The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Morning. Kristen pulled into the parking lot, moving her car in neat swipes, locking into her usual slot right next to the small alder tree which marked the end of the row.

She killed the well-tuned engine, then sat in the car for a long moment, enjoying the sudden quiet and still gripping the comforting leather-wrapped shape of the steering wheel with both her hands. She had always enjoyed being around cars, driving them, working on them with her father, his little tomboy... Even so, her legs trembled a little, both from the sex of the night before, and the panic that swirled endlessly now in the back of her mind. She knew what she had to do, but thinking about who... about what she was up against... She swallowed and glanced at what was laying on the floor of the car, glanced without really allowing herself to think about it. Its edges gleamed back at her, relentless. Sharp and accusing. She picked up her purse from the seat beside her, slung it over her shoulder and got out of the car with an almost physical twinge of regret. Her low heels were very loud on the concrete sidewalk as she walked stiff-legged past the neatly-trimmed shrubs to the glass doors at the front of the building. Otherwise it was very quiet, with only an occasional car going past on Beeker Street.

Again, for a moment she paused, unable to go on. Then she touched the purse, suddenly remembered what was throbbing in there, waiting, and for a moment she almost was able to smile. The very opposite of the...

Sharpthingonthefloor. Again she only glanced at it.

She pulled open the door and entered the lobby, which, like her car, was very reassuring in its familiarity and normality. The vaguely puke-colored carpeting, the chairs pushed up against the walls for visitors, the low wooden table with the glossy trade publications spread out across it, the wall displays of the various Harrison product lines, sleek metal and carbon shapes, forever entombed in their little glass-covered niches.

And Eve, sitting at her desk. The dark-skinned receptionist looked up from her computer screen and flashed a bright smile.

“Morning!”

Somehow Kristen smiled back, making the movement of muscles appear more-or-less normal.

“Morning.”

They exchanged a couple of further meaningless pleasantries, but while her mouth was doing that, a small algorithm in the back of Kristen’s mind clicked methodically over, holding up a mental image of Eve against some ruler, measuring her from all angles. It came to Eve’s hand.

No. Eve’s hand didn’t fit. Not at all.

They finished chatting.

Still smiling, if only with her mouth, Kristen made the usual sharp left turn and marched on, further into the bowels of building. Unlike most mornings, however, she did not pause to get her morning cup of poison from the enormous black machine which loomed in the small nook along with the water cooler. (Although it wasn’t at all fair to call it poison; Eve made very good coffee...)

Down the various halls past the offices. The sales department where Miller could be heard already loudly jawing with some client, the passage that led to Jim and Monty’s gloomy wire-strung home, her own office, the-

The Cave of...

the purchasing department...

And finally out onto the actual production floor with its various bays of equipment. She slowed herself down, for some reason she was almost running. Normally she liked the machines, almost as much as she liked cars, but now in the quiet semi-darkness of the morning they all resembled enormous mechanical monsters: spiders, centipedes, octopi with long groping tentacles, down in the black water... It was still fairly early, and there were only the first few spreading islands of activity. In one bay Dave and Frank were already busy probing one of the always-balky CRM units and muttering the results back and forth in their usual terse monosyllables. They could have been orbiting Jupiter for all the notice they gave her as she walked past. Nothing there. But in another... She stepped into the target.

“Morning, Holli.” Kristen stopped and again arranged her mouth into a smile.

The other woman turned from her set-up work and raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. She was tall, fairly attractive in a raw-boned way. She invariably wore overalls and rather chunky black boots, and always had her blondish-brown hair tied back in a thick functional ponytail. The general speculation around the company was that she was a lesbian, but no one really knew for sure; Holli Ogden didn’t go in much for socializing with her co-workers.

The only thing that mattered at the moment was that she fit, her hand fit, and Kristen’s smile jacked itself a few degrees wider.

“Kristen? What’s up?” Holli spoke a bit suspiciously. There had been times in the not-too-distant past when relations between their two departments had become... well... strained, specifically over the subject of whether or not certain pieces of new and extremely expensive equipment were really vitally necessary to the continued growth and health of the company.

“Nothing serious. Nothing... official or anything. I just wanted to show you something I think you might find interesting.” Kristen reached into her purse, and her fingers tingled as they closed around what was waiting there.

“Oh?” More suspicious than before.

Kristen pulled them out, spread them flat on a nearby workbench. It was like pulling out a barbed thorn, cleaning out an infected wound, the feeling of relief...

Holli looked down at them.

Erika sat in her chair with her eyes carefully closed. She sat there very still for a long time, then finally, gingerly, without opening her eyes, she set aside the plate she had been holding and she touched her own stomach, this time just with her fingertips of her right hand. It didn’t feel any different.

And yet...

When Mr. Woodhue had first detailed Nina’s and Suzanna’s mental changes, she had to admit that she had only sort of half-believed him. But now this...

“Erika? Have I done something wrong again?” Suzanna’s voice was nervous. “I’m sorry, I’m really trying, but—”

“No. No, Suzanna you didn’t do anything wrong.” At last Erika willed her eyelids to rise and reluctantly they obeyed, shackled prisoners moving only because an enormous black whip was being cracked over their heads. The other woman was staring at her with wide blue eyes and nervously twisting the edge of her short green dress with her hands. Somehow Erika kept her voice level. “But... is there any chance, any chance at all, that you could be mistaken?”

“No.” Very certain. “The Master has planted his seed inside you. Didn’t you know?”

“Planted his...? Suzanna, we just had sex a couple of fucking hours ago! How the hell could I possibly tell? And anyway it can’t be possible! Not after all—” She cut herself off. No point in going down that road again and stirring up all the old festering pain. Not now. She deliberately shot herself off in a new direction. “How can you tell?”

Suzanna’s fingers stopped squirming. She frowned and tipped her head to one side, again studying Erika’s stomach.

“I don’t know exactly. I just can. I can sense the Master’s presence growing inside you.” As if she knew what Erika was going to say next, she went on. “It’s nothing psychic or anything. Not even the Master or the author of the Master’s wonderful book can or could literally read minds. Maybe it’s your... pheromones? Yes. That’s the best word. Or maybe just the way you smell in a more normal sense, or something. But it’s very possible. You weren’t taking birth control pills?”

“No, I wasn’t taking birth control pills.” Erika ground her teeth. “I have been told that there... there wasn’t much point.” Back down the road after all.

“Oh.” To Erika’s relief but (now) no real surprise, Suzanna didn’t even appear curious. “But nevertheless the Master has impregnated you, Erika. He is powerful now. In all ways. In all things. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

“Suzanna, the man just read a goddamn book! How could that—” Erika again cut herself off sharply, and paused herself, holding her hands out in front of her, fingers spread. Calm. Relaxed. Then she got up, walked carefully over to where Willikins was sprawled in the sun, and scooped him up, provoking a very half-hearted growl of protest. She carried the boneless lump back to Suzanna. “Do you like cats, Suzanna?”

“I guess.”

“Good. Here. Pet Willikins for a while.” She dumped the cat into the other woman’s lap. “I need to think for a moment.”

“OK.”

Erika walked back to the window, and stood as she had stood in Nina’s house, this time looking out at her rows of carrot and lettuce sprouts and the milling Flock at the center of it all. She stood there for a long time. Herkamer the Red stared back at her, his beaked goggle-eyed expression extremely unhelpful, possibly even smirking. Beside him, the more spiritually-minded Ichabod the Blue gazed off into the heavens.

Even from here, she could hear the rock-grinding rumble that was Willikin’s purring.

-How do I feel about this?—

Nothing. No reaction. Very deliberately she formed the words.

-I am going to have a baby.—

Again nothing. She tried once again.

-I am going to have Thomas Woodhue’s baby.—

Finally, that provoked a reaction. A bit of panic, yes, but just a bit. Mostly, there was a familiar deep warm glow which started in... in the effected area, then spreading slowly outward in looping spirals. Again she touched her stomach, rubbing it.

-I am very happy with this. But...—

She gave a sharp turn and was facing into the room. Suzanna had Willikins on his back, spread across her knees, and she was rubbing his stomach. The tip of his tail twitched back and forth in slow pleasure. Her expression was one of a woman carrying out an important and complex task.

“Suzanna?”

The blonde woman looked up without a flinch or a start, still scratching.

“Yes, Erika?”

“Are you pregnant? If Mr. Woodhue is so powerful...”

Suzanna shook her head.

“I was taking birth control pills before I read the Master’s wonderful book. When I was...” She wrinkled her long but shapely nose. “...having sex with Gregory. I don’t know if that will make a difference or not. But anyway, the Master hasn’t had unprotected sex with me yet.” On this second use of the word ‘sex’ there was just the hint of a squeak in her voice. “He allowed me to pleasure him orally in his office, and in his bedroom last night he was wearing a condom.”

“Well, he was with me, too! Condoms aren’t fucking perfect, but...” Erika trailed off and pinched at the bridge of her nose, where there was suddenly a stabbing pain. “When we did it in the damn fucking chair. Oh crap. And he even tried to stop me. Crap!” She turned and kicked something at random, hard. The whatever-it-was shattered loudly and satisfyingly. Miraculously, she didn’t break any of her toes, but her foot howled in protest. Again she faced Suzanna, again grinding her teeth. “What about Nina?”

Another shake of the head. Blonde hair swirling.

“Nina chose to undergo tubal ligation three years ago. Not even the Master can impregnate her now.”

Erika couldn’t keep the sour note out of her voice.

“Of course. She had her tubes tied. Our Nina’s had just about everything fucking tied down, hasn’t she?”

“Yes, she has.” Suzanna’s tone was solemn, and expression was an odd one. Sadness and something else? “And now she’ll never have the Master’s baby. She—” Suzanna broke off, and almost, almost managed to look shifty for a moment. It passed so fast Erika wasn’t sure it had ever been there. “She’ll never know that joy. I’m very sorry for her.”

“OK. All right.” A deep bracing breath. “Suzanna. I’m guessing that if Mr. Woodhue ever asks you about this, you won’t be able to lie to him, but please... please, he’s got enough to worry about right now without this. I’m asking you not to tell him that I am pregnant right now.”

Suzanna craned her neck, methodically quartering the room with her gaze before replying.

“Erika, the Master isn’t here right now.”

Erika sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I mean the next time you see him, Suzanna. Or the time after that. I won’t be able to hide it from him for long, but right now even just a month or two might be important. Can you do this?”

Suzanna sat and said nothing for a very long time, her fingers still working on Willikins. Finally...

“I’ll try, Erika.”

Erika examined her with half-lidded eyes. She shook her head.

“It won’t work.”

“Erika?”

“You’re going to tell him. I may not have your mental... gifts... but I can see it. Tonight when he gets home, he’s going to walk into the room and you’re going to go scurrying over to him and blurt it all out.” She stretched her eyes wide, let her voice go all bubbly and she bounced up and down on her toes in an exaggerated fashion, ignoring the pain this produced. “MASTER! Erika’s pregnant with your baby! Isn’t that wonderful!?”

“I—”

Erika waved the other woman silent with a preoccupied flick of her hand.

“I don’t blame you, Suzanna. That’s just the way you are when you’re around him. I’m already glad we’ve spent some time alone together, and I’ve gotten a chance to see another side of you. And maybe...” She glanced at the easel and continued to herself... “...looks like I will have to crank it out overnight. Even faster than that.”

“Crank what out, Erika?”

“You’ll see soon enough. I hope.”

“OK.” Suzanna hesitated then spoke again, her voice and her smile turning a little tremulous. She stared down at Erika’s damaged foot before continuing. “Erika?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you want to have the Master’s baby?”

Erika limped over to her and placed her hand on the other woman’s shoulder. She gave a firm clench.

“The only way I will not have this baby, Suzanna, is if Mr. Woodhue enslaves me and orders me to get an abortion.”

“Oh.” Suzanna’s smile came flickering back again to full strength, like the sun burning away morning mist. “OK. Maybe I can baby-sit him for you!”

“Maybe you can. But for now, let’s go. We’ve got to move fast.”

Suzanna lifted Willikins off her lap, gently lowering him to the floor.

“Where are we going, Erika?”

“To visit Raul.”

“Who is Raul?”

“Let’s make that another surprise, shall we?”

“Morning!”

Once again, Eve looked up from her computer screen and flashed a smile. She was at heart a cheerful person, (or she wouldn’t be doing this job) but the steady stream of morning arrivals always meant that there really was no point in her trying to get any real work done until about 9:30, when everyone was safely tucked away in their little holes back in the building. Unfortunately, Mr. Boss Man was real picky for Getting Things Done ASAP, so, after zapping the Coffee Beast back to life and giving the various office plants their morning drink, she tried to humor him by wading through the usual mess of general e-mails that had come in during the night, adding the latest crop of spam addresses to the filter that Monty had thrown together for her, and forwarding on any real mail to the right department...

“Morning.” The dark shape framed by the morning light became Fran Kurthimer, from accounting. Her mouth was smiling, but around her eyes for a moment it seemed... Eve shrugged it off. She was imagining things. “How are things?”

“Fine. Things are fine.”

“Something you need?”

Fran glanced around the otherwise-empty lobby then came over to her desk before replying.

“Actually, just the opposite. I came across something that I thought you might find... interesting.” She pulled something out of her briefcase, and spread it flat on the reception desk next to Eve’s computer.

“Oh?”

Eve looked down at it.

They were in the van, following the rest of the morning traffic heading towards downtown. Paused at a stoplight, Erika glanced over at the woman sitting next to her. Suzanna was staring out the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Erika dribbled her own fingers against the striped fur of the steering wheel before finally speaking.

“Suzanna?”

The blonde woman turned her head.

“Yes, Erika?”

“Since we have a moment here.... Could you... I dunno... tell me more about Mr. Woodhue? I just realized... I really don’t know much about him. Nothing really.”

“He’s the Master. He’s the most wonderful man who ever lived.”

The light changed and Erika jerked the van back into motion, turning off Schneider onto 42nd. The familiar strings of gas station minmarts and mid-grade chain restaurants rolled past. She suddenly remembered that one of her paintings hung in one of the latter; she had forgotten all about that sale...

“Yes, Suzanna. That’s the one thing I do know about him. What can you tell me about his past? His likes and dislikes. Stuff like that.” She forced her voice to remain casual. One part of her mind wanted to strap Suzanna down, shine bright lights on her...

“Oh.” Suzanna sat silently for a moment, then began speaking like she was reading from a cue card. “The Master is 6′0″. He weighs about 230 pounds. He is left-handed, and he has a scar on his lower right forearm. His full name is Thomas Jeffery Woodhue. He hates his middle name, because it was the name of his mother’s father, who wasn’t very nice and no one in the family really liked. This being the case, I don’t have enough data to speculate about why his parents named Tom after him. The original Jeffery Woodhue died a long time ago. The Master has never specifically said, but putting together certain offhand comments he has made in the past, I now realize that Jeffery was probably shot to death by someone. It’s about...” Another momentary tip of the head, as if Suzanna was trying to get something into focus... “80% likely that it was a policeman who shot him. The Master was born here in town at Pathfinder General, on July 15, 31 years ago, at about 6:00 in the afternoon. His parents are named Albert and Susan Woodhue, and they are currently retired and living in Yuma, Arizona. Albert was an electrician, and worked for KWOO radio here in town. Susan was a housewife who also did people’s income taxes part-time. The Master has a younger sister named Harriet Anne Parker, who is married to a man named Frank. They live in Detroit, where she sells real estate and he is a dentist. Their daughter Helen turns 1 next month. The Master has a older brother named Richard Giley Woodhue, who is married to a woman named Beverly Margaret. They live just north of here, in Woodcrest. Richard owns a small plumbing company, and Beverly teaches third grade at Pineborne Elementary. They have a five-year old son named Justin Edward Woodhue. They came to visit us once at the Master’s office, and Justin showed us the scar he got from falling off his scooter. He and the Master were comparing their injuries.”

Erika was feeling like she’d been hit by a truck. Suzanna plowed on.

“The Master has lived his whole life in the city, or near it. He grew up mostly in Woodcrest, in a house at the edge of a small city park. He and his siblings had a mixed-breed dog named Sparky when they was growing up. They were allowed to pick him out of the litter when a neighbor’s dog had puppies. When the Master was 14, Sparky was accidentally killed by a delivery truck, which made him and Richard and Harriet very sad. The Master had his appendix out when he was 16. The operation went badly and he was in the hospital for several days. He still doesn’t like doctors or hospitals. While attending Tanworthy High, he was in the Honor Society and the Chess Club. He played basketball for one season and hated it. After graduating, the Master attended State, and got a degree in Business Administration with a minor in English. Along with some financial support from his parents, he put himself through college working at various jobs including pizza delivery, stock boy in a MegaFoods, and working at Braxton Marina, down in the harbor. He had a couple of girlfriends in college. One was named Elise. I’ve never heard her last name, but I’m about...” Head tip... “70% certain that the Master had sex with her on more than one occasion. He may have been a virgin up to that point; I’ve never heard about any high school girlfriends or sexual encounters. He hasn’t seen Elise since they graduated, but they evidently parted on amicable terms. After that graduation, he spent nine months in Europe, staying part of the time with relatives of his father. He then came back to the States and got a job with KWOO, thanks to a recommendation from, again, his father. After two years he felt the need to truly and completely get out on his own and he took his current job with Harrison. He does OK with his job, except that he’s still a little too private and shy to do really well with the schmoozing that is such a big part of working with the company’s suppliers. As for his co-workers at Harrison, he gets on well enough with them. Except Gary Miller of course, but then I don’t believe that anybody in the office really likes Gary.” She frowned as if coming across something that smelled vaguely distasteful. “Except Holli Ogden, who I now realize finds him sexually attractive. The Master didn’t make any really close friends at work, for the same reason as before. I came to work there two years after he did, after getting fired from my previous job at Pacific Ridge Consulting for mouthing off to Mr. Sumrow, and he promptly fell in love with me.”

Erika somehow managed to cut off the torrent with a question.

“Love? Did you know this?”

“Not until I read the Master’s wonderful book. He did a good job of hiding it from me, but then, I...” For the first time in her spiel, Suzanna hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I never really noticed him.” Her voice became quite a bit more human. “Not in that way. I liked him well enough as a friend and a co-worker, but he wasn’t my type at all. He was too much of... of... a...” She swallowed. “I’m sorry, Erika, I just can’t say those things about the Master now. When I’m with him, I can’t even think them.”

“I understand.”

-I understand all too fucking well.—

But then Erika had another thought.

-But you just said what he was...—

-Interesting...—

Suzanna continued.

“I didn’t know, but I think now that other people at the company suspected. That he loved me, I mean. Jim Harbine and the Master are friends, sort of, and Jim may have noticed something. He made comments once in a while.”

“Jim Harbine?” Another turn of the van, and they were on Blair. Older and taller buildings now, made mostly of brick, packed closer together and filled with a more eclectic selection of shops.

“Jim and Monty Kelsay maintain most of the company records, and also do all the tech work on the computer system.”

“Ah. They the company’s chief cooks and bottle-washers?”

“No, Erika, they don’t wash any bottles. And we only have a vending machine in the lunchroom.”

“Right. Sorry. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Jim and the Master go out bike-riding together sometimes on the weekends, down around Blue Lake. The Master collects MC Escher prints, and old adventure serials on tape. In addition to the bike riding, he swims at the Y to try keep in shape, but he still is a little overweight because he likes to eat junk food too much and drink beer on the weekends. He also likes Chinese food, grapefruit, and beef jerky. And peanut butter and honey sandwiches. He hates liver and undercooked fried eggs.”

“Honey? Yuck. What a waste of perfectly good peanut butter.”

Suzanna made a strange noise, a sound between a giggle and squawk of outrage. Her voice was out of tape-recorder mode again.

“If the Master likes it, it must be good.”

“Yes. Of course. And books? Does Mr. Woodhue like books?”

“Oh, yes. I went to his apartment once—” More squeakiness on the words ‘his apartment’. “—to drop off the Anderson papers, and he had lots of full bookshelves. He visits used book stores all the time.”

“All the time.” Erika shook her head. “And we all know how dangerous those places are.”

“Dangerous? They’re not dangerous. He found his wonderful book in one of them. He told me just before I read it for the first time. Rodney’s or Gila’s or one of those places.”

“Exactly my point.”

They had arrived. For once there was an empty slot right in front of ClickAway, and Erika gratefully pulled the van into it and killed the engine.

Suzanna looked around the room with interest as they entered through the flyer-covered glass door from the street. The flyers advertised three different music concerts, a book-reading and signing by an author named Ingersoll, a used book sale next Saturday and Sunday at the downtown library branch, and yet another protest at City Hall against Mayor Sand. Beyond the door, there were lots of round glass tables and rather uncomfortable-looking wire-backed chairs. Many of the latter were filled with people, all chattering away and sipping at cups of coffee. (So many interesting textures, all overlapping...) Sweet but reedy Andean flute music was playing from the overhead speakers. On the walls were large swooping paintings of a futuristic cityscape, spires and domes and sleek flying cars, and under the paintings on two of the walls there were lines of computers, many of them in use. Each computer had a large red and gold number painted over it.

She clicked the pieces together, and smiled as the concept came up into view. A cybercafe. She had been in one before over on the Eastside. With Gregory, after seeing ‘The Island of Doctor Fang’ on a very wet Saturday afternoon in February. It had been their second date, a year and three months ago now. The thought of being out anywhere on a date with a non-Master (or a non-Slave) made her a bit sick to her stomach, but fortunately there was no sign of Gregory here.

Erika was of course standing beside her, also checking out the crowd. Her texture was effected coolness, but there was a thin thread of nervousness in the very back of it somewhere...

A man standing with other workers behind the long white serving counter locked onto them and came arrowing in their direction, weaving his way with practiced ease through the crowd. Raul. It had to be this Raul person. Suzanna had seen him coming a mile away, but Erika gave a tiny jump of surprise as he arrived and spoke.

“Well, well, well, Erika Johanson. It’s been too long! I was beginning to think we’d never be seeing you again. And looking so radiant!”

Except maybe for a couple of bits and pieces around the very edges of her eyes, Erika’s mouth was the only part of her that smiled.

“Hello Raul.”

Raul was thin and fairly short. He had a narrow face and wore a really ugly red felt hat, but Suzanna quickly dismissed such unimportant things, and went back to studying textures. He and Erika were talking. It was clear they liked each other, but still, Erika was being cautious, holding a large something back, as a person does when she’s petting a friendly-seeming dog which is wagging its tail but the petter still isn’t absolutely 100% sure that the pettee is not going to suddenly lash out and bite her. Raul was sexually attracted to Erika, but in a strange flat manner, as if the interest was a vaguely boring hobby he hauled out once in a while and absently tinkered with before stuffing back into a drawer. It was also clear that he was totally untrustworthy, and equally clear that Erika knew this.

Interestingly, none of this was what Erika had been nervous about...

“Oh! And who’s your ravishing friend? So bright and summery!” Suzanna realized that Raul was talking about her and rewound the conversation.

“This is Suzanna, Raul.” Erika slapped Raul’s reaching hand away from Suzanna, as much a well-practiced gesture as Raul’s movements of a moment ago. “And don’t touch. She’s spoken for.”

“By you? My my, we finally are getting truly adventuresome.”

Suzanna sniffed indignantly and started to speak.

“No, not by her, by—”

Erika calmly put her hand over Suzanna’s mouth. Suzanna was stung, and took a step so that she was out of range. She put her hands on her hips.

“By Tom, I was going to say.”

“Tom?” The man’s dark eyes darted back and forth, missing none of this. They reminded Suzanna of the eyes of a weasel she had seen fifteen years and ten months ago while spending the summer out with Constance on the farm. He could probably read a little of people’s textures as well... “And who’s this lucky Tom person?”

“The most wonderful man in the world.” For a horrible moment Suzanna thought she had blurted this, but then realized with a gush of relief it was Erika, speaking very dryly.

“Oh!” Raul placed a hand to his breast, flaring a bright fake texture of tragedy. “You mean I’ve been dethroned again? This simply will not do.”

“Life is suffering, Raul. I’m kind of in a hurry this morning, so let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“Oh, very well, if we must. Your usual, I assume?”

“If you remember.”

“Tall skinny, Kona beans. Did you actually think I forget the truly important things in life? And for you, Suzanna of Tom?”

Suzanna actually used to like espresso in her old life, (double latte, with whipped cream) but now it sort of made her stomach squirm again.

“I would like some hot chocolate, please, Raul.”

“Hot chocolate.” He seemed to be about to say more but he saw Erika’s warning glare and sighed. “Very well. Coming right up.”

“And we need to use one of your machines.”

“Anything for you, Erika dearest. I’ll unlock number 23 for you...” He waved a hand and headed back in the direction of the counter. Once she was sure he was out of hearing range, Suzanna leaned over in Erika’s direction and spoke out of the corner of her mouth.

“He’s silly.”

“You have no idea. C’mon.”

They walked over to one of the machines, unsurprisingly the one with the number 23 painted over it, and Erika slid into place in front of it. There was another long-legged chair next to the one in which she had perched, but she turned it around so it was facing out into the crowd.

“Have a seat, Suzanna.” Her voice was abstracted.

“OK.” Suzanna sat down. She wasn’t annoyed; on the contrary, watching the people was far more interesting than any old website or chat room. Computers were just flashing pixels and didn’t have textures. A short time later Raul appeared and gave her her chocolate, which was in a large mug and, yes, topped with a mound of whipped cream, just like in the old days. She checked his texture one last time, and cautiously sniffed the beverage. Tasted it. Despite his comment, it was very good. She wiped away some cream from her lips with her tongue and watched the people. The music played, and Erika tapped away at the keyboard.

Suzanna felt happy.

At least, as happy as she could be while separated from her Master...

Fran hesitated, poised in the doorway to the small office. She had been moving purposefully, but now, suddenly, everything melted away and she stood silently.

Beyond, she could hear Tom’s voice talking to someone on the phone:

“Right. Sixteen of them, as per agreement.... Usual pickup place?.... OK. Thanks. Talk to you later, Lori.”

He hung up, and there was silence, except for the occasional scribbling of pen on paper. Tom seemed to be stuck back in the early decades of the 20th century when it came to office-work; he used his computer probably half as much as anyone else in the company did. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t really know Tom Woodhue; he was always so quiet, keeping to himself...

-The strong, silent type. I like that in a man.—

-No I don’t. The silent twitchy ones, those are the ones you have to keep an eye on.—

-Thinker of deep thoughts, biding his time.—

-Who the hell are you trying to kid? He’s shy and nerdish and he needs to get a real haircut!—

She listened to this interior conversation like a horrified spectator at some gruesome tennis match, watching the arguments bounce back and forth. As she did so, she suddenly and quite irrelevently remembered having some kind of strange dream during the night, and waking up, and...

And...

Going back to sleep.

And now she was standing in Tom’s doorway, listening to him, and it was like before, like yesterday, when he had come into the accounting office with the Yankovich paperwork. (What a bastard that whole mess was proving to be...) When she was around him, it was as if someone had flipped a switch in her brain and-

“Fran?”

She gave a small shriek, and Tom’s head appeared around the doorway.

It was very odd.

He looked... different. Like he had suddenly lost ten pounds, but lost them in all the wrong places, leaving him stretched and bony and hungry. Parts of her wanted to just take him in her arms and comfort him, while other parts...

“Is something wrong?” He said it, not her. He was looking at her and speaking to her, and his eyes, oh god, she realized that his eyes were the same as the man...

-What man?—

-On the throne. In the palace of light with the angels the lucky angels with their brightshinycollars-

Throne? Palace? Angels?

“No!” Was that her voice, sounding all thin and panicky? “Nothing’s wrong! I just came by to...”

“Yes?” An expression came and went across his face, one that made her knees tremble for too many reasons.

-Why did I come by?—

-WHY THE HELL DID I COME BY?—

“...to see if there was anything you needed. Anything at all.”

Once again, for a moment, her senses danced on a knife-edge. Tom tried to cover it up, mostly succeeded, but the expression was back, tangled and confused. There was a bit of panic and surprise there, but also, before he could squash it, there was also a cold calculating thing, a hunger that could never be satisfied. The thing inside her started to tighten again, a thousand times worse than yesterday.

-He could eat me. No. It. That thing hiding back there. It could eat me whole.—

Her knees almost gave out.

-And it would make me love it. It would make me love being devoured.—

He finally spoke, his voice flat.

“Anything.”

“Yess.”

It was a very long time before he said anything more. When he did continue, his words made no sense.

“But you haven’t read the damn book! I can tell, you’re not like the others. Not even Erika. And anyway there was no time for you to read it.” The thing turned cautious, analytical and she could only stand there and stare. It was worse and better than before... “No. You’re not like the others. Not at all. What the hell is going on, Fran? Is it me? Did the book somehow do something to me?”

“I... I don’t know.” She started to reach out to him, and it felt like someone invisible in the room had slapped her hand away, hard. “I just want to... Who’s Erika?” She asked this, but for some reason, his comments about some book, about reading, slid around the edges of her brain and down out of sight, never really gaining a foothold.

He didn’t answer. He turned his back on her, walked to the center of his and Suzanna’s cubbyhole, faced her again. His stance brought to mind white lab coats and clipboards.

-Oh God. He’s going to experiment on me.—

“Come here, Fran.”

Her legs jerked, started moving her towards him. The knot inside her was pulling her, a hook tied to a thick fishline, reeling her in. She pulled against it, uselessly.

-I will not be experimented on!—

-Yes. Oh, yes, you will.—

-Yesyesyes.—

-labrat with a shiny golden collar-

“Close the door.”

She closed the door, then leaned up against it, her hands clawing lightly at the cheap pressed wood, trying to get back out, back out into the light and the sanity as the knots pulled and pulled and pulled... She felt the muscles in her throat clench.

The phone on Tom’s desk rang, and she gave another little shriek. Tom didn’t even flinch, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward, as it had before, when they had been talking about Nina. He pointed at her.

“Shh.”

He walked to the desk and answered the phone. More mind-tennis.

-Run. Run now, while he’s distracted. GET AWAY.—

-I know what I have to do.—

-You do!? Then why the hell haven’t you told ME?—

-I know what I have to do.— Cold and flat and crushing, rolling over everything like a glacier. Her hands stopped moving. She stopped moving. She stared fixedly at the wall and the bank of overflowing filing cabinets opposite, and waited while Tom again talked on the phone.

“Woodhue.... Oh, hey there, Brad... How’re tricks?... Uh, huh... Right. Glad to hear it... Oh, fine. Same old same old. You know me...”

She felt the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside her.

-Shh-

Somehow she kept it from spilling out.

-same old same old. yessir, Brad. we all sure know good ol’ Tom Woodhue-

“What’s that? Saturday? I... I don’t think I can, Brad. Things are kinda hectic around here right now. But...” He suddenly looked not nervous, but wistful somehow, or so it seemed as Fran studied him out of the corner of her eyes. “...How about I give you a call later in the week? See how things are shaping up?.... Uh huh. OK. Talk to you later.” He hung up and walked back to where he had been standing before speaking to her again. “That was Brad.”

“He’s the one who sells us the platinum, isn’t he?” Her voice seemed to float in from someplace very far away. Tom again studied her, a bug under a microscope, but his gaze still maybe tinged with just the tiniest bit of suppressed hysteria...

“Yes. Tell me, what’s Brad’s full name, Fran?”

“I... Brad... Alanat... or something.” She shook, not her head but her whole body. “I can’t remember. I could... go look it up...”

-Yes. Please. Let me go look it up. Anything to get out of here.—

-Stay here forever-

“No. Never mind. His name is Olint. That’s actually a bit of a relief. That you don’t remember.”

“I don’t understand.” She couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

-I know what I have to do. So DO IT AND LET ME GET OUT OF HERE!—

-Keep me here and do it to me FOREVER-

“I know.” For a moment the Thing was gone and Tom was back. “I’m sorry about all of this Fran, but I have to know... I have to test... and for some reason I have the sneaking suspicion that you won’t be able to just give me the answers.”

“Please...”

“How do you feel about me, Fran?”

“I... I want to know if there is anything I can do for you.”

“That isn’t what I asked. Do you... love me, Fran?”

“I... no. Yes. No. Just... tell me what you want. Please.”

“How long have you felt this way?”

“I... always. Ever since...”

“Yes?” He leaned forward a bit, very intent, his eyes hard and sharp and cold, bit of jabbing brown ice. “Ever since what?”

“Since—”

-Since I got Nina’s message.—

-Hello my sister...—

-collared-

“I don’t remember. I can’t remember. Please...”

“Lock the door.”

She fumbled around with her hand, not looking away from him. The bolt was loud.

“Come here, Fran.”

She walked to him, her legs clicking and stiff.

He picked up a pencil off Suzanna’s unoccupied desk, held it out at arm’s length, deliberately dropped it. It landed on the carpet.

“Pick that up for me.”

She bent over, picked it up. Handed it to him. Their skins touched for a second, and the knot twisted even tighter.

Tighter.

“Take off your shoes.”

She slipped out of her shoes. She was wearing the three-inch-high black stilettos, which were sometimes murder on her back, but Harold liked them and...

-Harold?—

-Who’s Harold?—

She felt the carpet under her the silk of her pantyhose, and she looked for a moment at the two rings on her hand. The diamond mounted on one of them winked back at her, accusingly.

-WHO’S HAROLD?— The thought came wet and runny. Panicky. She had a vague image for a moment of a tallish man with a slight stoop and the most wonderful sexy blue eyes but then it was gone.

“Down. On your knees.”

She went down. On her knees. Tom touched her, Mr. Woodhue touched her under the chin, and lifted her face so she was looking up at him.

He touched her and the knots spasmed and duplicated themselves, an intertwined cluster now all throughout her middle, cutting her in half.

Tighter.

Tighter.

“Show me your breasts.”

She unbuttoned her jacket and her blouse and unhooked her bra and let her breasts spill out into the open, and it happened all at once and she was showing her breasts to Tom Woodhue, and he was still a nerdy guy who was shy and a loner and she didn’t know anything about him really and she knew what she had to do.

There were noises that she couldn’t quite place.

“Suck my cock, Fran.”

The knots exploded.

Tom looked down at the woman kneeling before him and the words and his penis came out almost before he realized what was happening. He hadn’t intended it to go this far, really he hadn’t, but suddenly Fran’s lips were about to swallow him, swallow that thing that had sprung itself forward from his body with its usual quivering eagerness.

“No! Stop!” She froze, her mouth open, inches from him. There was a whining sound in the back of her throat. “Close your eyes, Fran.” Her eyes slid shut, with another whine. Her mouth did not close. Somehow, slowly, painfully, he forced his penis back down out of sight, zipped up his pants. He sighed.

He placed his hands on both sides of her head. More hair to fondle; even better than any of his girls...

—’my girls’. Oh God...—

...definitely Fran’s best feature; she was otherwise a bit too hard-edged and bony for his taste; she and Kristen really needed to spread out about ten or fifteen pounds between them....

He spoke with authority.

“My penis is still right there in front of you, Fran.”

She shook her head in his hands.

“You can feel it sliding into your mouth even now.”

“Unn...” Her mouth didn’t close.

“You can feel it.”

“Uhh!” Her lips went wider, and the sound was now one of joy. She began to bob her head, back and forth on nothing, nothing at all, a sharp steady motion. He smiled, partly with relief, partly with something else...

“Yess. That’s right. You’re doing well. Very well. I am pleased. Feel my orgasm building. Building rapidly... Coming... Coming... now.”

“UHH!” She twitched for a very long time, finally calming down and letting her breaths even out. Her breasts jiggled. He spoke more to himself than to her.

“So you’ll do that. But why... why damn it? And how far will you go?” He released her, stepped back. “Open your eyes, Fran, and get up.”

She obeyed, looking at him with... not slave eyes... maybe something even more frightening and dangerous... He hesitated then took the plunge. He had to know

“Fran, will you do something for me?”

“I...don’t... know.” She didn’t blink as she looked up at him.

“I want you to take off all your clothes, and go stand out in the lobby.”

She hesitated, and the world held its breath.

She shook her head.

“No. Please no. I want to stay here.” Something seemed to have clicked behind her eyes while they were closed, a final screw being tightened into place, and there was no more confusion. No more compassion. “Stay here with you forever and ever.” She came towards him again, her nipples erect, her bolt-tightened eyes bright and horrible. She smiled and it was even worse. “I know what I have to do.”

Tom realized he was backed up against the file cabinets, and then she was on top of him.

Erika finished her last sip of her espresso (as good as always; whatever his other numerous faults, Raul could sure make a fine cup of beans...)

She then stared down with sudden realization into the abyss which was the bottom of the empty cup.

-Oh god. That’s right. I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant I’m pregnant i’mpregant. Should I even be drinking coffee anymore? It can’t be that bad for the baby, can it?—

-I have to go to see Dr. Richleu right away. Fuck.— Erika was almost able to smile. -What is she going say about all of this, after all we’ve been through together...—

She turned yet again to Suzanna, who was gazing happily and intently out at the crowd, her eyes bouncing from table to table in an odd but purposeful pattern...

“Suzanna?”

Suzanna looked over at her, the same calm unhurried unsurprised movement of her head as always. Erika wondered if she’d even blink if Erika were to scream BOO! at her.

“Yes, Erika?”

“When we get back to the house, remind me to call Dr. Richleu.”

“Yes, Erika. Remind you to call Dr. Richleu.”

“Thanks. That’s all. Um. Carry on.”

“Thank you, Erika.”

Erika turned back to the computer, and she realized that she had been sitting there, doing nothing but twisting her own brain into knots for several long minutes now. At some point during this morning Mr. Woodhue’s paranoia had stealthily spread its way into her system, like some disease. The search engine page she had called up sat waiting patiently, with her LEUCHTTURM typed into the small white box and the mouse-pointer resting on the gray SEARCH button. The piece of paper on which she had scribbled the word before leaving Nina’s house lay to one side. It had started life as one of Nina’s elegant telephone note-sheets, but it was already crumpled and battered.

She felt her expression tighten.

She put down the cup on the counter, a little too hard, directly on the paper, covering it.

She grabbed the gaudy red and gold mouse in a convulsive gesture and she clicked the proper button on the screen.