by elle`attend
FOR MATURE READERS ONLY
The voices seemed very far away.
“I still say we should have killed the bitch.”
“Not our call…besides, Doctor Mackay knows what she’s doing. And she needs another deep insertable, since Brie was ki…”
“Shhh!! Shut up! I think she’s coming round…”
Consciousness was indeed slinking back to the trashed flat that was my body, like a boorish relative that would not be turned away. My skull pounded as if it would split open like an overripe melon at any moment, spilling its meager contents across the floor for all the world to scoff at. My body ached and throbbed in a hundred places. Even my hair hurt. My tongue had the consistency and ripe savor of a very old gym sock, and I was finding that swallowing was a skill I was evidently going to have to re-learn.
Against my better judgement, I opened my eyes.
Or eye, more properly. I quickly discovered that my left eye was swollen completely closed, and seemed to be the primary source of the generalized ‘discomfort’ in my head. Squinting against the painfully bright fluorescent lighting which was reflected and amplified by the stark white tile of the room, I tried to take stock of the ‘State of the Woman’ that was, or had once been, Evangeline Worth.
Aside from assorted bumps, bangs and bruises, and my new cyclopean look, I seemed to have survived my stag-film romp of the evening before surprisingly intact. My mouth was dessicated, but I credited that as much to my new-look oral appliance as the drugs – a wire apparatus that had been inserted into my mouth, and held my jaws an inch or two apart, making breathing problematic, and swallowing a near impossibility. Saliva flowed freely from the corners of my distended mouth, dribbling onto my chest in long, translucent chains. I took a slow, deep breath, expanding my ribcage fully…no broken or cracked ribs, thank God.
My ribcage was about all that I could freely move though, as I soon learned. Trying to lower my chin to make a visual inspection of the damage to my body, I discovered that any movement of my head at all was impossible; it was held rigidly in place by what felt to be a metal band encircling my head just above my eyebrows. Heavy leather straps girdled my torso, as well, biting into my flesh just above the beginning of the swell of my bosom, and below my breasts. These were pushed forward almost comically, due to the bindings applied to my arms. They were cinched tightly together behind me, tied just above the elbows, palms touching, and the index and little fingers of each hand tied to their counterparts on the other. I felt another, wider belt of leather cinched tightly around my waist, gouging into me just above the points of my hipbones, and still others digging into my thighs and calves, strapping my legs tightly together. The band about my head seemed to be my sole source of support; poised on my tiptoes I felt as though I were dangling from it.
I felt a bit like a freshly encased Vienna sausage, hanging in some delicatessen window.
The two women who had been talking so quietly turned toward me, their faces blank, impenetrable masks. They were both wearing the ubiquitous black leotard and military boots; each had a 9mm automatic pistol holstered on a web belt around her hips. In addition the taller of the two, a blonde, held a small black radiotransmitting device of some sort in her right hand. This one approached me slowly, her eyes never leaving my face.
“Welcome back to the land of the living…or the nearly-living,” she said, her voice as flat and expressionless as her lovely face. Only her eyes seemed alive, smoldering with a brilliant blue heat. This woman looked extremely pissed. I only hoped that I wasn’t the source of her anger. I suspected that I probably was.
“Gaahhgggngg…?” I inquired, trenchantly.
I saw her mouth twitch just slightly at the corners; probably the closest she had come to a smile in years, I guessed. I plunged on, hoping to press my advantage.
“Gaahrhrhn hagghhgnghn hohaaahhnn?”
Her lips widened in an obvious smile now, but I didn’t care much for the look of it. Still staring into my eyes, she moved her thumb across the face of the small control unit in her hand. My eyes widened in comically shocked surprise.
I had evidently overlooked something, something important, in my just-completed inventory.
“GGGGRRRNNNNGGGHHHNNnnnnn…” I offered.
There was something inside of me. Buzzing so faintly that I might almost have missed it still, had my body not been in such a heightened state of sensitivity owing to my rather vigorous use of it over the past fifteen or so hours. I squirmed in my restraints, like a young girl who has to pee very badly. I rolled my eyes, and stared beseechingly at the blonde. In response to my mute plea, she smiled more sweetly still, and pressed another button on the remote.
“NNNNGGGHHNNNHH!!”
Two holes, no waiting, I reflected idiotically.
Her eyes blazed with blue fire now as she turned a small dial on the handheld device. My body jerked in its restraints, twitching, quivering. I grunted in pain as the warm tickling hum between my legs and in my bottom turned into a dark, throbbing ache throughout my entire lower body.
“Cerise!”
The blonde’s head jerked around, and my frantic eyes followed hers toward the doorway where Dr Beatrix Ashwood Mackay stood, arms akimbo, eyes taking in the scene with a single stormy glance.
“Turn it off!” she snapped, striding determinedly toward our chummy little ensemble. The blonde complied immediately, sliding her fingers across the device’s face. The mailed fist clenching my genitals and anus relaxed into a soothing velvet-gloved hum again. I slumped visibly against my bonds, panting through my open mouth, fresh saliva yo-yo-ing down my chest. I never wanted to find out what that harmless-looking little box was capable of doing.
Dr Mackay snatched the small transmitter from the girl’s hand, and jammed it angrily into the pocket of her ice-blue linen jacket as the blonde snapped rigidly to attention. Mackay’s eyes crackled with fury as they swept over the girl, whose face was once again as unfathomable as a rosy piece of Italian marble.
“Get to your billet; you’re confined to quarters! And on your way, put yourself on report. Tell Persephone that I’ll personally supervise your punishment tour. Now!” With a curt jerk of her head, she dismissed the blonde girl, who pivoted on her booted heel and strode from of the room as stoically as a Spartan warrior. Mackay followed her with her snapping green eyes until she disappeared through the doorway, then turned her attention back to me.
We considered each other in silence for several moments; she by choice, I out of necessity. My eyes moved from her strikingly handsome, pale face down to the bandages swathing her slender throat. I blinked rapidly, taking in the damage that I had inflicted on this elegant, sophisticated psychopath.
“Remove her gag.”
The small, compactly constructed brunette stepped forward, and turned an adjusting key at the side of my mouth, slipping the wire cage contraption out of my aching jaws. I exhaled explosively, then sucked air, and drool back into my burning lungs and trembling mouth.
“Feeling better?” she inquired.
“Compared to what?” I croaked, running my sandpapery tongue over my dry, split lips. Dr.Mackay favored me with a wintry smile.
“Last night was entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have taken such liberties with you so quickly, Van. I’m afraid I let my personal interest in you temporarily overcome my adherence to protocols.” She swept her eyes clinically over me now, taking in my swollen shut eye, sweeping down over my tighly restrained body, assessing the damage done by her minions the night before.
“Not too bad,” she murmured, more to herself than to either me or my new playmate. “Nothing that should interfere with the next stages of your indoctrination.” Her eyes returned to mine once again.
“That’s a big relief to me, I can tell you,” I drawled, my voice dripping with sarcasm, lest she miss the point. Mackay smiled more warmly.
“Oh, you’ll be thanking me before the month is out, I can almost assure you of that, Van. The first few days are always the most difficult for our new ‘initiates’. But before you realize it, you will scarcely remember that you ever had any other existence, could ever have had any other existence.
“Yes, I can see that,” I said, cutting my good eye toward the zombie-like creature beside her. “I imagine this one would sing your organization’s praises to the sky…if she could speak, that is.”
Beatrix Mackay laughed delightedly. “Oh, but Aiysha is quite free to speak, Van. In fact, she is free to do whatever she pleases – including leave, if she so desires. But I can assure you, she is most fulfilled in her life here. She has tapped into her own power, her own sense of herself completely. She lives now only to fulfill that promise, to turn her potentiality into reality. But here, let me show you…”
“Aiysha, darling…show our guest what I mean, please.”
The small, dark-haired woman’s face remained utterly without expression as she hooked her thumbs into the armholes of her black leotard and peeled it off, giving no more thought to it than I would have given to stripping for the shower in the privacy of my own bath. She stood impassively, nude, weight shifted slightly to one leg, arms hanging relaxed at her sides, displaying her slender, magnificently muscled yet wonderfully lithe body with as little self-conciousness as any other beautiful, wild animal. Her small, perfectly formed breasts were tipped with quarter-sized deep-brown aureoles, and her nipples were erect, and pierced by slim golden rings. My eyes traveled down her body, across the fine golden down below her navel, to the closely cropped brown fuzz on her mons, and lower…
“Dear God,” I gasped audibly.
The girl’s ‘fundamental orifice’, as my dear Auntie had been wont to call a woman’s external sexual organs, was a festively glittering, disorientingly nightmarish horror. Her pale pink inner lips protruded just slightly from the fatty folds of her labia major. They were studded with small golden rings piercing them at intervals along the entire length of her vulva, effectively sealing it off from any possible act of external penetration. Another shimmering golden ring pierced the hood of her clitoris, holding it captive as well. A fine golden chain was woven between all of these tiny closures, and a small silver padlock was affixed to its end, dangling against her body at the precise confluence of her thighs and her sex.
“You can’t be serious,” I blurted, without thinking. Of course, she was. Deadly serious
“Aiysha is one of our ‘Shock Troops,’ Van. You see, no matter how we might wish that we could accomplish all of our aims peacefully, with completely amicable and mutually satisfactory accords being reached with all parties on every issue, the world is unfortunately a much less accommodating place than we sometimes could wish it to be.
“And as with any conflict resolution process that deteriorates into a more primitive form of disagreement, there are frequently violent short-term consequences. People die. Soldiers are taken prisoner, and interrogated, to gain advantage. Often the mandates of the Genevea Convention are disregarded, if indeed they are even recognized at all by some of the ‘enemies’ that we confront.
“Our women are all unique individuals. But their unusual ‘conditioning’ makes them dangerously susceptible to being manipulated, and re-programmed, then turned back against us by our opponents. In order to minimize any damage that such a ‘re-programming’ might cause, we take certain precautions with those who are at greatest risk, and the women in the vanguard of any physical confrontation with an enemy. This,” she reached down between the girl’s thighs, taking the cunning padlock and chain gently into her palm, “is an added precaution against any such eventuality.
“If Aiysha were to be captured, and interrogated by an enemy, an enemy who wished access to her sex, either because of prior knowledge of our conditioning methods, or out of the simple exigencies required by some of the cruder forms of physical torture, several things would happen in rapid succession.”
Dr. Mackay took from her pocket a small set of the golden rings, already padlocked and threaded with fine chain, and identical to the ones the young shock trooper wore on her body. “When this padlock is opened, or the chain severed, a tiny electronic circuit is broken. This circuit controls a micro transmitter implanted in the vagina. When the circuit is broken, the transmitter emits a single pulse that ruptures the implant, releasing a lethal dose of curare into her vagina. The mucous membrane there, with its rich blood supply, is of course an ideal medium for the introduction of any CNS toxin. Death is virtually instantaneous. It has the added attraction of lingering in the sexual organs for a long enough period of time to effectively dispose of anyone who may decide to imprudently insert an indiscreet member into her vagina for the next several minutes…a not uncommon occurance with some of the animals we deal with. Many of them would as soon copulate with a dead woman as a living one; some even prefer it.”
“Too, these serve another function as well,” she continued, returning the lock and chain set to her pocket, and taking Aiysha’s own back in her hand again, bouncing the tiny lock gently on her palm. “We have found that once a woman is put completely in touch with her sexual power, and learns to tap into it, and control it, that denial can be used with quite startling results as well. Indeed, a woman who has become comfortable with, and accustomed to tapping into this sexual power can, through denial of that access, be made every bit as aggressively violent as any male.” She smiled again, letting the lock and chain slip from her hand, and running a nail provocatively along the girl’s sutured seam, creating a faintly musical chiming sound as she dragged it along the golden circlets.
“A not insignificant side effect under certain circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?” She smiled at me again; I was reminded of cats, and canaries.
The girl lifted her eyes proudly to mine, raising her chin high, obviously pleased to be touched in this intimate manner in front of me, to be singled out like this by ‘Dr. Bea’.
A dim, cartoonish lightbulb flickered fitfully to life in my fevered brain. Dr. Beatrix Mackay talked a good feminist game, but what she really was about was control - straightforward, brutal, absolute control. Shifting the locus of inspiration for the individual, as it were; literally standing nature ‘on its head’. Reversing the individual’s command center from the logic and reason of the mind, to the impulse and passion of the body…and then putting those impulses, and passions under HER complete control. Making absolute, utter slaves of her disciples, automatons that would obey her every command unhesitatingly, even if it meant their destruction.
But these were very intelligent, cunning, and deadly automatons. If a man had attempted this with any of these women, they would doubtless have left him gutted on a bedroom floor…but Beatrix Mackay had done it, and by doing so had become their Goddess.
Oh, yes, I was beginning to see the light here, alright. I only hoped that it didn’t belong to an oncoming train about to flatten me, as well.
“Ahhh, so your ‘Brave New Feminist World’ is not a democracy, then,” I sneered. “No outmoded concepts of ‘free will’, and ‘self-determination’ to muddy up the waters for you, eh, Doctor? Just take your marching orders, and fuck – or die.”
Mackay made a curt motion with her hand, and the girl slipped silently back into her leotard.
“All this is of no concern to you, though, Van,” she continued coldly, running a finger absently along the edge of the gauze bandage encircling her throat.
“I have other plans for you.”
**********
© MEB 2002
To Be Continued…