Controller 12

byFru©

Jenny let her cry a minute longer, holding her close, and then she had to say it.

"What was me?"

Sheila hiccupped, stopped dead by that innocent question.

"Y-you mean it wasn't you?"

"What?"

"Oh, oh no, then he's...still...after... me..." Shelia backed out of Jenny's embrace, standing naked and vulnerable. Her hands trembled. Her eyes glazed.

Confused, Jenny reached out to touch a quivering thigh. "Sheel, you OK? What's going on?"

Sheila shook her head a little, enough to send her wild hair flying. The security camera picked up every inch of her glowing breasts, nipples raised with fear.

Jenny's hand wandered upward toward Sheila's slim hips, as if its owner had decided to ignore the emotional outburst. She looked wonderingly at Sheila's thigh.

"Sheel, did you always have--"

"No!" Sheila leaped backwards, crashing into the counter. It left a mark.

Panicked and half sobbing, Sheila struggled to pull on her clothes. "Don't you get it? The tingles, they...oh god! Here they come! Then comes the heat, oh please, the heat!" She turned on her erstwhile passion. "If it's not you, I don't know who it is, who is it, oh, where's the heat!?" She groaned her way to a puddle on the ground.

"M-maybe you should go home for the day?"

Jenny helped the twitching girl to her feet and guided her down the stairs and out to the parking lot. She held her in a warm embrace for just one last time, sighed, and went back inside.

A red convertible pulled up to a screeching halt inches away from disheveled Sheila. The driver grinned and lifted her sunglasses to get a better look. She laid her arms on the door and tilted her head.

"I bet you're feeling pretty uncomfortable right now, Sheila."

Sheila nodded.

The driver smirked. "Get in."

Even in her tingle mad state, Sheila still smelled a predator. "Uh, I don't think...woah!"

She leaped out of the car, cascades of blonde tresses flying behind her, and slapped a hand on Sheila's thigh.

"Come now. Don't keep me waiting."

Achingly tingling, Sheila moved around to the passenger's side and got in. The driver leaped back over the door and into her own seat. She tapped Sheila's thigh and gave her a wicked look. The tingles multiplied.

"Let's get those off of you," she said, and produced a pair of scissors.

Sheila tried to draw back, but she was paralyzed. "Please!" she cried, but the scissors bit into her pants, cutting through both the outer layer and the bottom part of her pocket. The driver motioned her up and, to Sheila's astonishment and embarrassment, she stood.

A minute later, most of her slacks were crumpled around her feet and she was wearing a very short skirt. Every time the girl touched her bare flesh, she felt a little bit of the heat. She whimpered.

Where did Jenny go? Why can't I move? Why can't I call for help? Why does this feel so GOOD? She let out a sob.

"Shut up and sit down," commanded the driver. She looked Sheila over, appraising her.

"I bet you're wondering how...and why. Right?"

Her passenger nodded tearfully, tormented by fear and need.

"I'll be kind," she said with a wolfish grin. "I'll answer one. Choose!"

"Why!" sprang from Sheila's lips and lungs.

The driver leaned in; the leather seats creaked. "Because you're too pretty to go to the boys," she spat, "and because you'll go nicely with the others."

She leaned over the quaking Sheila. Quick as lightening, she pressed her palm to Sheila's thigh and breathed into her hear. Her words were hot and heavy.

"You're marked, you're mine."

Sheila started to burn underneath the hand.

"I am marked, I am yours." She started to writhe.

"Mistress." The driver dug her nails in.

"Mistress! I am yours."

"With feeling!" The flame faded.

"Mistress, I am yours!" Sheila cried. Her wail turned into a moan as the long-awaited heat came and swept her away. A little number 12 glowed on her thigh where her pocket used to be.

Sheila's Mistress put the car into gear. She paused.

"You know, Jenny is quite cute with her clothes off...It won't be a challenge, but I can live with that." She reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small, white rectangle of paper. She tossed it out of the car and hit the gas.

* * *

"I still wonder what Emily Greenaugh was doing here earlier. It was nice of her to take Sheila home, though," Jenny said to no one. She put the "closed" sign over the door, locked it, and headed out to her bike.

"Hey, what's this piece of paper? I hate litterbugs!" she said, getting some color behind her freckles. She stooped over to pluck it from the asphalt. "Controller 13? What's that?"

She shrugged, forgot about it, and put it into her breast pocket.

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