Taken. Part IV.
Thirty-two admired sister-slave One’s enormous breasts as they strained against One’s apron. She could see the distinct outline of One’s thick pink nipples under the white cloth—One didn’t believe being the Farm’s chef called for wearing more than an apron. Thirty-two’s mouth watered as she imagined lying down, mouth open, as One lowered a single hard nipple into her mouth.
“Here we go,” smiled One. “Just the way Goddess and Miss Julia like them.” She gave Thirty-two a radiant smile as she dolloped generous scoops of vanilla ice cream into twin soda glasses and placed them on Thirty-two’s tray.
One’s tongue ran across her upper lip, looking Thirty-two up and down. Clearly, Thirty-two’s barely-there plaid skirt, black fishnet stockings, teeny white blouse (tied off to show plenty of mid-riff) and girly lipstick met with One’s approval. Thirty-two’s pussy buzzed in eager response, she flexed a little to show off her ab’s.
“I’d like you to come spend time with me on your next scheduled fuck session,” said One. “Is it a date?”
Thirty-two’s pussy juiced, “Oh, yes. Two hours.”
One leaned over the tray and ran a finger around Thirty-two’s left nipple, then flicked it hard.
“Oh!” Thirty-two just about managed to keep the tray straight. She clenched her thighs, desperately wishing she could put the tray down and get busy with her fingers right then and there. However, duty called. “I better take these outside, but I’m scheduled for fucking in two hours.”
“See you then,” said One. She turned back to her various stewing pots and pans. Keeping the Farm fed meant One always had something to do and like most of the single numbered slaves she enjoyed privileged status as a full-time, round the clock client of Mistress. Apparently, she’d given up a promising restaurant career, signing over her life savings and selling off her restaurant so as to pay Mistress for the opportunity to live at the Farm. All of Mistress’s clients agreed that they’d have done the same if asked.
Thirty-two navigated out through the back door of the kitchen, outside to the back of the Farm. She still couldn’t quite bring herself to call Mistress by her divine name, Goddess Beautiful Jade, although she could understand why the rest of the clients worshiped her. Nobody made her feel any pressure to do it though, which made Thirty-two love Mistress even more. She stepped carefully along the crazy paving path leading to the new pool at the back of the Farm. Birds sang in the thick forest of trees that kept the Farm in splendid isolation.
At poolside, Mistress and Miss Julia sunbathed together on matching white recliners, a little table for drinks between them. Mistress wore a lovely black bikini and reflective sunglasses, the recliner all the way down, raven braids spilling out around her head. The sight made Thirty-two want to kneel down and start kissing upwards from her owner’s feet, but again, serving drinks had to take priority. Miss Julia wore a white swimsuit, apparently consisting entirely of shoelaces and dental floss criss-crossing her delicious pale curves; it did a better job highlighting how little skin it covered than covering anything. Miss Julia had her recliner up so she could write on the laptop resting on her thighs, her favorite broad brim straw hat on her head for shade.
“Drinks, Mistress,” said Thirty-two. “Miss Julia.” Sister-slave Four. The rest of the clients found Miss Julia a bit of a puzzle, both a client and a guest with a permanent invitation to come and go as she pleased. Rumor had it Miss Julia didn’t even pay a fee to Mistress for time spent on the Farm.
“Thanks, Thirty-two,” Mistress muttered, lips barely moving as she baked. Thirty-two noticed that Mistress became a lot politer to clients when in Miss Julia’s earshot.
“Thanks so much, Thirty-two,” said Miss Julia, she looked up from her laptop and smiled. “Just set the tray on the table.”
Thirty-two smiled back and carefully placed the tray down, not so much as a drop of Mistress’s precious ice cream soda spilled. “Will that be all Mistress? Or Miss Julia?”
Mistress mumbled something about being fine, thank you and Thirty-two turned to go, her mind caught between licking Mistress’s toned thighs and looking forward to being smothered in sister-slave One’s big breasts.
“Hold on, Thirty-two,” said Miss Julia. She tilted her hat up a bit, blonde hair falling around her shoulders. “You’re new aren’t you?”
A thrill of heat rippled though Thirty-two’s pussy. An unexpected chance to spend more time with Mistress. And no fee for it either. Not that Thirty-two had any complaints, her current rate of ten per cent of all annual earnings paid to an account in Mistress’s name practically counted as a budget offer. “Yes, Miss Julia, we met at the club in town last week on the night I signed up as a client.”
“Oh, yes, heh, I didn’t recognize you with the make-up.”
“I love wearing make-up,” said Thirty-two automatically. Some part of her dimly remembered that that didn’t used to be true.
Miss Julia raised an eyebrow and turned her head to Mistress, “Mike?”
“Uh-huh. She’s my best friend, I have to keep the peace.” Mistress rolled over onto her front, giving Thirty-two an entirely new place to imagine using her tongue. A sudden ghost sensation on her mouth made her shiver in pleasure at the sense memory. Her tongue had already been quite familiar with that part of Mistress’s gorgeous anatomy.
Miss Julia sighed, “I suppose. So, what’s your story, Thirty-two? How did you become a client?”
Mistress pushed up on her elbows, “That’s not really necessary, I can tell you myself. If you’ve got a fuck session organized you can start it early, run along Thirty-two.”
Visions of One bending her over the kitchen counter swam through Thirty-two’s head. “Thank you, Mistress!”
“I like to hear the girls tell me themselves,” said Julia. “It’s so interesting hearing all the different reasons they have.”
Thirty-two hovered in an ecstasy of indecision. On the one hand, a clear command to run along, on the other hand, Miss Julia wanted her to stay and pleasing Miss Julia had the level of permanent command.
“Go ahead then,” said Mistress, she turned back over to look at Thirty-two, sitting up on her elbows. Her lips pursed.
“Well, Miss Julia, I had this mind control fantasy about a girl in college I had a crush on and I’d let it take over my life too much, but luckily my friend Rebecca knew about Mistress’s service and referred me to her, which is how I first met you. Now Mistress is fulfilling all my needs and I can recognize that there is no Wendy, she was a fantasy in my head.”
“Great,” smiled Julia. “But you really knew Wendy in college?”
Mistress opened her mouth, glanced sideways and shut it. Miss Julia kept looking at Thirty-two with her big blue eyes.
“I,” said Thirty-two, the thought momentarily confused her then she had an answer. “Yes, I did. But I had turned her into an imaginary mind control fantasy in my head.”
“Where’s she now?”
“She has a girlfriend who I believe is mind controlling her.”
“What!?” Miss Julia’s jaw dropped.
Mistress sat up sharp, stripping off her sunglasses, “That’s enough, thanks very much, Thirty-two. Very good, I’m going to give you an extra session with me as a bonus, no charge. This afternoon.”
“No! Wait! Wendy is being mind controlled?”
From the corner of her eye Thirty-two saw Mistress shake her head very slightly.
“No, Miss Julia.”
“So why did you say that?”
Thirty-two squirmed, she could feel a no charge bonus session with Mistress at risk. Just the sight of Mistress’s round breasts straining their black bikini cups made her pussy drip.
“I . . . . I imagined it? Wendy’s girlfriend Mallory is, uh, a sculptress and, um, she’s like a black magic witch who’s turning Wendy into a living statue said my friend Rebecca.”
Miss Julia’s intake of breath made a bird drinking from the pool startle into the air. “Lin!!! Is that true!?”
Lin had her hands over her mouth, knees drawn up. “Uh, you know.” She swiveled to face Julia, sitting upright, open palms making little circular patting motions in the air. “Um, honey, you know I said that sometimes you shouldn’t ask questions about my business? This is one of those times.”
“Lin!” Julia’s laptop shut with a hard click. Her bottom lip protruded, trembling a touch.
Thirty-two’s head felt light with astonishment. Mistress wrung her hands, “Don’t look at me like that, honey, look I don’t even know the woman—oh, wait a second.” Mistress glanced at Thirty-two. “Don’t repeat that woman’s name again.” She turned back to Miss Julia, who’s magnificent chest had assumed a state of high agitation, which made for a fine view even under the circumstances. “Look, I only know her by reputation on the, uh, grapevine. You know, Thirty-two here is lucky she ran into me or she could have been a target too. I think that’s why that psycho-bitch McCandliss referred her here. This is really for the best, Thirty-two is happy, it’s all just a harmless fantasy in her head now.”
The birds ceased singing. Water in the pool stirred as a light breeze rustled leaves. Julia folded her arms.
“Darling, don’t be like that. There’s nothing more I can do.”
Julia sniffled.
“Oh, no, don’t do that, sweetie. Look, there can’t always be a happy ending, I’m sorry, but even if I tried, there’d be sacrifices that would have to be made.”
Julia set her laptop down on the poolside tiles and sat facing Lin. “I want you to save Wendy.”
Lin’s teeth clenched. “You know I’m the one who’s a mind controller. I’m telling you there’s no happy ending to this.”
“Well,” said Julia. She stood and reached behind her back. Shoelaces and dental floss started coming undone in ways that made both Thirty-two and Lin gape. “I want you to give me one.”
Julia took Lin’s shoulders, she pressed Lin down onto her back and straddled her. Thirty-two’s eyes bulged. Lin’s tongue licked her lips, she gazed up at Julia, her eyes swirled with shadow.
“I love you, Julia,” husked Lin. Her fingers slid along Julia’s hips.
Julia leaned forward, hands supporting on either side of Lin’s head, deliciously hard pink nipples swinging to hover just above Lin’s open lips. “Prove it.”
Mistress swallowed, “Thirty-two, go find Mike. Tell her you need to be prep’ed to leave the Farm.”
Julia smiled, “I love you too, Lin.” She sighed as Lin closed her lips around one nipple. “Trance me, please, Mistress.”
Lin broke off from sucking and pulled Julia’s ear to her lips.
Thirty-two squeezed her thighs together, wet sounds of Mistress and Four fucking floating in the air as she walked back to the kitchen. Something inside her made her feel an extraordinary sense of excitement. She headed into the kitchen to give sister-slave One an impassioned erotic surprise. After all Mistress commanded her to begin a fuck session early if she’d got one organized; Thirty-two reckoned that command took immediate temporal precedence before finding Mike.
The gentle vibrations of the private jet’s engines rocked Ceri through her seat as she shut her eyes, willing herself to sleep. From somewhere else in the luxury cabin, the sound invaded Ceri’s ears of Lin—Mistress—moaning as Carole—sister-slave Two—worshiped between Lin’s thighs; she willed her hands to stay still and not respond to the arousal. She didn’t want Lin noticing and deciding she should join in the fun with Carole. Carole, a handsome mature business woman with a smart black bob, handled Lin’s extensive stock portfolio. Not coincidentally, it also used to be Carole’s extensive stock portfolio until Carole discovered her overwhelming desire to be a client of Madame Lin. However, Lin only borrowed the jet when she needed it.
They’d be on the other side of the country soon, and then somehow Lin would save Wendy and things could get back to norm . . . . Sleep came. She dreamed.
Ceri wove a little as she reached her and Wendy’s apartment door. For senior year, they’d moved in together into a two bedroom apartment in a university-owned building just off campus. She heard a bottle crashing and raucous laughter from another graduation party going on across the landing, the door half open in invitation to the passerby. Somebody came out of the apartment behind her, said “Yo, Ceri-meister!” and then disappeared down the stairs.
Ceri didn’t feel like more company. She’d exited her own party as soon as she saw Rebecca McCandliss show up; she didn’t want her graduation night memories to include being spanked to orgasm in some side-bedroom. Her treacherous pussy warmed at the thought. Fucking McCandliss. How come everybodyelse worships her? Oh, that’s right, because we’re all her mind controlled bitches. She fumbled, pulling up her hoodie and digging her keys out of her skinny jeans. She missed the lock once, but got it in the second attempt.
The door swung open before she could reach for the knob.
“Wendy!?”
“Hehe,” said Wendy, smiling divinely in a little black number that showed off every curve. Her blonde hair frizzled about her shoulders, showing some effects of the evening’s activities. “Been waiting for you.”
“Whuh? Weren’t you going to Martin’s place?”
“Ha!” Wendy grinned, her hips swayed a little. “Ditched him.”
She turned and sauntered down the apartment corridor towards the living room. Her ass looked edible as she stalked away. She paused and looked back over her shoulder, the pink tip of her tongue flickering between her teeth for a moment, “Got so fed up waiting for you to make your move, so I’m making mine. Hehe.”
She disappeared around the corner to the living room.
Ceri’s mouth opened and shut. Opened and shut again.
How much did I drink!? Did that just happen?
Wendy sang from the living room, “Cerrrriiidwennnn!”
Omigodomigodomigod.
Ceri stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind her.
Omigodomigodomigod.
She staggered down the hallway, noticing a slight smell of incense sticks in the air. Wendy sat, legs crossed, ample expanse of right thigh on display, on the battered fake leather couch in their living room. A low coffee table sat in the middle of the floor in front of the couch, equally battered armchairs on either side, a carefully curated mix of French film and indie rock posters plastered on the walls. Incense sticks stuck up, burning on either end of the table.
A black-labeled, half-empty bottle of rich brown liquid sat beside a shot glass in the middle of the table. Oh, dear, thought Ceri.
“Hehe, so, I had a big fight with Martin,” said Wendy, a strand of blonde hair flopped over one blue eye. “And we’re through, and you know what I’m not sorry and neither are you.”
Ceri leaned against the door frame. Her hoodie felt overwhelmingly hot all of a sudden, she tugged at the collar for air. “Wendy, how much of the scotch have you had?” Rhetorical question, really.
“Not so much I can’t think straight,” said Wendy. She leaned forward, giving Ceri a view of cleavage that made the hoodie temperature intolerable. Ceri pulled it off. Wendy licked her lips, “You have a really hot body, Ceri. And you’re my best friend.”
“Uh, you’ve had a little too much to drink, Wendy,” said Ceri. “Let me get you some water . . . .”
“Oh, no, don’t you dare run away!” Wendy’s right index finger wagged in the air. Ceri stopped mid-step to the kitchen. “And I love fucking you. So, why aren’t we together, huh?”
Ceri turned to face the couch. She leaned back against the wall. “We’re part of a harem, Wendy. We fuck because that bitch likes the show.”
“So, you’re telling me you don’t enjoy it?” Wendy raised an eyebrow, her lips curled up.
Ceri’s face burned, “I. Um. . . . Yeah, I enjoy it when I get to . . . uh. Do you.”
“Well, I love it when you do me, Ceridwen Jones. Really, love it.”
Ceri sucked in her breath, she ran her left hand through her cropped brown hair, “Because she . . . .”
“No. Not because she anything, you goofus. Hehe, I love you, but you are so fucking clueless.” Wendy held out her hand, “I have wasted so much time on Martin because . . . you just never made a move. She’s not mind controlling me right now, this is for real, Ceri.”
Ceri swallowed, her mouth dry, tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. She walked around the table and took Wendy’s hand, letting herself be drawn onto the couch. She swallowed again, “You can’t know that, she’s never really out of our heads. . . . .”
Wendy spoke and the words buzzed in Ceri’s ears. A lush wave of heat rolled through her limbs, they became pliable like hot wax. “Shh,” said Wendy. Her right index finger traced Ceri’s lips, Ceri’s mouth parted and suckled on it, each little swirl of her tongue around Wendy’s finger jagging down to her swollen clit. “She told me to say that to you because I knew you’d say that as well. I know you, Ceri, and as much as I love you for it, there’s a point when you’ve got to chuck out the respectful no boundary-crossing stuff and realize that your straight best friend isn’t that straight and actually wants you to fuck her brains out.” Wendy cupped Ceri’s chin. They kissed. They broke, panting. “And dammit if a little mind control get’s you into my pants then I’m doing it.”
Wendy pulled down the shoulders of the little black dress, her big round breasts peaked with hard pink nipples filling Ceri’s vision. She lifted them up, cupping them with her hands. “Come on,” she whispered.
Ceri tried to fight it, none of this could be right, but some part of her told her, no, it demanded, that she believe it. Wendy took control of the matter, her right hand stroking the back of Ceri’s neck then pulling her gently forward. Ceri’s lips closed around one perfect nipple, she moaned in contentment.
“Oh, yes, I love that,” sighed Wendy. Ceri added a little touch of her teeth. “Ah! Yes, just like that! Oh, get naked now!”
The command took complete possession of Ceri. Or perhaps it didn’t really need to, because she’d decided she could really really go along with this whole thing. It took all of about ten seconds to shuck tee shirt, socks, trainers, boyshorts. Ceri tried to say something, but instead it just came out as a mewl of need.
Wendy ran her tongue around her mouth, “You’re gorgeous.” Her hand slipped in between Ceri’s legs, twisted to run her palm up the inside of Ceri’s left thigh, lifting it up, so that Ceri’s foot came down on the couch. Wendy leaned in and kissed the little muscles jumping where Ceri’s inner thighs led to her shaven mound. Wendy looked up into Ceri’s eyes, “I want this.” Then she started to use her tongue. Lips. A finger. Another finger. Lips and tongue and fingers and . . . Ceri fell forward, arching over Wendy’s back, grasping the back of the couch to stop a complete collapse. She came hard and then Wendy made her bend over the arm of the couch and made her cum all over again.
She lay in Wendy’s arms being babied, her lips suckling on delicious pink tips, Wendy’s fingers busy between her thighs. The buzzing came in her ears again as Wendy spoke and Ceri felt the weight and purpose returning to her body. She didn’t stop doing a thing. Her orgasm when it came made her want to cry.
“This is real,” said Ceri.
“Yeah, I love you,” said Wendy.
“I love you.”
Somebody cleared their throat at the doorway to the living room. They both looked up.
Rebecca McCandliss stood in the doorway, slightly over six five, weird green eyes, red hair in a single long braid. Leather jacket and jeans over a plain white tee. “I always thought you two would make a cute couple.”
Ceri sat up, chills running down her spine. Mistress. What’s she doing here and now?
“Yes, the stuff you told me, totally worked!” Wendy grinned. “I’m so grateful.”
Rebecca grunted and sat in one armchair. The incense sticks had burned out, tiny tendrils of smoke still weaving up. “That’s good, Wendy. I wanted you to have that.” She got up for a moment and grabbed the bottle and shot glass, inspecting the black label. “Not Irish.” She sniffed, but started pouring.
“Oh, please, help yourself,” said Wendy. She lay a hand on Ceri’s thigh.
“Why are you here, Rebec—Mistress?” said Ceri.
Rebecca downed her shot. “You two are the last two I need to make right.” She stared at the glass and put it back down. “I really fucked up.”
“What do you mean make right?” said Ceri.
“No, you didn’t. We’re in love thanks to you,” said Wendy.
“That’s kind of the problem, Wendy,” said Rebecca. “Maybe you are only in love thanks to me, or maybe you’d be in love without me regardless, it’s sort of hard to say given my tinkering in your heads. And that’s wrong. So. I’m glad you had this, but this is the end of the line.”
Ceri’s blood turned ice-cold. “What are you going to do?”
“Make you forget.”
“But,” cried Wendy, “I don’t want to . . . .”
A white nimbus of flame engulfed them.
—Forget.
Morning light filtered in from the kitchen window as Ceri pressed her fingers against her forehead, sitting, resting her elbows on the square table up against the wall by the refrigerator. She couldn’t bring herself to even look at the collection of beer bottles in the recycling bin in the corner. No more alcohol ever again. She heard Wendy coming in, “Just shoot me now, Wendy.”
“Hehe, I know how you feel.” Wendy still looked gorgeous in her long red nightshirt. Ceri felt her usual pang of regret. Four years at college and she’d never plucked up the courage to say something. How could she? Wendy had Martin. And after all this time how would it look to suddenly reveal to her best friend that she’d been in love with her the whole time.
Wendy sat down in the opposite chair. She put her head back against the wall and placed a palm over her face, “I got into a fight with Martin and then drank a ton of whiskey. I think I told him we were over.”
Ceri’s heart jumped. She suppressed it. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Hehe, no, you’re not. Do you think I should ring him?”
Ceri looked across the table at Wendy’s blue eyes. Did she see something more in there?
“Yeah, you probably should. Well, up to you. I’m not his biggest fan.”
Ceri woke with a start. The cabin lights had been turned off, but she could see Mike’s enormous bulk sitting watching a movie in the darkness on a laptop.
“Ceri?” Lin whispered from a few feet behind Ceri’s head. Ceri twisted her head and saw Carole sleeping in Lin’s naked lap, both wearing nothing but pearls and heels, their skin shadowed by the dark cabin. Ceri could feel the tug of Lin’s black eyes, even in the darkness.
“Yes, Mistress?”
“Do you really love Wendy?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good, that’s going to be very important.”