.

"Same thing that happens to dogs," Daniel continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. "Dogs," he repeated with emphasis. Everybody knew that, in this world, no creature was going to live long without protection.

"Go to fucking hell," my husband repeated, advancing. In an instant, Daniel Welch had his phone in his hand and was dialing the local company police. 

"Wait!" I said, panicked. "Don't!" He smiled at me, a sick grin of victory. "Give us time to talk about it," I said, to my husband's visible shock. I hoped he realized it was a bluff.

"Sure," he shrugged. "Talk it out. You have 15 minutes before I call the cops."

Terrified, we let him walk us back to our apartment, and then snuck out with whatever we could take.

There are no shelters. There are no public services, or police that aren't owned by the companies. There are, however, a lot of gangs. I was three months pregnant with our first child, and it was a cold winter. We desperately snuck into a back window of a large building, which led us to the back area of an expensive restaurant. Before we could find a place to hide and think, however, we were caught.

"Security!" Shouted a well-dressed man with a silver name tag. Two massive goons grabbed us, and began hauling us towards the front door. 

The one who had me had a chokehold on, and his rancid breath was warm against my cheek. "Maybe we keep you a while, eh?" He snarled. Pulling at his arm hopelessly, I kicked out and tried to scream, unaware of the show we were putting on for the wealthy elite who watched with amusement as we were pulled towards the exit.

"STOP!" 

The voice, a woman's, had a natural authority to it. Amazingly, they did stop. The hold on my throat loosened, and we were swung back in the direction of the restaurant floor. 

A figure was approaching, blurry in my oxygen-deprived vision. But I didn't recognize the voice that had called out. I unclouded my vision, and found myself looking at an attractive, late-30's woman who, from her dress and jewelry, clearly had enough money to eat at or even own a place like this. Thick, curled auburn hair fell past her shoulders, as buoyant and shiny as a teen's. It seemed out of place on a woman who was obviously nearing 40. Her figure made me jealous; she seemed to treat its silky movements casually.

She looked at my husband's face, and then mine. Finally, her gaze dropped thoughtfully to my belly. The thug's grip had exposed it almost up to the breast, and the slight swell was there for all to see. I suddenly became reaware of my surroundings, and felt a horrid shame.

"You," she nodded at Chuck, "used to work for Microcorp. A quick moving young man, if I remember."

"Yes," he was breathing hard, still firmly in the big man's grip. "Project manager...in systems."

"I remember. Your work on my security update was...oh, decent, I suppose."

"Mrs. Carlisle?" Recognition spread across his face, as well as another emotion I couldn't read. Hope? Fear? 

"I assume from all of this," she waved dismissively across the scene in front of her, "that you've been let go."

"Yes, ma'am." The guards were slowly, uncertainly, loosening their grip on us.

"And this is your wife?" She took a small step forward, becoming a little too close for my comfort. Her perfume was light, but it had astrange scent to it. Like a warm alcoholic buzz. She ran a finger across my forehead, brushing loose hair back up out of my eyes. I found it hard to look at her directly, humiliated. She, however, had no trouble keeping that almost-arrogant stare on me.

"Yes, ma'am, she is. We..." my husband began. At the same time, the well-dressed man who was clearly the manager began to complain about the scene.

"Please," he said nervously, "can we take this..."

"I may be able to find work for you." Her voice cut them both off.

"Really?" My husband said. "Oh, Mrs. Carlisle..."

"Not for you," she waved her hand. I suddenly realized she was still too near, still looking directly at my face. Her eyes locked on me, like a bird of prey. "For her."

"M...me?" I stammered, barely above a whisper. 

My husband sounded skeptical, suddenly. "I don't think..."

"You," her eyes suddenly jumped to him, "have no offer. You are nothing to me until she accepts the offer. In fact," she shrugged and looked at the thug holding him, "somebody else should be dealing with you." The unspoken message was clear, and his eyes went wide as the guard dragged him back towards the back area.

"No!" He shouted. The guard struck him hard, enough to scare me. He stopped fighting, almost limp as they turned a corner out of view.

"You have a baby on the way." I felt her hand run across the under part of my small bump, drawing my attention back. When I squirmed, the grip on my throat tightened again.

"There'll be none of that, brute," she snarled at the bodyguard. He immediately let me go. I rubbed at my throat and coughed. Her expression softened, and she smiled at him. "You should go play with your friend."

The guard smiled back, and leaned in near me again. "Your husband can show a good time, same as you. I'd negotiate quickly." He strutted off. I looked to Mrs. Carlisle for help, but she gave no indication that she cared at all about my husband's situation.

"There, now," she held one hand to my cheek. This time I didn't pull back, but a rising fear was taking me. I worried that I might lose control of the panic and run. "No harm done. What is your name, girl?" 

"Mary," I whispered.

"Mary. Adorable. I am going to tell you something honest, Mary, and I want you to listen to all of it before you say a word. Okay?"

"Okay." I still felt small, foolish, and even though most of the dinner conversations had resumed the embarrassment of it all was immobilizing.

"There are no jobs out there for your husband," she shrugged apologetically, "nor for you. You and I are both smart enough to know that, once you hit the streets, all there is left to do is die. But I..." she leaned in even closer, so that her face was inches from mine, "can give you a job to do. You won't like it..."

"I'll do..." She shushed me, with a stern finger against my lips. I felt chided, like a child. She left the finger there, making me even more uncomfortable.

"You won't like it at all. But it will keep you alive. It will keep your husband alive. It will save your baby. So..." her finger slipped down and her thumb replaced it, gently tracing the curve of my lips. Terror crept up my spine as she smiled and I began to fully realize the horror I was being locked into. "...how far will you go to save your family, Mary?"

I stood staring at her, shaking with fear. She laughed, and her thumb moved to my chin.

"You may answer."

I opened my mouth. No words came out. I could barely breathe, and my body was in shock as surely as if I had just opened my closet and found a dead body hanging where my coat should be. I tried again. Only breathy syllables slipped out. She chuckled again, and winked.

"I tell you what, Mary," her thumb slipped slowly back up to my lips, pressing gently between them so that I could feel it against my teeth. "I know this is difficult. It's scary, and it's not what you would want. I imagine it's nearly impossible to consent. But," she grinned, "if you are willing to do this job...to do what you must to save your family...all you have to do..." her thumb applied a slight amount of pressure, "...is suck."

I began crying in earnest, then, as I allowed her thumb into my mouth. I wanted to vomit, but instead sucked softly on the digit. Even more mortifying was the instinctual caresses my tongue gave the underside of it as my body naturally tried to explore this invader. I fought them, but too late. Mrs. Carlisle nodded her head as if giving me her approval, waited and allowed me to suckle at her thumb humiliatingly for several seconds, and then withdrew. She turned to a man who had been standing near her, but whom I hadn't noticed before. Her voice became strict and businesslike.

"Take her in the car, Jules. You know where. Have Anthony begin prepping her in the morning. She could use a night's rest." She turned to leave, and then paused. "Oh, and...once she signs the contracts, you can get the husband as well." I watched, drained almost to emotionlessness, as she walked confident and beautiful back to her table. 

"You will come with me." Jules' tone was the same as it would have been for a small child, or a stupid dog. He was a small Italian-looking man, and he began walking towards the door.

"My husband..."

"The staff here are reasonable," he didn't turn around as he spoke, but kept walking. "So long as he cooperates, he will not be harmed."

"The contracts..." By now I was scampering to keep up with him, and we were outside moving towards a large limo.

"Are at the office. Its forty minutes from here, so do hurry, you whiny little thing."

"But couldn't she..."

He stopped, turning on me. "You are nothing, you stupid bitch. Learn to act that way." He struck me across the face, so hard I fell to the ground. I began crying again, as he rubbed his hand. "When the contracts are signed, you will belong to her, and only then will she see any need to help your husband. So shut the fuck up, and move faster."

I stood quickly, rubbing my cheek. He placed me in the passenger front side of the limo, and as we left the parking lot he paused to roll down the window. 

The attendant leaned in, also a large man clearly chosen for security purposes. "Yeah, bub?"

"The man in the basement is with this lady, and she will shortly belong to a Mrs. Carlisle." His eyebrows went up, asking the large attendant to fill in the gaps.

"Got it, bub," he smiled. "No lost teeth unless he bites." He laughed and waved at me, as we began to pull away.

I signed the contracts without reading them, and before I knew it I was in a small apartment comprising a kitchen, living room, and bathroom. Two single beds were located in the living room, attached to the floor and wall so they couldn't be moved together. I fell into one of them, asleep before I'd fully settled, and didn't awake until morning.

When I did, Chuck was in the other bed, still sleeping. 

I ran to him, throwing my arms around his silent form and crying anew. He woke up, and looked at me. One eye was swollen shut, and there was dried blood on his nose and cheek. 

"I love you," he whispered. I noticed that one of his front teeth was missing.

"I love you, too," I sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's not your fault," he moaned, then suddenly sat straight up. "What have you done?"

"What I had to do," I looked up at him for approval. "To keep us alive."

He watched me silently for a time, and then sighed. "You know what you've agreed to."

"I do. I'll get by. I love you."

He smiled at me. Then, after a moment, it faded. "No," he shook his head, "you don't know what you've agreed to at all."

The next few days were mostly grueling, as I was trained for my new 'job.' Simple tasks, like keeping her office clean and organized, were explored to the point of tedium. Mrs. Carlisle likes tennis, so I had lessons enough to make me an adequate but still-beatable opponent. I was taught about elaborate massage techniques, Mrs. Carlisle's favorite drinks and how to make them, and a thousand different expectations that I must never, ever forget. Kneel when she walked in the room. Rub her feet if she places them up. Never hesitate when she expects pleasure. That one made me shutter. What a vile person she seemed.

Then there was the "personality training." I was required to take strange pills they would not tell me about, and then I spent untold hours watching video footage of her (including hours of nude and even sexual clips), and smell her perfume. The same strange perfume from the restaurant, only somehow different. It clouded my thoughts. The drugs would make me feel strange, and relaxed, and the time seemed to go by quickly. It terrified me. I never told Chuck.

The first day, I cried constantly. The second day, less, and the third even less. By the fourth, I actually looked forward to the personality training. It was easy, there were no tests, and it didn't hurt my hands like the massage training.

In that, I first learned how to relax the muscles and knead the stress areas with my fingers. Then we worked on locating and working pressure points. But on the fifth day the test subject, a small Asian woman barely old enough to be out of high school and with a gymnast's body, dropped her towel as she came in and lay there, on her stomach, naked. I pulled back, fearful.

"Relax," the nameless trainer said. "This also is something you must learn. Begin the massage."

I hesitated.

"Begin," he repeated, irritated. 

I worked the usual techniques, trying to ignore the small yet unavoidable change in setting. As I neared the end of the massage, I began to feel safe. No big deal. I could deal with a naked butt, I guess. 

"Now for the next part," my trainer said. At the sound of his voice, the Asian girl adjusted her legs so they were slightly parted. I felt tense, trapped. I tried not to look. There had never been a next part.

"When you massage Mrs. Carlisle," emphasized her name, "she finds that it helps to relax her calves and gluts if you apply your tongue to them in a sweeping motion. It's an old technique from the East, and actually very effective. To do this right, you must extend your tongue fully and allow it to be completely limp. The effect is similar to a cat's lick. We have half and hour extra to practice, today. There is a glass of water on the stand if you should need it. Do you understand the assignment?"

"Yes," I said meekly, and moved to the girl's legs. Taking a deep breath, I leaned forward.

"Stop," he commanded. I looked up at him. "You must be prepared for the physical realities of your...position," he smiled. "Practice on the glutes, and the legs will be easy."

I stared at him, and swallowed.

"Do you have a question?" He cocked his head.

"No, sir." I shifted over so that I was standing over her nude butt. Just days ago this would have reduced me to a weeping mess, but now I was resigned. I wondered what this girl was thinking right now, and what exactly her job was. 

Apparently, she was only impatient, because she reached one hand back and patted her butt. "Relax me," she commanded. I'd rather have hit her, just then, but I extended my tongue and leaned forward.

It was no big deal, really. It felt only like soft skin. Even running my tongue along her crack was no big thing. I was almost embarrassed at how easy it was. I could actually imagine how this could be relaxing if you were on the receiving end. The Asian girl moaned once, as I ran my drying tongue along the crack of her ass. Then time was up.

"Decent enough," the trainer said. "We'll practice more next time." Then he left.

The Asian girl sat up, with her legs hanging over the side of the bed. Her thighs pressed together over a dark brown patch of trimmed pubic hair, and I awkwardly looked around at everything else in the room besides her. She seemed totally relaxed in her nudity, swinging her legs playfully and looking at me with a strange cockiness.

"Hi," I smiled lamely, in a voice that said "I've just spent half an hour with my tongue on your butt." She didn't respond, but just smiled at me in a way that made me feel stupid. "I'm Mary," I offered.

"Okay," she shrugged, and didn't offer her name. She shifted her legs so they were open, and leaned back on her hands. I blushed and suddenly became very interested in the ceiling. What was wrong with this girl!

"What do you do here?" I asked, thinking I should just leave. The truth was that I was desperate to have some positive human contact in this place, maybe even a friend. 

"I rate the massage work," she shrugged. "I don't think your rating will be very good."

"Why not?!" I was a little embarrassed to be scolded by this young girl, especially after a long session up close with her rear.

She smiled again, superiority on her face. "I'm just not impressed. And you know, if the review is bad, Mrs. Carlisle might just pick one of the others."

I blinked. "Others?"

She nodded, and swept her hair back behind her ear with one hand. "Only one is getting the job. The others..." she shrugged, honestly indifferent. Oh, god, I thought. No.

I had to appeal to her. I had to win this. "I can't lose...I'm pregnant. I need this job." I looked at her, pleading.

"Mary," her voice was that of a scolding teacher, "needs don't matter." She ran a hand through her hair, absently brushing it away from her face.

"I..." I looked down, scared. What could I do? She wasn't lying. She didn't care. It was hopeless. 

"If you kneel down," she said casually. "Maybe you can change my mind."

I stared, suddenly hating and fearing her. It occurred to me that, looking downwards and lost in my own thoughts moments ago, it might have seemed that I was staring at her exposed crotch.

"Oh, hey, I wasn't..." I began.

She scooted forward, and winked. "You should."

"Please," I begged, panicked.

She just blinked back at me, not caring if I live or die. "Kneel down like a good girl," she sounded so relaxed, certain. What choice did I really have? This horrible job was the only hope my baby had. I knelt down heavily and sad between her legs, not looking up but knowing what I would see if I did.

"Give me your hand," she said. I did, and placed it against her slightly moist crotch. "Move your palm like this," she positioned it. "Good. Now hold it there." She began pushing against it, not hard at all, but enough that I had to tense my arm. Her hands held on to my wrist as she ground against my open hand.

"Look at me," she demanded, and I raised my eyes to her gloating face. I could see the strain of effort and the flush of arousal on her. "Keep your eyes on me." As I kept my eyes locked on hers I struggled not to cry, not to show her how this hurt. I failed miserably.

It didn't last long, but my arm grew tired and sore. She hummed a few times, grabbing and pushing hard against my palm, and was finally still. Her eyes never left mine, even as she sat breathing heavy and let go of my exhausted wrist.

"That was good," she said between breaths. "Real good for a quick one."

"So..." I finally allowed my gaze to drop. My hand was sticky, and I felt sick. "So you'll give me a good review?"


World on a String



"Not yet." She said.

"What?!"

I looked up, and saw that she was tapping one finger above her trimmed pubic patch. "She's saving you, so you need to thank her. Give her a kiss."

I looked into her eyes, and saw she wasn't joking. Still, even with so much on the table, I hesitated. This was something else. Putting my lips on...on that.

"You don't have to eat it, girl. But if you want me to help you get this job, you will kiss it." She sneered.

Trapped, I leaned forward and gathering up my courage I placed a soft peck on the outer folds of her vagina. Light enough not to have to taste. Then I began to pull back.

Her hand suddenly gripped the back of my head. "That was no kiss. Give her a nice, deep, long kiss. Show her how much you love her."

I pressed my lips against her, parted slightly, and gave a gentle sucking kiss. I wanted to die. She gasped, held me there a moment, and then let go of my hair. As I pulled away, the thought crossed my mind that women seemed to have a tangy flavor, and I disgusted myself with the casual analysis. "Very nice," she said. "I can tell you enjoyed that."

I could happily have killed her just then. She hopped off the table, grabbed the towel, and headed for the locker room, as I knelt there humiliated. 

"Later, bitch," she called over her shoulder. 

I sat there, alone and ashamed, late for my clerical lessons but needing to compose myself. I focused on my breathing, ignored the sore arm and sticky hand...tried but failed to ignore the strange scent on my lips. It took ten minutes before I could move. 

When I left the locker room, my massage coach was walking towards me.

"I was just about to go in and get you," he said. "You're running late."

"I know, I..."

"Forget it," he cut me off, "but this is going on your evaluation."

"I under...wait," my body went cold, "what do you mean?"

"My evaluation of your massage work is due soon. Tardiness is strictly forbidden."

"I thought that...I thought that the girl in the room..."

"Tania?" He laughed. "God, no. She's just a receptionist. Takes other jobs for the pay. She's got no real power."

I felt pathetic. I'd been used.

"I...she told me..."

He looked at me hard as I trailed off, and then laughed. "You've been had, little girl."

"So, if you write...how am I doing against the other girls?"

"What other girls?"

"Nevermind." I started to cry. I was pathetic. A toy, for other people to use. 

He shuffled his feet. "Look, you're doing a good job here, alright? Don't...ah, don't let them get to you. You only work for her. Remember that. You only work for her."

It seemed I could smell her perfume then, and I felt calmer. I breathed in, and collected myself.

"Thank you," I said, looking up at him. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, and I became nervously aware that I was kneeling before him....once again prostrate before another person who had power over me and my future.

Finally, he smiled. "Just be careful, okay?" 

"Okay," I said, standing. And then he left.

During all of this, my relationship with my husband was strong. It probably kept me moving, really. Chuck was great. 

After the first few days, he understood enough to stop asking about what was happening. I hadn't told him about the personality training, and played down anything that wasn't mundanely clerical. I had decided not to hurt him with the worst of it. He already wore this new situation like a heavy coat, bearing him down and curving his back. 

As part of our contract, we had access to a few things that he could pass the time with. Our apartment was directly next to Mrs. Carlisle's sprawling condo, in a building massive enough to contain all of the amenities and pleasures of a small town. He had access to a smaller employee library that had very limited fiction (nothing rebellious or anti-authority, of course, but plenty of Ann Rand). They also gave us access to movie theater #3...the one that only showed children's' films during the day and pornography during the evening. Lastly, he had access to the lower employee bar...the one for security guards and janitors.

"It's fine," he assured me. "Cartoons are awesome when you're drunk."

But it was obvious he was bored. In addition, my 10 hour training days and the abuse I had experienced was murdering my sex drive, so although I nodded when he complained about the dual beds I was secretly grateful. 

And I couldn't stop dreaming about her. I had only seen her twice since signing, and then in passing, but I smelled her perfume and saw her long legs in my dreams. Not in a sexual way, but any intrusion was unwelcome.

I never told him about that, either. 

I never said anything to Tania, or about Tania, again. I continued my massage practice, and felt a thick self-disgust in the pit of my soul every time I pressed my tongue against her flesh. Sometimes she giggled as she left the room, but she never said anything either. My god, I wanted to kill her. I had never felt such an intense loathing.

After two weeks of training, it was time.

The first time Jules led me into Mrs. Carlisle's office, I was terrified. It was a massive, circular room, not unlike the old photos I'd seen of the White House, in the old United States. There were couches along the walls, designed with the exact same curve the walls had. It seemed like a very, very powerful place.

My outfit helped. I'd half expected a slut uniform, and was surprised when Jules had personally delivered six boxes filled with semi-professional attire...high quality tank tops, with knee-length suit-outfit skirts. This had made Chuck feel much better. 

But when he left me there, I still found myself lonely and nervous, knowing that her awesome presence would soon fill the room and I would be expected to remember all the training I'd had. Nerves tickled my skin, and I somehow knew that I would forget something. I focused hard on remembering what I'd learned...suddenly, it was very important to me to impress Mrs. Carlisle. I didn't even allow the sexual element of my position to cross my mind.

She burst through the doors. My training must have started bordering on instinct, because I was on my knees before I realized what was happening. I looked up as she swept past me, confident and electric. She was wearing a loose knee-length skirt that seemed to say "shopping trip" more than "CEO," and a similarly casual blouse. Somehow, though, she still looked tall and in charge. That mysteriously youthful mane swept across her shoulders as she turned and stood next to her desk. I suddenly became aware that, having watched so many hours of footage of her body, my mind very casually pictured her naked form underneath the outfit. I pushed it away, disgusted.

Her perfume caught my nose, and had that same mysteriously intoxicating effect. I didn't know what it was, and I didn't care for it. I shook my head, and wondered how I was going to be able to put up with it on such a long-term basis.

She wasn't alone. She'd been talking as she moved, dictating about some merger she was working on. A young girl, probably middle school aged and ironically the best dressed person in the room, followed her in listening and nodding. Her fingers moved quickly, over a keypad she held rather casually. They were incredibly fast. She didn't seem to need to look at what she was doing, and Mrs. Carlisle never slowed or paused for her to catch up.

I watched all of this, and felt ignored. Here these two were, the boss and a damned kid, treating me like furniture. I was embarrassed, but also strangely hurt by it all.

Standing now, beside her desk, with her hands on her hips, she looked down at the girl in front of her and finished with the dictation. The girl nodded as she typed, obviously not understanding half of the things she swiftly entered into the device. When it was finished, Mrs. Carlisle smiled down at her.

"Thank you, Miranda," she patted the girl on the cheek. In response, the child fairly beamed at the praise, and then popped out a small flash drive and handed it to Mrs. Carlisle. Then she looked around the room with a casual sense of place, her eyes not even resting on my prostrated form. This was nothing new to her, then.

"Do you, um, need me for anything else, ma'am?" She asked.

"Not today, Miranda. We'll have more work to do tomorrow. For now, you may go to class."

"Thank you, ma'am." She trotted off, moving past me without a word. 

"They have such fast fingers." 

I turned to see her watching me, as she sat down in the massive leather chair. Her smile revealed the light crows' feet and smile lines that were reminders of her age. I felt a sick little moment of pleasure to finally not be ignored.

"Children?" I asked.

"Yes, of course," she waved a hand in the air. "Video games and computers, I suppose. They practically live on them anymore. The ones who can," she emphasized that last word, "I mean. So, of course, who is better to take notes than a kid? I have a few favorites, who I pull out of the employee school on level 12 from time to time. The best part is that they don't understand a word of it all, so there are no risks for information leakage. She's forgotten every word of it already, the stupid bitch."

I didn't say anything. I didn't want to reveal that I hadn't understood much of it either, and had forgotten it as well. She watched me intently for a moment, and I felt a little foolish. Maybe she already knew.

"Anyway," she leaned back and turned the chair away from the desk, "everybody has their uses."

"She asked if there was anything else to do today. What other jobs does she do?"

She chuckled, a deep throaty assurance of amusement. "She only meant more typing. I often have many memos to produce." She was sideways to the desk, one elbow resting on it. A light twinkled in her eye. "Why in the world would you think such a thing as that?" She teased.

My face went hot, and surely red. "I didn't...I..."

"Oh, do shut up. We don't have anything scheduled for an hour, and I've been looking forward to this. Don't ruin it by talking."

I felt nervous fear, but it was muffled by the light-headed results of her perfume. Its effects reminded me of a weaker version of the drugs from my personality training. 

"Come to me," she said.

Suddenly, I realized that I didn't know how I was supposed to approach. Could I stand and walk? Must I crawl to her? I panicked. I couldn't stall, I had to move. Learning forward, I crawled over to her on all fours. She watched with an amused smile, and I thought maybe I could have walked. If that was the case, she wasn't giving it away now.

I was now on all fours, about two feet in front of her. She was leaned back in her large leather chair, legs open slightly, and her skirt fell between them to hide that which I could no longer avoid.

She ran a finger across her forehead, wrapping it in a stray curl. "When I ask you to come," she said in a voice that was entirely too husky for my comfort, "you will come here." She pointed between her legs, and I saw that there was a soft leather pad, half as thick as the thinnest pillow and almost as wide. It was at the very foot of the chair. The middle and ends were a deep resonant brown, but there were too slight indentations that had turned a light tan. I wondered where the knees that once went there had gone to. And then I placed my own upon the marks.

I looked up, I suppose seeking some sort of approval. At least approval was a positive thing that I could hand on to. I wouldn't let myself be buried in the negative of it all.

Instead, I saw a cocky, proud smile as she reached one hand down and petted the top of my head. "Much better," she said. Her hand slipped across my shoulders to her own leg, moving upward and hooking her skirt with one finger. "Watch," she whispered, and then raised her skirt as though she was conducting a religious ceremony. As though I should be amazed.

I won't pretend that it looked much different than any other vagina, really. She kept it shaved, with a patch of fur just above the top. Her body was toned, and the whole display was not nearly as unpleasant as it might have been.

Her perfume's effect kept the panic at a distance.

"It looks better than Tania's, I think," she said. How did she know about that? I looked up at her, but she waved a finger shamingly. I returned my gaze to her sex.

"Lean in closer," she said. I did, and she was just three inches from me. "No, more. I want to feel your warmth." I moved forward, until her skin was gently touching mine and my lips and nose pressed lightly against her slit.

"Good girl," she said, and placed a hand lightly on the back of my head. It applied no pressure, but was ready to if I tried to move. We remained that way for a moment. "You don't want to do this." It wasn't a question. I shook my head lightly, my nose brushing her lips.

"Mmm," her left leg twitched beside me, "that felt good." 

I froze. But she was right. With her body literally in my face, I suddenly knew I could not do this. I couldn't. The experience with Tania had been revolting enough, but this was something more. And this was not to be a single incident. This was a job.

She arched her hips gently, keeping one hand on the back of my head, so that her mons caressed my lips, almost like a gentle lover's kiss. It felt strange...soft and damp, but not repugnantly so. Certainly it felt better than it looked, or smelt. Then, she relaxed her grip, and I allowed myself the opportunity to pull back ever so slightly. I was aware that I was breathing fast, like a scared child might after a nightmare.

"It's a dark world out there," she ran one finger along the slit before pressing it firm and massaging her inner folds. "You and I know that survival is all about finding those with power, and adapting to them. It's what I did, and it's what little Miranda is doing." Her finger slipped up the pink folds of her vagina one last time. "You will have to do it, too. For your baby's sake, if not for your own." Then, she held the finger in front of me. "Clean it. With your tongue." 

I hesitated, and she laughed. "Survival," she repeated, "is about learning to serve those who have the power." Then her hand on the back of my head tightened its grip, and her finger moved in so that the tip rested on my bottom lip. "Do it."

Maybe I would have been brave enough to leave, then. Foolish, strong, and proud. But kneeling there, with her moist finger running along my bottom lip and her arousal directly in front of me, I felt the baby kick. A strong one.

I was near sobbing, now. As I ran my tongue up and down her finger, my vision blurred with tears and my breath came in soft gasps. I barely even noticed the taste of her in my mouth. I did, however, hear the first intake of breath from above me when my tongue first made contact, and through my tears I saw the confident smile on her face as she slipped her digit in my mouth, burying it to the hilt, as I sucked her remaining juices off of it. Then she withdrew it. 

"So is power about this?" I asked, trying to sound defiant and only coming across as pathetic. "Hurting others for your own amusement?"

She looked up for a moment, thinking, and then I felt her hand applying pressure again. "Power is a strange thing. Come closer." I relented to the pressure, until my nose was pressing softly against the skin directly of her slit once again and my lips once more gently teased her outer lips. "It's about control. But it's also about pleasure. Lick."

Only a small part of my brain tried to challenge this time, as my tongue started running up and down the outside of her vagina. Her perfume was affecting me so heavily I thought I might pass out. And this time, I was aware of her taste...not disgusting, not pleasant, but it seemed to go with the scent of the mysterious perfume. She sighed in pleasure, and one of her legs draped itself across my back. "But power," she continued, "is not about what you do to others. It's about what you do for yourself. And I don't mean wealth or status or material possession."

My tongue began exploring her in earnest, knowing what it had to do for this to end. Her hips began rotating against my movements, and she moaned. "No, my kitten," she positively purred as I felt her skirt come to rest softly atop my head, "power is all about this."

It was over in ten minutes. It had no major feeling of significance. It was almost an anti-event. She moaned and came, and then pushed me away. 

Somehow, the whole thing was releaving. It was easier than I'd thought it would be. She sat relaxed, her skirt once again dipping to hide between her legs, taking long, deep breaths. Then, she shrugged.

"You'll get better," she said. As though I were seeking her approval.

Maybe I was, on some level, because the words bothered me.

"Now," she said, "the washcloth."

Of course. I was supposed to clean her, and then wash my face. I felt foolish for just sitting there, her juices on chin, as if I were hesitant to remove them. But I had forgotten, was all. I must not forget.

The washcloths were folded on a small sink area near her office alcohol collection. I moved towards it, but then she coughed.

"Nevermind," she smiled down at me, and lifted her skirt again. "I think I'd like another."

This time I didn't hesitate to lean in and start. It lasted longer, but she came twice. After the first few minutes she became more vocal, and active. Her hands gripped my hair and she bucked against my face. My tongue was tired, my knees grew sore, and yet it was all still much less awful than I had envisioned it would be.

The rest of the day was business-like, mostly meetings and paperwork. I would occasionally supply Mrs. Carlisle with a drink, and kneel there at her feet during meetings. That was awful, kneeling there like a pet while important and well-groomed people went about their business like it was nothing. I'm sure the presence of a human toy established the immensity of Mrs. Carlisle's power to everyone, and that's why I was there. Worst of all, she would occasionally reached down and stroke my head, as though I were a faithful dog.

My esteem suffered another blow when she excused herself to pee, and paused at the door when I didn't follow. 

"Do not ever keep me waiting in front of others," she scolded me. "You will not care for the consequences." She was sitting on the porcelain, my tired knees were to the tiled floor, and I could hear her urine splashing the water. Then, to my horror, she scooted forward. "Clean me," she commanded, parting her legs.

I wanted to be sick. I closed my eyes to it. Still, not wanting to invite further irritation, I leaned in and lapped at her quickly. I could only barely taste her urine, so I could ignore it as I finished my work quickly and leaned back. Strangely, she was looking at me with a mild expression of shock.

"I meant use the paper," she said, and a grin spread across her face. "But I like your idea better. Yes," she petted my head and stood up, "I think we'll stick with it from now on." 

I wanted to die.

We played a game of tennis before supper. She destroyed me, moving gracefully in her professional-style skirt and top. My uniform didn't fit nearly as well, and I wasn't a tenth the player she was. She gave me tips, and asked about my life. She even told me a few things about herself...her husband had been killed in a violent conflict between his company (now hers) and a rival...and by the time the game ended I felt a little more like a confidant and a little less like a slave. But only a little.

Anyway, the reality of my situation was right back on display when the game ended, we showered, and then she laid down for her after-game massage. I worked every trick I knew, hoping she might fall asleep, but soon my thumbs were aching and she was shifting her legs. 




World on a String



"Calves first, honey. Then the glutes."

I held back a disappointed sigh, and lapped at her legs in the way I'd been taught. Just as it had been with Tania, it was really a fairly simple and easily done task. I just let my mind drift as my tongue moved up towards her buttocks, and before I knew it, it was over.

Strangely, she had already reapplied her perfume, and it help to relax me as I worked.

I suppose it was nerves, but I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I got home. Chuck was waiting, nervous and asking if I was okay, how was it, can he do anything. I asked him to not talk about it, mostly I wanted to sleep.

And I did. He lay down on my bed, and I draped myself over him. He started to talk, but I couldn't say about what because I was asleep before the end of the first sentence.

My schedule was for two days on, one off. Apparently, that coincided with Mrs. Carlisle's own schedule. On the days she took off, she must have had other forms of entertainment. 

The second day began much the same as the first. I was dropped off in her office, and told that it would be a few minutes. I spent the time straightening up, not sure if that's what was expected, and then suddenly she burst through the door. Once again, she was dictating to the student...Miranda, I remembered...and ignored me as I dropped to my knees and she passed by me.

Miranda walked by as well, her fingers a blur of movement on the keypad. She smiled at something Mrs. Carlisle said (I realized I'd missed it, I wasn't listening closely enough, and I chided myself to be careful), and I saw braces on her teeth. Mrs. Carlisle stopped talking, and I realized that the dictation was over.

"Well?" She said, suddenly sternly. I hoped Miranda wasn't in trouble as I looked over.

She was staring at me, with annoyance.

"I...I'm sorry?" Shit. What had I missed?

Her annoyance became anger, and she marched over to where I knelt. She stood over me, glaring down. "Miranda, dear," she said without looking away, "leave the flash on my desk and head back to class."

"Yes, ma'am," Miranda hurried to comply. 

"And Miranda...don't forget about tomorrow."

"I..I won't," she stammered as she hurried out of the room. I had a moment to remember that tomorrow was supposed to be a day off, and then she struck me. Hard.

I found myself on my back looking up at her. My cheek burned.

"I am so sorry," I begged, "it really..."

"Shut up. It's over now. It needs to never happen again." She stretched, her arms up over her head, and then she walked over to her desk. "Now come to me," she dropped her skirt to the floor before sitting down. "I aim to give you a little more of a taste than you got yesterday."

I crawled over with a sinking feeling that this day was going to be far less pleasant than the first. She draped one leg up on the desk, and fairly pulled my head toward her. It wasn't until a long time later that she was fully sated. For nearly an hour, she gave me commands and moved my head to where she wanted it. It wasn't just oral sex. She had me kissing and nibbling at her inner thigh, planting soft kisses on her stomach. She was teaching me how to make love to her. To worship.

Afterwards, we attended a few meetings, and she used the restroom. For some reason, this second time I had to clean her disgusted me far more than the first. The shock of it was gone, and now I had only myself to blame for having to use my mouth.

Then, instead of a game of tennis, we went back to her office. "There's a man coming in today who owns some apartment complexes I want. You may be of some help in the negotiation process." I started at that, and she chuckled down at me. "Right now," she said, "your husband is at the movie theater. He won't leave there in the same health he entered if you disappoint me." My breath caught in my throat. "On the other hand," she shrugged, "maybe if you do your job well we can give him access to a few more entertaining novelties around the compound."

I knelt beside the desk, and she sat down. Then, she pushed a button and asked to see her next appointment.

"A Mr. Welch to see you," the receptionist said. Why was that name familiar?

In through the big door, in a nice suit and with slicked back hair, came Daniel Welch. Hair on the back of my neck stood up, with fear and rage. The last time I'd seen him, he'd been our landlord and was threatening to have us arrested unless I agreed to have sex with him. Now, my would-be rapist was standing cool and collected while I knelt at my mistress's side like a lap dog. He shook her hand, sat down, and his gaze fell upon me. 

I begged, silently, for some mercy. Let him not recognize me. Let him pass over me and pay no attention.

But his eyes widened. And he spoke my name, as a question.

"So you two know each other, then?" Mrs. Carlisle smiled. I wondered how innocent all of this really was.

"Oh, I know her," he fairly grunted as he shifted his large frame. "Bitch snuck out without paying two months back rent."

"I see," Mrs. Carlisle's smile grew wider. "So you mean to say that rent is difficult to collect, on these properties?"

"I...what? Oh, no," he backtracked quickly, still too late, "it's just a few pieces of garbage here and there. Look where it got her, eh?" He laughed, a quick bark.

"You find my companionship to be punishment, then?" She cocked her head. I enjoyed seeing him squirm again. 

"No, no, of course not. I..."

"Let's talk about your price," she interrupted. "I feel that it is much too high."

But whatever else Daniel Welch was an opportunist, and a selfish prick. "If it's too high, then we're done. I'm not nearly in as big a hurry to sell, I think, as you are to buy."

"I was in a much bigger hurry to buy a moment ago, before you admitted all of the trouble the property has, financially."

He clenched a fist. "There's no fucking trouble! None! It's just stupid bitches like this one think they can get away. They think that I ain't got troubles of my own, bills of my own. If I had my way, she'd have to work off the unpaid rent like a good whore!"

"Drop your price by 15%, and you can have sex with her," Mrs. Carlisle tossed it out casually, and my blood ran cold. No, she couldn't be doing this. I wouldn't...I...

Chuck. They were watching Chuck. Shit.

I resigned myself, as Daniel Welch smiled a gruesome smile down at me, to doing what I must to save my husband.

"I like this deal," he grinned.

Suddenly, Mrs. Carlisle had contracts in front of him. "There are conditions, but reasonable. No damage to my property, you understand, and you must do it here. Now."

"Here?"

"I want to watch," she shrugged, and his grin grew wider.

"I like your style," he signed far too quickly. I wondered what else the contract stated.

He didn't care, though. He stood up immediately and started undoing his pants.

"She can do that for you, you know," Mrs. Carlisle was staring at me, watching the pain on my expression, with an odd kind of sympathy.

"Yeah," he laughed, and snapped his fingers. "Bitch, take off your clothes. I want to see you first, then I'll let you see what I have for you." 

Crying silently, I stood and removed my clothes. He beckoned me over, and manhandled one breast. Then he twisted the nipple sharply, and I cried out.

"No damage," Mrs. Carlisle reminded gently.

"There won't be any," he assured, and pressed down on my shoulders so that I had to kneel. "Have a look," he commanded.

I reached up and undid his belt and zipper, and lowered his pants to the ground. Reaching out from him was a veiny member that could only be described as unclean looking. It was of average length, but alarmingly thick. A wart stuck out of one side. Hanging below, his testicles were large and tight against his scrotum. I could see the skin around them rolling softly as they churned, eager to release. He seemed proud of it.

"Impressive, I know," he smiled down at me. "Now stop admiring and suck."

I reached one hand up, now crying outright, and gripped him at the base. My fingers didn't touch as they wrapped around as much of him as they could. I gave one soft tug, and then took him into my mouth.

I suddenly had a great appreciation for Mrs. Carlisle. There was no intoxicating scent, here, just the dank sense that he didn't wash himself often. He leaked precum, and it was far more unpleasant than Mrs. Carlisle's juices ever were. He moaned and allowed me to explore him with my mouth before beginning to fuck my face in earnest. 

I gagged when he went too deep, but he didn't stop. I'm sure if I were to vomit, he would simply continue at it and feel all the more proud of himself, so I fought the urge. It was easier this way, anyways. If he was pistoning at my face, I wasn't doing the work. I was a nonactor in this little horrid drama.

Then he pulled back. "Lay down." Then he pushed me and I was on my back before him. He kicked open my legs and gave his penis a playful pull. "I'm going to enjoy this."

"No damage," Mrs. Carlisle repeated, and I saw that she was handing him a jar of lube. 

"Yeah, sure," he muttered, greasing his pole before kneeling down between my open legs. I had a sudden irrational fear of his fat gut pressing down on the baby inside my belly, and then he was in me.

It burned, but not horrifically so. He began thrusting into me.

"Pregnant bitches always lube up real good," he muttered, and then he looked down at me. "Kiss me," he said. And then he leaned in, and we were kissing as he raped me. I cried openly the entire time, feeling my tears roll down my face. Finally, he tensed and I felt his thick member pulsing inside me. This son of a bitch was cuming inside my body. 

He lay there, atop me, for a moment, and then rolled off. I lay crying as he dressed, thanked Mrs. Carlisle casually for the business, and then strolled towards the door. 

"Nice to see you, bitch," he called to me as he reached for the handle.

"Mr. Welch, wait," Mrs. Carlisle called out. 

"Yeah?"

"You put on a good show. I liked it."

"Thanks," he grinned. This was making his day. "She's got a bod on her."

"Yes. I want to watch it again. You should come by this time on Friday."

"You want...hey, I guess I can do that." He sneered down at me, and I cried even harder.

"We'll see you then," she waved him off and then tossed something at me. It was a bag with two pills in it. "Take these, silly girl, and stop crying. They will help with the upset. Now compose yourself and go home.

The pills did help. I didn't ever ask why. But they seemed to affect my mood, and for that I was grateful. I didn't tell Chuck about any of what had happened, and I was actually in a great mood the entire next day. It was my day off, and Mrs. Carlisle had seen to it that we had access to the first rate movie theater and a small artificial park on the top floor. We walked, talked, and even made love. I didn't even think about Daniel Welch.

From there, things fell in to a sick routine. Two days of slavery and degradation, one day of freedom to enjoy. Plus, every Sunday was off. The baby in my belly grew larger, my husband and I grew closer and stronger, and I became more and more able to put the events of the day from my mind when I returned home. To Chuck's credit, he never pushed for information.

More and more, though, I found myself able to get lost in the smell of Mrs. Carlisle's perfume. It was addicting. I secretly had begun to actually look forward to the time we spent together, with the light-headed blurriness of it becoming more intense with every session. It affected me. I found myself more eager to please, and all distain had gone from the process of licking her body. It was almost like a disturbing high that left my sensations tingly and pleasant...even when she let Daniel Welch fuck me.

And he did, every Friday. Even if it was my day off, I was expected to be in the office for his appointment. Mrs. Carlisle never tired of watching him use my body. The third time he'd arrived, she'd offered to show him a little trick. She spritzed some of her perfume on his lower stomach before we began, and sure enough I found the act of fellating him far less despicable. I almost enjoyed it. 

The difference must have shown in my actions, because he laughed approvingly and asked about it. Mrs. Carlisle just shrugged, and then said, "Watch."

She sprayed him again, right there in front of my bobbing face, and suddenly the entire experience was intensified. My mind was unable to focus, or discern anything other than that it thought the organ and man before me were the most wonderfully perfect in all the world. I attacked with even greater vigor, unable to think straight and loving every minute of this blowjob. Mrs. Carlisle leaned forward, leaning her weight on my head so that I was pushed down completely on his member, inches of it in my throat, and whispered in his ear, "She could be yours."

None of this made any sense to me. I was beyond any thinking. The world was a haze and I was torn between the loving contentedness I felt impaled on his unit and the need to breathe.

"What about you?" He whispered back.

"Oh, she'll always be mine, now. But with this," she held up the bottle, "a pet can be claimed by two masters. This dose will be less, so you'll be second to me. But imagine..." she stood back up but continued to hold my head against his belly. I made no effort to fight, although I was near to passing out. "...the bitch will want it." She'd hit the nail on the head. He positively roared with delight. 

"Do it," he said. She leaned in, holding my head still, and sprayed one last time. Then she lifted me up just enough to clear my air passage. 

"Breathe," she whispered in my ear. I did.

My entire world dissolved, and reformed. I didn't understand any of it, but continued to worship the phallus in my mouth. Nothing else mattered to me, it was god and I was a zealot.

It didn't take long, then. He grunted, and came. Somewhere, a small remaining part of me was disgusted to hear myself moan as his sperm splashed in my mouth. He always released seemingly-impossible amounts, but when he ejaculated in my mouth this time I worked religiously to swallow it all. 

After that, I still hated him. Probably even more, now, because I found myself a very eager accomplice in his raping of me. It was like an alcoholic who hates to drink, hates themselves for drinking, and can't stop anyway. I would be there, kneeling and sucking his cock, or letting him fuck me over and over again, thanking him and getting off on it. Once, I even told him I loved him while he took me from behind. It was mortifying, horrific, and in its own way true.

Mrs. Carlisle was the center of my world, and Daniel Welch was the lone moon around that center. I still loved my husband, in a way I could never love these people from whom I had as much hate as I did forced affection, but he was struggling with the complete lack of sexual desire I felt now. The only time my body even cared for sex was when I was performing for my masters. 

I felt like a monster...maybe even felt like I was worse than them. I was the one who actively, eagerly betrayed my husband. When Daniel would cum inside me it was like heaven. I even started pretending, as he pistoned his thick, hideous cock in and out of me, that the baby was his.

The baby. At least we had the baby, my husband and I. It was one of the few things we truly shared, now. Mrs. Carlisle gave us access to the best medical help, and we knew everything was going fine. My body became more awkward, heavy and pained, but even at the 7 month mark I was still able to perform my duties with gusto.

And that's when things took another step in the wrong direction.

"I think, for her sake, you ought not come around any more until the baby drops."

Mrs. Carlisle had said it, to Daniel, while he stood naked in her office. I was behind him, eagerly tonguing his asshole like it was the happiest moment of my life. Of course, it wasn't, and I was both grossed out and ashamed, but that dual personality was there underneath, somewhere. I was wet, near orgasm. I could barely stand it.

"Any reason?" He asked.

"I don't want this baby put to any unneeded risk, Daniel. And it'll be good for her to have a break."

"After the baby is born?"

"Oh, absolutely you will be back. I still enjoy these shows very much."

He was silent above me, for a moment. None of the words in the conversation stayed with me very long...her perfume clung to my brain too tightly...but it registered that he wouldn't be hear for some time.

I moaned in sorrow. Or relief. Which was it? Was it both? 

"What," he finally said, "is going on here? The perfume is what does it, right?"

She laughed. "You're taking part in an experiment, my friend. The perfume indeed alters their minds. It takes a very, very long time to work. She still very truly hates us, even as she worships us. Someday," she clicked her tongue, "there will be only love in her for us."

"And her baby?"

"Not your concern."

"Fair enough. Why doesn't it work on me?"

"It could, I suppose, but it has to be tailor made. We took a brain scan during her training, and adapted the product to her unique personality. We could do the same with you, but...well...I needed a second test subject to see if she could handle having two masters at once. You were convenient."

"Interesting. Why is someone as important as you doing this sort of field work?"

"The obvious benefits. This is not a product for selling. The potential is enormous. She is the third of my toys."

"Third?"

"They don't always handle it well. Some of them kill themselves before they get too deep. Her baby and husband made her a little more...willing."

"Will you be keeping her? When it's done?"

"Oh, I have every intention of gathering quite the harem of admirers. She will not be a part of that. You will keep her, as payment for your help and silence on this matter."

By this point my mind was fogging more and more with the effect of the chemical, and each word appeared to my mind individually, not part of a larger sentence. All I really knew was that, when he pushed himself into my ass, he fucked me harder and louder than he ever had before.

Three weeks went by in routine. With my stomach getting bigger, Mrs. Carlisle found it easier simply to have me lay down in the mornings, and she would ride my face to her pleasure. We never played tennis, and she seemed to grow increasingly vicious in her use of me. She used my fellatious skills to close more deals, as well as for a holiday bonus for the janitorial staff. I spent an entire day there, on my knees in the break room, ingesting pulse after pulse of their semen. Afterwards she laughed and told me all that protein would be good for my baby. I was ashamed when I avoided my husband's kisses, that night. 

I worried she was cross with me. She paced often, sometimes seeming impatient.

But Fridays came and went, with no Daniel. I had no recollection of any conversation, the perfume tainting my thoughts, and it made me sullen and sulky to miss out on his visits. Christ, I hated him, but I also yearned for him and felt disgust and loathing when I would see my husband's smaller, less vile penis. It was like a sick game of low self-esteem. I waged an inner war of hatred, and finally broke.

Daniel was probably surprised, when I showed up at his door. It was Sunday, my day off to be with my husband, and I was more than 8 months pregnant. He stood there, looking at me shiver in the rain, and I fought between begging and killing him. Finally, a single word is all I managed.

"Please," I whispered. A smile spread across his face, and he reached out to grip the back of my neck.

He pulled me to him, and I thought he wanted to kiss me. Instead, he yanked my head back so he was hovering over me. "Open your mouth," he said, and I did. 




World on a String



The me that was still me watched in horror as he drooled a long thread of spit into my open mouth. The me that was theirs nearly squealed in delight.

"Swallow it," he said, and I did.

Inside, he had me strip and follow him into his bedroom. My pregnancy preceded me into the room, and I found him stripping his own clothes off. "Here's the deal," he said. "I will enjoy you tonight, if you behave. But in return you must do something for me."

"Anything," I whispered. A tear ran down my cheek at the sight of the hideous veins that crisscrossed his thick member, and the large wart that was a part of it. He had long since trimmed down his pubic hair, and I could see zits that sat amongst the hair follicles. God, I wanted it.

"I want you," he fairly strutted over, "to get me a bottle of your mistress's perfume. I want you to bring it to me."

My eyes went wide. "I couldn't..."

His meaty hand wrapped around my throat and squeezed. "You will. And here's why: you know well that, whatever is left of you in there is not in control any more. You know that if I order it you will be a willing accomplice in the abortion of your baby." His other hand ran along my stomach. "But that doesn't have to happen. You will do this."

"I will," I cried.

"Good girl," he let go. "Now kneel down and put this in your mouth. I have to piss before we start."

God help me, I knelt down.

"That was great," I heard Mrs. Carlisle's voice through her swiftly-relaxing thighs, my nose smooshed against her pubis from her leaning weight. She scooted forward to climb off. My tongue continued to lap at her lovingly, hungrily reaching for more of her juice. I could do nothing to stop it. Only a part of me wanted to stop it, anymore. As she slid, tongue rubbed at her anus and she paused to enjoy the sensation. "No," she said, "we have other things to do today." I sat up with reluctance, my face coated in her excretions. She was already getting dressed and heading towards the door. 

"I have a meeting that I don't need you for, so straighten up in here for a bit. Oh, and have a few white russians ready when I return." She trod off, and I began cleaning.

It took all of my strength, even caused real physical pain in my temples, but I defied her wishes. I reached into her drawer, and took a bottle of the perfume. There were four such bottles, each labeled a different name. I took the one with my name. The agony was intense, but I knew I'd be making my master happy. Calling him that still made me sick to my stomach. 

I poured 2/3 of the large bottle into a container from the drink cabinet, and replaced the missing potion with water. It would still smell, and hopefully she wouldn't notice the difference. 

Then, I took the risk of leaving to bring the bottle to a supply cabinet nearby, gathering a few things there for show. Tonight, I'd be back to get it.

When she did return, she didn't even bother with perfume but instead had me massage her and lick her to one last orgasm before heading home. 

My husband was no threat. He willingly believed that Mrs. Carlisle was adding responsibilities to my position, and I promised him that it would soon be over. Then I headed straight to Daniel's.

He leaned back on the couch and petted my head as I sucked him, telling me I'd done a good job, and just to be sure he wiped a little of the fluid on his pubic area as I blew him. It washed white light through my brain, and when he came it was like seeing God.

But the next day, the baby came.

I remember almost nothing. I was waiting for Mrs. Carlisle in her office, felt a sharp pain, stumbled and hit my head. When I came to, the baby was out and I was in a hospital bed.

My husband was there, with me. 

"I..." 

"Sshh," he rubbed my forehead. "You're okay. The baby came."

"Where?" I smiled up at him. I couldn't wait to see. But his own face tensed.

"I don't know. They took her."

"They?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know any more than that," suddenly his eyes were watery. "They work here."

Two large guards came up and gripped his arms. "Time for the lady to rest," one of them said, and they pulled him away.

And there she was. 

Mrs. Carlisle swept in, holding my baby girl. She stood at a distance from me, unsmiling.

"Thank you," she said, to my dawning horror. And then she took out a strange perfume bottle I had never seen before, and sprayed once on her upper chest. She cradled the baby against the area, and it cooed.

"No," I moaned, mortified that part of me was pleased to have given her this gift.

"My dear, it had to happen. This is the part of the experiment that matters most. Just think, a company staffed by people trained from birth to worship and adore me. Productivity will be incredible, everything will be fluid and perfect. And I will be the most powerful person on this earth. And of course," she rubbed a thumb along the child's cheek, "if she grows up to look anything like her mother, well...I won't be too old yet for a good time, you know. But don't worry," she spritzed herself again as she held my daughter to her, "it'll be easier for her than it was for you."

"Please..." I cried, but she turned to someone I hadn't seen standing there. It was Tania. "The husband?" she asked.

"Will be taken care of," Tania said, business-like. 

"Good."

"And the girl?" Tania waved in my direction.

"We have a promise to fulfill. We will see to her recovery, and then deliver her to Mr. Welch."

"In the meantime?"

Mrs. Carlisle looked down at her. "Ah, yes. You enjoyed her. Very well." She turned to me. "My pet, I want you do whatever Tania here says until you're ready to leave the hospital. It'll only be a few weeks, I'm sure. Obey her every word."

Tania clicked her tongue. "How gentle do I need to be?"

"Do you still play rough, my dear?" 

"Rougher."

Mrs. Carlisle laughed. "Very well. Don't hold back...I can always find a replacement for our little bribe. Slave," she turned back towards me, "I meant what I said. No matter what she commands, you will obey."

I wanted to say "fuck you," or "go to hell." I wanted all three of us to die, then. I wanted an end to it all. But an equal part of me, maybe more than equal now, was still eager to obey and happy to do so.

"Yes, mistress," I whispered. Tania grinned and moved forward. She pressed a button at the edge of the bed, and it began to lower. I wanted to beg her to stop, to tell her I'd just had a baby, that I hurt. She wouldn't have cared. She hooked her thumbs in her waistband and her pants slid off her hips. Behind, Mrs. Carlisle drew the curtain closed.

It took far longer than it should have for me to recover, physically. Tania saw to that. I gave no real thought to my husband during all of this, although I tried hard to think of my baby. I had to save her. Daniel would help me, I thought. But it was laughable. That was the last thing he would want to do. He was about to get what he wanted.

And he did. I was dropped off, naked and with nothing, at his driveway. I rushed up to the house, and he smiled when he saw me there. Instead of a welcome, or questions about my child, he pulled me in and literally threw me on to the ground. Then he opened his robe, and without hesitation pushed his penis inside of me. 

Again I felt the duality of hating and loving him. I'd been moist for him before he even opened the door...ready to receive. Once he was in me, he paused to pull a bottle out of his robe and spritz himself heavily on the chest. It was way more than Mrs. Carlisle ever used. My mind went dizzy and nearly blank. I had a dim sense that I was losing something. He moved inside me, and I thought every miniscule point where our flesh met was a small nerve ending having its own orgasm. He was beautiful.

"I love you," I wept as I felt the strange, distant sensation of something being wrong.

He spat in my open mouth. "I almost miss that belly, bitch. And you know, people pay a lot of money for newborn babes." He laughed and rocked harder into my center.

I came.

Far from where I lay, in the center of the massive construct that was Mrs. Carlisle's empire, she sat at her desk reviewing her scientists' reports on the chemical that gave her perfume its effect. She suffered a short moment of confusion as the door opened, and little Miranda walked in with a determined stride.

"Miranda," she blinked, "there's no work for you today."

"I know," Miranda said, moving around behind the desk. Mrs. Carlisle felt a moment of confusion as her nostrils filled with a strange scent. 

"What..." she began, but Miranda pulled out a perfume bottle and began hurriedly spritzing herself over and over. Mrs. Carlisle's world became hazy, her mind clouded. Suddenly, she would do anything for Miranda.

"Why did you choose me to type for you?" Miranda asked.

"Your scores...you were....fast," Mrs. Carlisle desperately shook her head, to no avail.

"So you didn't think about anything else?"

"No. W...why?" Every breath was sinking her free will further.

"My dad," the girl frowned, "wrote the report you were just reading. He made that stuff for you. And he's not happy."

"I..." Mrs. Carlisle moved to stand, and instead fell to her knees before the girl. She looked up with deep fear gnawing at her. "Please..."

Miranda pushed the intercom button on the desk. "Tell the receptionist to send the others in."

"Send...send them in," she gasped.

The door opened again, and two men walked in. One was Miranda Welch's father, and the other was my husband. He moved over and struck Mrs. Carlisle hard enough to split her lip.

"You're going to give me my baby back, you bitch," his eyes flashed rage, "and wherever you've abandoned my wife, you're going to take her place."

Mrs. Carlisle began to cry fearfully. She couldn't form a word in defense. Miranda Welch's father came up and stood amongst her other attackers.

"And I," he said as he patted his daughter's shoulder, "will take care of your company for you. There are just a few things you need to sign."