The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“They just don’t make crooks like they used to!” Aureus’s voice is raised to a yell behind me. Even though our bodies are melted against each other, I’m pushing Sylvia too fast to hear my golden partner very well at all. “I swear down in the bay it took at least twice that much to take down a perp! Pow! Biff! Zop! Was a lot of fun though tonight, a lot of fun!”

Even though sometimes it bothers me that she rarely takes anything seriously I can’t stop myself from grinning. We did do a nice job of busting up that robbery. I was nearly sure that it was well enough known that you can’t rob a place in Midas without some kind of laser gun at the very least.

Our unlucky saps actually had pistols. I wonder what the hell was going through their heads, not that it matters. By now they should be hauled off, processed, and in their cells for as long as Midas decides to keep them.

“They do make them like they used to! We just got better! They didn’t!” Too often lately I feel older than I am. Aureus is good at making me feel closer to my age. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not but I enjoy it. As much as I wish that Pandora had felt like sticking around so that the three of us could be a team it’s still wonderful to be a duo.

She clings tighter to me as I take a particularly sharp turn a good ten miles too fast, and I arch back against her as my grin grows. “Holy burning rubber, Patina!”

As soon as I can get her to drop the jokes about us being a dynamic duo . . .

“You’re right though, of course! We make one hell of a pair, and it would take one hell of a pair to take us down . . . Are we near home yet?! I think you love the mach speed joyriding more than the actual patrol some nights!” I also absolutely love the feel of Aureus grinding her supple body into me, but I don’t think she would mention that. After all I doubt she wants me to take another turn like that tonight just to make her squeeze that slight bit closer.

Just for her I take the next turn more gracefully. It’s hard to believe that I ever used to dislike having a nice set of wheels. The rush of the wind, of feeling so in control of such a powerful machine . . .

Behind me Aureus whines right into my ear. “I asked if we were almost home?! You know I can’t look at the road signs when Midas isn’t crowded! They say that Vegas never sleeps, maybe you should go there so that someone can make you obey traffic laws, or at least put on a damn helmet.”

I twist my lips up into a more crooked grin before letting my shoulders shrug. “Maybe someday. Besides, you aren’t wearing a helmet, why the hell should I?”

“If I fall off, I’ll just be a little banged up. If you fall off, all that’ll be left of you will be the injuries!” To be fair, she does have a point. For some reason wearing a helmet just sounds like an unnecessary precaution. Even with a helmet I could still end up snapping my neck. Sylvia and I have been through a lot together and though she’s needed some body work done, I haven’t. It might just be an extra risk, but it’s also a good way to look one hell of a lot more intimidating.

What’s scarier, a woman rushing at you in a helmet while taking the speed limit under advisement, or one tearing up the pavement like a bat out of hell with her hair fluttering bare in the wind?

“If I fall off, it’s going to be because staying on would be a lot more dangerous.” Right after I’ve enunciated the ‘e’ I take another sharp turn and then pull hard on the breaks right in front of our apartment building. “Give me some credit, huh?”

Aureus screams, but it’s a scream at maybe ten percent volume. I’ve never heard anyone else pull off a similar feat. “You . . . I swear, Patina . . . One of these days . . .”

“One of these days what?” I raise an eyebrow and lean towards her after she hops off of the bike.

“One of these days . . .” She sighs and hoods her eyes before melting her warm metallic lips into mine. It’s so amazing to feel all of the texture of her lips so much more firmly. Her hand holds the back of my head and mine slides to do the same. It’s the kind of kiss felt more in the chest or the knees than the lips, and when she pulls back my eyelids feel twenty pounds heavier. “I’ll leave that to your imagination. I’ll get dinner ready.”

Twisting on the balls of her feet, my lovely partner ascends the stairs and then disappears behind the door. Helping her win her argument so soon after she’s made it sounds too silly so I wait before starting Sylvia back up to park her in the adjoining garage.

It still makes me giggle every so often to realize that if I’d gotten pregnant (or in the case of The Domina, gotten someone else pregnant) before I got a motorcycle I would have named the child the same name. Susan found it amusing too. She didn’t find the fact that Lida disappeared as amusing, but she took my side on the issue. That shouldn’t have made me feel worse, but it did.

The drive isn’t very far, and the sound of her engines dying for the last time of the night is as soothing. Once that sound kicks in I know that all I need is a little wardrobe change and I get to go back to being Sarah. Of course, I have to go into Lucia mode if the landlady comes by, but that’s not too bad.

Lucia and Sarah have so very much in common after all.

I twirl the key around in my hand as I start to walk back, but then quickly stop. From the very corner of my vision I see a shadow following me. Moments like this, I do miss my sparks very much. One spark can illuminate most bump-in-the-night worries away.

If I turn to look then whatever it was might move away but not looking doesn’t sound particularly smart either. Carefully I ease my hand down and pop open a compartment of my belt to slide in the key.

Instead of letting my hand drop to my side, I keep it on my belt. If that shadow gets any closer and just happens to be humanoid then my nifty little dart gun could come in handy. Nothing too big has gotten in my way since the Project, but having a part in ruining it did get me a bit of a reputation. Nothing has come of it yet, but I can only imagine it’s a matter of time. Jade was the one who said a lot of us weren’t going to be dying in our beds . . .

The shadow moves again in the other corner of my vision. It’s hard to make out what it is without moving my head too much, and the fact that I have to keep moving so as not to look too suspicious probably doesn’t help.

There’s a sound of scurrying, heels clicking on pavement, and I turn around in a flash with my gun aimed chest level at the shadow only . . . it’s not there. Paranoia isn’t a fun thing to have. Just to be sure I walk back to where I saw the shadow, but all I see is what looks like a small oil slick on the ground. Some people need to take better care of their vehicles. I would never let Sylvia leak like that.

Feeling a little bit less sure of myself, and a little bit sillier than I’d like, I pivot and head for home. Olivia is a great cook. She might not make anything too fancy, but I’d be satisfied with macaroni and cheese almost every night so that doesn’t mean much. What matters is that it tastes good and I haven’t gained any weight.

When I turn the knob on the front door I swear that I see the shadow again, but I’m in no mood to turn around. If someone wants to watch Patina go into an apartment building, they can feel free to. I slide the gun away, and ascend toward a full stomach.

“I swear you put drugs in this spaghetti to make it taste so good. Is it saffron? Gold powder? Come on, tell me!” My fork swirls around in a mess of marinara, parmesan, and noodles as I shove another spool deep into my mouth. For the cheap sauce we always get, and the store brand noodles, this tastes as if it were slathered with ambrosia and blessed by several pantheons of chefs.

Olivia smirks and raises a cutely rusty eyebrow. “If I told you then it would ruin it. Trust me. It’s nothing you don’t like, and nothing nearly as expensive as gold powder. Besides, all that does is drive up the price of a good drink, it doesn’t make it taste better.”

With a huff I shove in another bite and wash it down with some tap water. “Whatever you say, my lovely little Olivia.”

Her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink as she crams a bite into her own mouth. Dinner for two is the only way to have dinner. I can’t imagine ever going back to eating alone. Oh sure, I’ve had a meal or two alone, but it’s just not quite the same as a meal with her. She makes everything taste so much better even when she lets me cook.

We need to get around to filling this apartment with some more of her belongings, but for now it’s cozy even if it is fairly empty. Retail and call center work doesn’t pay that well, but I can’t use Linda as a reference to aim for waitressing again, so . . .

Besides, I doubt I’d get as many tips with a much less exotic hue.

Hopefully Olivia isn’t taking her time because she plans on going back . . . She doesn’t seem to be having second thoughts, and when I’ve gone into her mind she hasn’t voiced any, but I haven’t directly asked. It hasn’t felt fair, and if she has them, I don’t want to know. What would I do, obliterate them? Just the thought of doing that upsets my stomach and this pasta is too damned good to waste a single bite.

With a soft giggle my sweet roommate grabs up the television remote from beside her plate on the coffee table before curling closer to me on the second hand couch. “Let’s see if we made it on the Telly!”

Giggling with her I close my eyes and rub my hands over my eyelids. I always love having those damned contacts out. It just doesn’t feel as safe to not be wearing them outside. Even if Lucia Colloten is as much a secret identity as Patina is, I’d rather not have to beat the media off with a stick. Being invited onto twenty questions for a guest bit on the other hand . . .

The TV clicks on—about seven notches too high for after midnight—and Olivia squeaks loudly before starting to turn it down. The only thing we really watch is the news. After all, having a job by day and a night job too . . . it doesn’t leave a lot of time for the boob tube.

At least the night job is also a hobby, and full of luxurious breasts tightly wrapped in shiny fabric.

Finally when the volume stabilizes I turn from Olivia to the television. There’s usually nothing interesting going on, but if another mysterious project starts up I’d rather know about it before it gets out of hand.

The middle of the night newscaster looks half dead in her chair, but in a cute way. Something about how dark her hair is and how pale her skin is makes it so the make up around her eyes doesn’t quite hide the bags. “In case you’re just tuning in, this afternoon the trial of Chandra Beran and Katya Emerald reached a verdict.” In the corner of the screen is a little box showing the two at court in fancy business suits that must have cost hundreds of dollars

If I could afford to miss work, I would have been there to see the verdict. Patina had been called in as a witness. Jade had delivered the subpoena to me while I was on patrol. It had taken a lot not to bring up the arrow, but that would have been in poor taste.

“Additional evidence was brought forth pertaining to their mental states, and the level of conditioning that The Domina had kept them under. According to the expert witness there were signs of actual physical modifications to both women, and while in police custody they had both suffered symptoms synonymous to withdrawal. After this new evidence was introduced there was a definite shift in the courtroom as what seemed like an easy win for the prosecution fell apart. Both were found not guilty of all charges. The true leader of the operation remains unaccounted for.” Screaming I grab the remote away from Olivia and chuck it at the television as hard as I can.

“That’s bullshit! I’m sure that she was controlling them, but that doesn’t mean they should just get away with a slap on the wrist! She chose them because of their questionable histories! She knew what they were capable of! They should all be behind bars . . .” It takes way too much restraint to resist throwing the rest of dinner at the television.

I stand up and move to behind the couch to pace. This is horrible! They’ll just plot some new scheme! They might wait a couple months or a couple years . . . but they’ll be back and I’ll be the one who’ll have to deal with it!

There was evidence that Emerald and Ember had already begun projecting a plan for some sort of malignant space station . . . At least there was. Was . . . If I can ever get my hands on it . . . It would already be too late. Double jeopardy protects them from anything I could do to them now. Hunting them down and punishing them personally would not only be stupid, but illegal as hell.

There’s a fine line between a little harmless vigilantism and becoming some full blown self instituted bringer of justice. I have to be very careful about that line . . .

“Sarah!” Olivia’s voice breaks me out of my own head, and her eyes fix on mine with a focused look. “Calm the fuck down! I know that sucks, it sucks a lot . . . I know what Ember did to Pandora . . . but there’s nothing that we can do about it now. We stopped them before, if they try something else, we can stop them again. Maybe they really were being manipulated, maybe not . . . What’s important is to not only acknowledge what happened there today, but also what we did on that space station! We won! The good guys won . . .”

I want to yell at her so loud her eardrums pop, so I take a moment and a deep breath before responding. “Olivia . . . All we did was stop a single event. The Domina got away. My own mother is going to help her come back, and no doubt enact some brilliant plan for revenge. I still have no god damned clue where the hell Mourning Frost or Mind Bore are . . . and now Ember and Emerald get let off?!”

What happened to the criminals after I stopped them never used to matter to me before. Oh, sure, it bothered me if I heard they busted out of prison or the like, but it always made me sigh in a “that’s Midas” sort of way. This is not the same feeling at all. Those women are all so dangerous . . .

“And if they pull the same kind of shit again, then we’ll stop them again. A gold fist to the face! A shining dart to the chest! Come on, Sarah . . . settle the hell down. We can deal with this, okay? Finish your food and, try to relax. Do this for me, please?” Olivia never looks nearly as small as when she’s worried. “Just take a breather. The authorities will be keeping extra good eyes on the two of them for awhile . . . Almost better than a prison sentence. It’s a lot easier to sneak out of prison than to evade a badged super with a surveillance mission, huh?”

The rage isn’t gone, but . . . she’s right. All I’m doing right now is upsetting Olivia . . . If anything happens, we can stop it. She’s right. No one is going to let down their guard about them for a long time. It’s better than nothing. After all, The Domina could be loose, or that damned plan could have actually worked.

I just should have been able to do more than just stop them from completing a single plan. Sure, I was out numbered, and victory at all was amazing . . . but it’s just not fair.

Slumping against the back of the couch I sigh and look to Olivia with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry baby . . . It just . . . If they hadn’t completely wiped Emerald’s old computers . . . If I’d been more convincing . . .? I just feel so pointless. I know how the American Justice System works . . . but it never occurred to me how much it pisses me off that people just vote to decide which facts are true or false. You’d think with telepaths like Mystic and Psyche around . . .”

“Sarah, that’s a slope we both know you don’t want to think about. Way too slick. Black ice isn’t fun when it comes to moral arguments.” If Olivia’s smile wasn’t so warm and loving, I’d want to break her nose for being so close to patronizing.

With a sigh I move around the couch and start to chomp down the rest of the noodles. They taste really good. Is it just how much she cares about me that makes it taste like perfection? I wouldn’t doubt it . . .

In spite of myself I force a smile onto my face before standing up to click off the television. “You’re right. You know you’re right. I swear the reason you let me into your head sometimes is that you know that if I did anything in there, you’d just think to yourself that it was off, and being so stubborn and right . . .”

“You don’t make very good points when you’re trying not to be angry.” Olivia laughs and takes another bite before patting the couch next to her. “Well, I was going to have this be a surprise . . . but tomorrow the two of us are going to go to . . .” She leans back, and grabs something out of the small table on her side of the couch.

When she holds up her hand, there are two tickets for a poetry reading. Her face is lit up like the whole sun was squeezed just inside, and it’s impossible not to smile too. I’ve never been to a poetry reading before, and to be completely honest it sounds like it could be a flop, but I can’t tell her that.

Her heart was set on doing something special for me tomorrow night. Crime doesn’t take weekends off, so we try and take a weeknight off to get some time for ourselves that isn’t our hobby.

“It’s a date.” I move back over to the couch and lean close to Olivia and melt my sauce spiced lips into hers, and mewl at the feel of her body responding to mine. Tomorrow night will be a fun diversion. Tonight?

We’ll have a little fun before bed.

“This is the right place? We’re going in there?” Olivia always seemed a little eccentric, but I always thought that she had better taste than this. Through the front windows it looks from the outside like some cross between a cheap club and a Starbucks. Even the name makes me wince. What kind of a place calls itself the Lyrical Repose?

Luckily she doesn’t seem shocked by my reaction. I’m not sure if that should feel comforting or slightly frustrating. My mood still isn’t quite what it should be, but whose would be? I’m half tempted to do a little jury tampering . . .

Instead of being offended, Olivia just smiles a little more and presses herself tighter against me. I just threw on some jeans and a tight red blouse, but she actually dressed up in her shortest black skirt and her tightest and skimpiest black top that clings to her curves in just the right way to remind me of all of my favorite places to nibble and squeeze.

As soon as I’d seen her dressed like that I offered to dedicate the night instead to ravishing her senseless, but she declined insisting that I could use some more intellectual entertainment.

You’d think someone who knows me as well as she seems to would do her best to get me to think less, not think more. “Yes, this is the right place Sa- . . . Lucia.” She mouths “sorry” and blushes, but she knows that I don’t mind. She only even said Lucia because she realized that I was wearing my contacts. It must be a mind trip to have to almost treat me like at least two different people, but she hasn’t complained about it yet. “A girl I work with said that we just had to see the act that was up tonight. She only performs once a week, but apparently she has a voice to die for.”

“As long as that doesn’t end up being somehow literal . . .” If her coworker was right though . . . Olivia knows how much I enjoy a good voice. Even if the poetry is sub par this is also an excuse for me to buy myself a few drinks and then collapse into Olivia’s breasts once we get home.

She has such lovely breasts. Mmm, they’re just the right size to squeeze or nuzzle into or nibble or- “Lucia! You know I don’t mind you staring, but uhm . . . Come on?” I blush and reach into my purse to show the doorman my ticket after Olivia does the same from her purse. “There, see, that wasn’t so hard. We’re almost inside, and once we are you can keep your eyes buried in my cleavage all night for all I care. You don’t need to see the person speaking the poetry to enjoy it, anyway.”

“Well, the bottom of a glass, the depths of your cleavage, eyes . . . I don’t like to limit my options too much.” Smiling I follow her further inside and start to glance around. The lighting is very dim—something I appreciate—and the decor is all in shades of red, brown, and black.

It looks like the inside of some dark mystical cave—or rather what that cave would look like in someone’s imagination. There isn’t any dripping water after all. The room is actually lit by candles hanging from the walls. The fixtures, sconces, whatever elaborate candelabras arched out of walls are most accurately called, even look like they’re made of gold. The light is only enough to see everything, but still make it feel like a little bit of the night sky is inside.

“I take back everything. If this place has nice enough booze to match the decor then we’ll be back here more than just once.” Something about this place makes me feel somehow . . . at home. Maybe it’s the fact that the night feels more natural to me than the day, but it’s not just that. Maybe it’s something from Lida’s side. I can’t quite put my finger on it and I have the feeling that doing so would ruin the allure.

I’m all for just enjoying something no matter why I actually enjoy it. No need to break an illusion that isn’t trying to ensnare me after all. “I thought you would say so. I even got us a really nice table in a darker part of the audience. Come on, we’ll sit down, get some drinks . . . play a little footsie . . .”

Grinning right along with her I nod and let her lead the way. There is just such an ambience to this entire place that makes me feel warm and at ease. If there was a booth shaped like a bed with the right kind of pillow I would love to just curl up to Olivia and call it an early night. I’m not tired or anything, but this place has the feeling of curling up next to a fireplace on a dark night so perfectly captured.

She really did get us the perfect seat. It’s not too far from the stage, but at the same time it’s nested up next to the wall. It has a sense of privacy to it and the fact that it’s rather dark helps. The stage is the only part of the room that seems well lit, but it still has the same flickering quality to the light.

It’s only brighter because there’s more light, not a brighter light. It’s a natural place to rest your eyes if you have a moth’s predilections, which it would seem that I do since as soon as we sit down my eyes travel there. The chairs are actually finely carved and lacquered wood. The stage is covered in velvet and the mic stand looks like it’s either designed to look like it’s a vertical rose bush, or they just covered a mic stand with roses. Either way, it’s gorgeous.

“Don’t I get a thank you?” Olivia’s voice is only half playful. Ouch. I really can be a little bit oblivious, but she should know that by now. Sometimes it seems like she only knows me half as well as it seems.

“Of course . . . Thank you Olivia. This was an absolutely wonderful idea. I appreciate it a lot. I would have never thought a place like this cold be fun. Of course we still need to see if the poetry is as good as the scenery, but I have a feeling it won’t disappoint.” A place this good wouldn’t be able to look this nice if they didn’t hire classy acts after all. “I’ll be sure to thank you for it a lot more when we get home . . .”

My eyes slide their way slowly over her from across the table, and it is a very satisfying sight. She has such a gorgeous face, not really round, not really angular, but it always glows when she smiles. Her eyes are so deep and so gray in a way that makes me envious, and all of her skin just makes me want to kiss it to feel that familiar taste and texture. Always so soft, with just that perfect little salty twang to it . . . and of course there are other fun places to taste that have a refreshingly sharp tang . . .

A waitress steps up to the table, and I’ll freely admit I let my eyes travel. Her uniform (it has to be a uniform in a classy place like this) has a long black skirt with a delightfully long slit up the side that the way she holds herself parts open, and her matching top has silver accenting to it that well, accents her quite nicely.

Her golden eyebrows make the black hair look a little silly, but it’s easy enough for the fantasizing part of my mind to ignore. “Is there anything I can get you two ladies before the show starts?” Her voice is flirty and pretty, but over all she’s just a waitress with an incomplete dye job. It’s a shame, really.

Before I can respond Olivia slides her leg along mine and speaks during my shuddery gasp. “I’ll take a white wine, and my lovely companion will have a Three Mile Island. Thanks.”

Olivia’s voice sounds so transcendent during the word thanks, but that might have something to do with the place on the crotch of my jeans that the heel of Olivia’s shoe has found. It’s a very lovely feeling when she just keeps pulling her foot back and then pushing it forth, just stretching against me so erotically. It’s hard not to moan, but I manage to just quiver and let my eyes flutter. I even manage to wiggle my fingers in a wave to the waitress as she walks away.

Even though I’m still the hypnotist between the two of us, with her heel on my clit, she’s the one in control and she knows it. Her grin widens and I wonder why until I can feel her heel apply more pressure. I have to bite my lip and grasp the tablecloth to stop from screaming, and it’s worth it.

She doesn’t need words in my head, and she wouldn’t even try for them . . . Sometimes, I honestly wonder if her ability to make me feel important and valued or my ability to go into someone’s mind is stronger.

“Do not look at the waitresses as if they’re meat . . . Or criminals . . . Though I think the line there has started to blur for you, huh?” That would hurt if only she didn’t have a point. I should probably somewhere along the line stop getting an orgasmic rush from trancing thieves, murderers, rapists, and all sorts of women on the wrong side of the law. At least it hasn’t twisted my mind around to get off on the men violating the law.

That’s just business.

“I think your line between being hurtful and flirtatiously telling me something are blurring . . .” Olivia pulls her foot back from my crotch and I bite my lip at the sad look on her face. “Hey, sweetie, you know if I was that hurt my voice would raise or something, it just hurt a little, that’s all . . .”

She sighs but her foot doesn’t go back. “Okay Lucia. I just don’t want to be hurting you so much. You’re the one whose voice lulls the guilty to jail, but I’m the one who needs to watch her mouth.”

Most of the time her comic-book-comments are worse than mine, but every now and then she manages to pull off discussing what we do in a serious light and it’s usually a sign. If she needs to watch hers then I sure as hell need to learn to watch mine. One good thing about going out is that when there’s something besides us to focus on it’s natural for dialogue to stop. That doesn’t mean that the silence still doesn’t cut, it just means there are more excuses for it.

“New faces, or faces I just haven’t looked at closely enough?” Red hair, milky white skin, and black painted lips are the first sights attached to the words that at first seem to be coming from nowhere. The full, black, and pouty-but-not-pouting lips are curved in the perfect way to make my mind go to all sorts of places that I shouldn’t with a lover sitting across from me. Her eyes are just too blue in a way that could make the sky jealous. She’s just too pretty . . .

Olivia’s foot lightly rams into my leg and I straighten up a little before choking out a response. “New faces! I’ve never been to a place like this before . . .”

The worry that red hair always gives me aside, there’s not a part of her body that doesn’t make a part of me salivate. She has the kind of body that with the tight black number she has clinging to her I can be sure she has both a very firm, and very full physique. Black and red can suit some women very well, especially when it’s clinging to the right assets, and lifting the others.

Across the table my companion smirks in my direction before giving the redhead one of her golden smiles. “A friend from work thought we might enjoy a night of poetry. Are you the talent, or decoration?”

“Hopefully both.” A golden eyebrow winks over one of her startlingly blue eyes before with a slight twist she moves up onto the stage. She is probably the first woman who made an obvious dye job attractive to me. It’s not that I’ve never liked dyed hair, but I generally go for a more natural look. Apparently unnatural can be pretty hot too.

Of course, this is coming from the girl who used to have silver skin . . .

There’s a difference when the silver skin is natural and when it’s painted on. If it’s painted on then the taste will be less than perfect. Not to mention it doesn’t look nearly as good in starlight.

Olivia’s frowning smirk doesn’t lessen but I decide to deal with that when we get home. There may be tears, screaming, and then make up sex involved. For now, I’ll just enjoy the atmosphere, the entertainment, and the self described decoration. She can get mad at me later for staring at a poet’s tits all she wants, but for now I’m reveling in the thought of pulling that satiny fabric away and latching my lips.

If I do this to make her jealous, or just because I would do this anyway, I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just too feisty because Olivia has no way of keeping me in check. She wouldn’t be the type to use it though even if she did. I’m the one who craves that sort of thing.

“Welcome, to those who have come before . . .” Her eyes slowly scan across the booths and tables, seeming as if they could actually lock on to every set of eyes, before they lock onto mine, and stay. When her lips move, I feel like the only woman in the room. “And perhaps more importantly, to those who are joining us for their first time, but hopefully not their last. After all, enlightenment doesn’t come over night, and I need all of your help in letting the world know that people not respecting fine art? That’s just a myth.”

Her voice is like cream. No, it’s not like cream, it feels more like a cool breeze on a warm day curling its way around all of the curves of my ears. Her eyes are so blue, like a summer sky, and her eyebrows are like dim suns. Even if she can’t write poetry worth a damn, I think I’ll come back soon.

Maybe I’ll even come back alone.

Her smile is just too perfect. Lips should not be able to look so gorgeous and still be moving. Normally while lips are making certain sounds they’re still pretty, but not erotic. Hers could be insulting me and I would still want them to be against my skin.

The lights on the stage dim just enough as she adjusts herself in front of the microphone. I’m thankful it’s of high enough quality that it doesn’t need to be blocking her face in the slightest. “Tonight’s poem is about a shining ray of hope in a land of darkness . . . As always, I hope you all enjoy my dabbling with our shared language.”

Something about her words doesn’t feel normal. It’s not a bad feeling; it’s just a very deep feeling. Even though her gaze keeps gradually flittering over the audience, it feels like a part of her eyes, even if it’s just the corners . . . feels focused right on me.

I look over at Olivia, but she’s not looking back. She still looks upset. This was her idea, was I supposed to not enjoy the view? Am I supposed to keep my eyes to myself?

Considering what she lets Patina get way with, I’m admittedly confused as to what the hell she expects me to apologize for later. Maybe I won’t. I don’t need to pitifully apologize for doing nothing wrong. After all, it’s not like she’s the only woman who could appreciate me. This poet seems to have quite the admiring eye and a good sense of humor too.

“Stars are brightest, when the night is darkest . . .” Her eyes lock on mine, and I know that this isn’t any hallucination or hopeful thought. She’s looking right at me, right into me, and I can feel it. “And I’ve needed a star like you.”

Her gaze is so deeply knowing, more knowing than any gaze I’ve ever felt before – even The Lady’s. When Lida looked into my eyes after sucking the memories right out of me she still didn’t look like she knew me this deeply, or this much. Her eyes, her lips, the tone of her voice . . . it feels like she’s prepared this poem just for me and knows far more than I’d normally want any woman I didn’t patrol alongside to know.

Those black lips keep moving, but I’m not really paying close enough attention to the words. I can feel the meaning, but the sounds themselves feel like they’re just not nearly important enough. She’s talking about me. That’s all that feels like it matters.

Words flutter past my ears, but only shards, flecks of what I know is really there. “When the clouds are thickest is when I need your light the most . . .” The movement of her lips, the sound that flows from between them feels like it’s traveling along the gaze of her eyes, through my eyes, through my ears . . . somehow wrapping its way inside of me, and I love it. Slowly I feel my legs start to spread on their own, and I know just how badly I want to feel her voice, to feel her gaze there.

“Even when your visible shine is dimmed . . . I can see what shines inside of you, and it’s that shine that I crave . . .” During a pause her lips curl into the most purposeful grin I’ve ever seen. I can feel her intent on my skin, in my body, and most importantly in my mind. She wants me, and oh goddess do I want her too, so damn much.

Her lips keep moving, but I barely even care anymore. Her eyes haven’t and neither have the meaning of her words. “From rooftops to the streets below, you are the only star for me . . . And shining only in night, you make my nights brighter than my days . . .”

Could she know that I was Silver Girl, and that now, I’m Patina? My pendant is still around my neck, but it has to be. It’s as much a weapon as portable life support. Still, it’s far too small a clue. There must be a thousand women with silver pendants similar to this. Do I really shine even though I’m not Silver Girl? Do I really make her crave me just as much? DO I really . . . inspire those feelings in such a beautiful and ravishing poet . . .?

It’s so hard to doubt it at all. I don’t doubt it . . . I’m deluged in those feelings.

Time stops as her words keep flowing. It feels like I’m being swept away by a river of pure reverence and desire. I’ve never met her before in my life but it feels like she’s known me all of hers . . . and that doesn’t scare me. It feels safe. It feels sacred. It feels . . .

Right . . .

Years later, centuries later . . . I can hear something louder coming in that river, something like . . . like . . . a waterfall. Every little sound feels so important, too important for me to hear, like it’s in another language or on another level. It just feels so . . . so sublime, so right, so perfect, so . . . everything I’ve ever wanted, so close. All she needs to do is say the last line, the last line of her poem so perfect I can’t even hear it, and I’ll plunge over, I’ll lose myself to it, and I want that so, so much!

To just lose the worries of Patina, of Sarah, of Lucia . . . to just be that shining thing that she wants. I want to be what she wants. I don’t want or need to be anything else . . .

“You are the only light I’ll ever need . . . but for now . . . let your shine flicker out and go dim . . . and let me be the sparkle in your eye.” In an instant, I can feel everything pouring right down that waterfall, falling away and being so insanely happy for it. All of that shine replaced with hers, with her shine the one to make mine sparkle . . .

She steps beside the microphone and curtseys daintily as can be. Applause rise from all around me, but I feel too limp and lethargic to raise my arms without her telling me to. I could clap for an eternity for her if she willed it. I could do anything for her if she willed it . . . because she willed it.

All of the hands clapping feel like the aftershocks of hitting the lake below the waterfall. I feel exhausted and empowered, charged with bliss but out of breath . . . It’s so perfect. Each clap resonates through me, bouncing and echoing. I feel so empty and perfect with that sweet perfect rhythm of congratulations and adoration. She’s sparkling so brightly. I can feel it in my eyes, and between them, so intensely, so perfect, so . . . everything I ever wanted.

It’s so glorious, so grand . . .

Another eternity later she steps back in front of the microphone. “Your second performance of the evening will be following me shortly, and I’ll be back tomorrow of course. Until then, keep looking for that shining thing in your life, and keep it as close to you as you can. I know I plan to.”

Good natured laughter springs up here and there, but I still feel too listless to join in. If she wanted me to, she would only need to mouth “laugh” in my direction and I would. She’s looking over the crowd, but her eyes always seem to fall right on me. It’s so marvelous . . . It’s like she dreamed of me, made me real, drew me here, and then claimed me. All of this could just be her dream . . .

She slowly steps off of the stage, but instead of off to the left or the right, she steps right up to me and extends her hand. “You seemed to be quite enthralled by my performance, would you like to discuss it more privately? I always enjoy discussing my poetry with a lovely fan . . .”

How could she think I have any option but to agree? I didn’t even notice it when the waitress came to drop off my drink I was so wrapped up in her. I only know it must have happened because it’s sitting in front of me on the table. Olivia’s drink is empty, and she looks a little upset. That’s okay. She’s never said anything like that to me, she was just there at the right place and the right time . . . and she wanted me. She might want me, but I need this poet, this goddess!

“Of course!” My hand clasps around hers before I stand up and gaze as deeply into her eyes as I can. Can she see how she’s reflecting in my eyes so brightly? All of me hopes so.

“Good . . .” Her hand draws me closer to her as she starts to walk away. To get to spend some time with this woman, any time with this woman, it’s such a sweet thought, such a wonderful thought! I can’t imagine wanting anything else.

Olivia stands up to say something, but we’re already leaving. She might say something but I don’t even hear her. She doesn’t sparkle and she sure as hell doesn’t make me sparkle. She makes me feel bad and dull. She might be gold but she makes me feel like Rust Girl sometimes . . . not all the time but . . . It’s hard to think about that so empty when she’s sparkling so close to me.

I feel a hand grab for my limp hand, but my sparkling one just pulls me away harder. I don’t know where we’re going, I don’t care . . . I just follow her . . . and pass out against her pale bust enclosed by that sweet satiny fabric.

When I come to, I’m sitting in a big fluffy recliner. I have no idea where my clothes are or where I am. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is the goddess standing before me.

Something has changed about her though and I can’t quite put my finger on what. Her lips are still black, but her . . . her eyelids were black before, but for some reason they seem blacker. Her pupils seem blacker. They almost seem like they’re literally little pools, with little waves . . .

Her clothes have changed too. She’s not wearing the seductress suit from before. Now she’s wearing a tight black low dipping top, and an especially short black skirt.

She’s not wearing panties and is leaning back just slightly enough for me to see.

That unexplainable part of her is still making me shine, still shining into me, but she doesn’t look so regal anymore. I don’t care. She’s still the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. From the view I can see under her skirt, she sure looks like she still wants me. “Mmm, you are as hot as she told me you’d be . . . Of course, when she told me I had to be sure to keep your pendant on, it made it really hard to see it as anything but another piece of clothes to discard. Now? Seeing it between your pretty tits? Yeah, that’s worth it.”

“Thank you . . .” My voice feels hollow and melty, drippy with submissiveness, but she doesn’t even seem to be listening. Her hand is sliding down to cup herself, and then her fingers start to rub. Even if she’s not listening to me, she’s paying attention to me to make that more fun. That makes me feel gooood.

Just watching her fingers work at her clit is so enchanting. She’s making me shine so deep and so bright right now by giving me this opportunity. My legs are spread, my arms are on the arm rests, and the position of the recliner is making my chest arch out like I was at a photo shoot. Just the smallest thought of that possibility makes me tingle and clench. That river of her words might be starting to flow a little farther south than between my ears.

I would do anything for her, to make that river of words keep flowing so sweet and to get more of her adoration. I loved feeling that poem about me so much. Hopefully it’s written down somewhere even if it’s behind my forehead where I can’t see it.

“So now, before I deliver you . . . Mmm . . . You’re going to follow one of my favorite little traditions, Patina-girl, or whatever I should call you.” She starts to move closer, and stumbles only a little when her finger rubs in just the right way and her knees lock. It makes me slicker just thinking about it, not even counting the view. “Every time that I tell a special girl her life story with my special words . . . I like to chronicle how free and uninhibited she’s become, with my unobtrusive little camera mounted on the ceiling in front of you.”

My eyes move from her to the wall in front of me, and then slowly trail up to where the wall meets the ceiling. Sure enough there’s a white camera at an angle with its little red light staring right into my eyes. “The light from that camera, little oxidation slut? That light is the light everyone talks about going towards. You need to show the light how free I’ve made you, and how much you loved my poem . . .”

She’s behind me now, or above me, beside me . . . I’m not sure. Her voice is getting inside of me again, and it makes it so hard to focus when her hands start to knead at my breasts. Feels so nice to feel those smooth creamy hands manipulating my flesh, twisting at my nipples . . . oh it’s so hot.

“So arch that wet little slit of yours up at the camera, and let your self go into the light. Masturbate yourself into a drunken stupor, and let all of the important parts of you ascend into that little red light. After you’ve given me an experience to remember, I’ll turn the light off and you with it.” Her words are making me whimper and whine even without the things that her nails are doing with the curves of my tits. Goddess it feels so good to feel her playing with me!

If she wants me to masturbate for the camera, then I can do that. If she wants me to lose my soul into the light, I can do that. I want to do both. I want to show her how free and helpless she’s made me.

Panting I start to shift to better grind my body into her hands as I splay my legs up over the arms of the chair. My legs are spread so wide and it feels so good to be so exposed. My hands fall halfway down my thighs and start to trace their way higher, slowly, putting on a pretty show for the camera. I want her to want to watch this again, and again, and again until it’s all she ever wants to watch.

Slowly I stroke down and then back up my slit with two very tightly pressed fingers before splaying my lower lips wide open with a gentle mewl. It feels so good to be open and looked at, to be stared at so deeply while watching that light. I can feel more and more of myself going up into that pretty camera by the moment. The red light feels like it’s shining right into my mind and pulling up all of the last little bits left behind after her voice swept the rest away.

“That’s a good little word slut . . . Rub your clit, so divine, and feel the melting, in your mind. Lose yourself between your thighs, and follow obedience for all time.” Something about her voice isn’t quite the same as it was before but I don’t care. Parts of me that could care are bathing in red light.

All of those things that might worry, that might have opinions . . . mmm . . . a lot of women don’t even bother trapping away those things—they just put a layer of paint over it. This feels better than that.

Mmm . . . Thinking about her silly little rhyme makes rubbing my clit and rolling my hips for the camera even better. Her constant attention to my breasts and her teeth nibbling on my ear just make it better and better.

An image starts to grow in my mind as I rub harder and harder, grinding and bucking my hips as my thighs start to clench and quiver on their own. That image is of that light shining not only down between my eyes, but also below my fingers, reaching into my pussy to burn away the rest of my mind and fuck me senseless. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever imagined, ever, and it feels sooo good!

I feel wetter than I’ve ever felt in my life, and it feels so red. Not red like blood, but red like passion, like loss, like lust, like arousal . . .

“Cum for me baby, mmmm this is going to be a hot video, cum like you mean it!” Her lips latch onto one of my nipples and I cry out as sharply as I can until my voice cracks. Clenching around the light feels more real than clenching around fingers ever did. Her black lips around my nipple feels more real then any red lips ever did. The last of me is gonna be gone soon, so I want to lose it all in this moment, in this perfect hot . . .

Nnnnraaaaa!

My body can’t stop the spasms, my whole body rolling, grinding down into the light pulsing into me and my fingers that can’t stop rubbing. My whole body is slick and covered with sweat or sex or both, and I can’t stop moaning and crying out. It feels so good, so perfect, so hot so . . . so everything, so . . . so good to know the camera is recording it all, getting it all perfectly on . . . perfectly on film . . .!

“Bye-bye, sweetheart.” The light goes out, and I fall limp. My hands are still on my sex, and I’m still in the same position, but I’m not. I’m in the light. I’m gone. “Mmm that could get me off, and it usually would, but I have a job to do. It does feel good to have a purpose.”

Her voice turns into a sweet hum as the chair’s position shifts, and she spins me in front of . . . some kind of apparatus. I can’t tell what it is. It looks like cardboard, a plastic surface with little things rising out of it and something off to the side, all transparent . . . I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I just obey.

The pretty lady takes my hand away from myself and pulls me to my feet before guiding me over to the cardboard looking thing. “Now, you’re just going to lean back against this like a good little slut, okay?” Nodding, I lean back and obey. Carefully she slides the things sticking out of the cardboard over parts of my body and to the back, over places like my wrists, ankles, thighs, and around my waist. Around back I can’t tell what she’s doing but after she’s done I’m tautly held against the board.

“You know, I think you’ve actually been my favorite? I’ve had a lot of little sluts in here, but I think you took the cake, and not even because of her influence.” The transparent thing moves, and seals in place in front of me, rising above me like some sort of seal or enclosure.

She picks up my clothes, and fits them into a compartment in the plastic like structure before sealing it shut. They’re like accessories floating in clear space beside me as I stare forward dumbly with my arms held up at my sides.

Emptiness. Openness. Obedience. Trapped in the red light. Not even wondering if I’m enjoying myself in the red, just knowing I’m there but I’m not the one there.

“She’s going to be so happy when I deliver you to her. She promised me an awful lot for your safe delivery, did you know that? She said it would be a cinch, she’d make sure you’d be coming, she’d arrange everything besides this . . . and if I could do this, and deliver you? Oh . . . I wouldn’t need to do this any more, ever again . . .” She sighs, and runs her hand over the plastic hovering in front of my face. “It’s a shame you have to be so pretty and cum so hot, I’d love to keep you.”

“Too bad for you she is so pretty, and I’m not letting her wind up with someone who would contract out to you!” A flash of gold streaks in front of me, and the redheaded woman falls to the floor. “Whoever she was, she wasn’t all that smart if she didn’t let you know that her girlfriend was just as dangerous.”

The woman tries to respond, but before she can get out a word she’s being lifted up and a sock or something is shoved into her mouth. “Mphle frmmm!”

Gold and pretty, the woman holding up the pretty redhead just smirks and tosses her against the wall and pins her arms against it. She tries to struggle, so hard, but she can’t. Slowly she stops struggling and just goes limp only held up by how close the pretty gold woman is and the grip she has on her wrists.

The gold woman’s triumphant grin makes me feel warm and pretty. I shouldn’t be feeling that, but I am. Maybe part of me isn’t in the light . . . Maybe I should try and go to the light. She said . . .

“Yeah, you might have a pretty voice and a nice rack, but that washcloth was drugged and you got cocky taking her home with you. Did you think no one would follow you? Did you think that a scorned lover would just let you take her lover away without a fight? Use your brain.” She steps back and smirks down at the puddle of woman on the floor as the redhead slides down the wall. “You’re not even a very good poet.”

A giggle bubbles up through my throat and I can’t help it. It’s irresistible. Maybe she didn’t steal all of my humor or something, but I just feel like laughing and giggling and finding things silly. That gold woman makes me feel so safe.

“Sarah?! Oh thank goodness . . . You’re okay!” Gold hands start to tear apart the plastic, and then rip away at the transparent bonds before she holds me close to herself. She’s wearing a pretty black outfit and it looks so good with her golden skin. She’s so warm and sweet, I feel myself melting into her as she strokes my hair and rocks me back and forth. I can feel how much she cares about me and it makes me feel so damned good. “Come on Sarah, snap out of whatever she did to you . . .!”

Everything feels so strange . . . snap out . . .? I look up at the camera in the corner and blink. If my humor is still here, and the pretty lady is on the floor . . . did some of me leak out of the light?

Goldy pulls away to tear my clothes out of the plastic and holds them out to me. “Come on . . .! Here, get dressed, tell me what she did to you sweetie so I can help you feel all right again on the inside. Just tell me?”

By her command I start to slide into my underwear and giggle in a soft submissive tone. “I’m not here, I’m up in the pretty camera’s light . . . but she turned it off, so I went byeeee-bye!”

Golden eyes stare at me, at the camera, and then back at me again. “Sarah . . . Only you could make this adorable and frustrating in a ‘This is so Sarah’ sort of way. To be fair, I’ve only seen you even close to this once, twice if you count the time you accidentally popped the blue dreams into your mouth instead of the antidote when we were in bed . . . You’re just too cute.”

With a laugh she clicks her heels together, and starts to hover off of the ground. She doesn’t look really good at it, and looks almost like she’s about to fall . . . but then moves up to the ceiling, and forcefully tears the camera off of the wall before gracefully landing onto the ground.

She grabs the film out of the camera before dropping it in front of her and crushing it with a single firm stomp right to the middle of it’s mechanical surface and . . .

The shock of all of my personality, all of my feelings, and all of my memories makes me slam back into the cardboard and it falls backwards with me. Cardboard . . . twist tie restraints . . . plastic shell . . . “Oh my god . . . that poem slinging bitch had me trussed up like an action figure!”

Olivia laughs and pulls me up to my feet. “Yeah, she did . . . but you did look good like that. Do you have kung fu grip?”

“I’ll kung fu grip your tits if you keep tha- . . .wha?!” My joke is cut short by a strange wet squishing sound coming from the collapsed poet. Before she was crumpled up into a pile of herself, but now she’s spread out. Her eyes are wide open, and her pupils, her eye makeup . . . starts to run and pour off of her face. Her lipstick melts off of pale pink lips, off every dark feature, and the black on her clothes turns to white . . . all of it melts off of her, and collects into a small puddle beside her before the floor.

She doesn’t look like the same woman anymore. Somehow she looks so benign and helpless compared to the dangerous woman that she was before. That puddle . . . looks just like what I saw when I was parking Sylvia the other night . . .

Neither of us say a word, and the puddle of glistening black goo that looks so familiar in a way I can’t place starts to melt into the floor as if the carpet were a sponge. It makes sense that it would, but before the ink was content to just float atop it, why would it just melt down before?

When the last of it is sucked into the carpet, and then sucked down below that . . . I remember what it reminds me of.

It reminds me of when I broke Yanuka’s pen.

“Olivia . . . I care about you a lot. Thank you for saving my sorry ass. I’m going to get dressed, and then we’re going to go home, and talk about this tomorrow. Right now? I just want to sleep.” She nods and stares at me with the most worried expression on her face, and then . . . once I pull my shirt over my face, the most embarrassed. “And yes . . . you can keep the tape.”

A little part of her lights up, and I can’t help but smile. She is so adorably small that when she lights up with happiness it’s obvious that she’s not just small bodied but has a spirit that just. . . fits. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but I’d rather you have it than she have it.”

We both just look into each other’s eyes before she wraps her arms around me. “We should probably call the police, hun. We have evidence, we should get some proper authorities here.”

“You’re right, you’re right, just . . . right now, I don’t care if she pays for what she’s done . . . I’m just glad that I don’t have to.” I wrap my arms around her again, and just melt into her. Someone sent her after me, and I don’t think it was The Domina or my mother. That sensation of familiarity, it can’t just be a coincidence.

Is there a Nesatealia out there who doesn’t consider us even?

“One of these days Sarah I hope you can learn a life lesson without having to go through hell.” It feels so strange to be cradled and protected by someone smaller than me, but she’s right. “But I’ll be here for you even if you’re just going to drag me through it with you, because that’s what heroines do . . . and that’s what lovers do.”

My lips melt against her neck, and I sigh contentedly as I try to mentally wash away the dread that Yanuka is still out there. The Domina stopped her. Yanuka said we would be even. Lida being free wasn’t my fault. “I hope so too, Olivia . . . I hope so too.”