Shadows in Mind Ch. 03byJoshuaX©
It took a surprisingly short time, after the development of interstellar travel, for Earth to become insignificant. Less than a century after the colonization of Trandor, the capital of the Earth Federation moved there from the old home world; three major governments later, and Trandor remains the capital of our current governing body, the Galactic Republic. Trandor's location closer to the galactic center made more sense for trade; instead of a journey of nearly a year to Earth from the center, Trandor was within a few months of most major colonies. The population of Earth, on the other hand, declined rapidly. Soon enough, the home world was nothing more than a backwater world, a place of decaying technologies and obsolete nations.
-Excerpt from "Trandor" from wikiGalactic, stub published in 105AF, latest edit occurring in 1201AF
Eyes closed, Tripper groaned as wakefulness settled on him like a heavy blanket. His head was still throbbing, and he was beginning to think it would never stop. His body ached, every muscle sore and tired. Yet somehow, despite his aches and pains, despite the memories clamoring for attention in his abused mind, he felt calm, peaceful. Without opening his eyes, he smiled. "Hello, Cinnamon."
"Good morning," the slave answered, and then paused for a moment. "What you did in the dining hall; that was foolish. Why would you do that?"
Tripper opened his eyes, and sat up, wincing as it felt like something in his head was rattling round as he moved. Something sharp. And heavy. "I'm no slave," he answered. He really did like the man; his situation wasn't Cinnamon's fault, and the older man had never known a life any different. He couldn't help but want to try and explain. "Listen, where I'm from, life was hard, hey. Real hard. I seen lots of people that couldn't cut it, and they wasted away, or burned out in a flash. Lot of friends gone, you know? But look, it was my life. Mine to do what I wanted. Yeah, I sold myself a bit, which don't seem that different from what you do; but I get some chick I don't like, I say no. I might get slapped around a bit when I go home short some creds, but it's my choice, see? You don't have that choice, hey."
Cinnamon nodded. "What did you do there?"
Tripper grimaced. "Lots I ain't proud of. Was a Jake, for the most part. Selling myself to people what want to go for a ride. Not the worst part, I guess, at least most of the time. Just sex. But then you get those sickos, always the ones from up top --but they the ones with the most money, hey. They want you to do other things."
"There are always the ones that want to do the other things," Cinnamon admitted, his voice low and his eyes downcast.
"Ain't that the truth." Tripper swung his legs over the side of the bed, and looked around. They were in a small square room, about three meters per side. The walls were unadorned metal, shining under a lit ceiling about four meters above them. A small sink and toilet sat in one corner of the room, and he sat on a small single bed --with a single cover -- that took up most of the floor. The rest of the room was empty. "Nice place," he commented.
Cinnamon grinned slightly. "This is your cell. No lock, but no other slaves will ever enter without orders. It is your private space."
"But the women, they can enter any time they please, yeah?"
"Yes. Of course."
Tripper shook his head. "That's... nuts. You know, I really gotta figure out a way 'round this swearing bit, or my head will explode. " He glanced at the wall with a frown, and for the first time noticed his reflection; obviously, he had known his beard was gone, and his hair had been trimmed, but it was the first he had seen it. Other than a bit of stubble, the lower half of his face was hairless; his head had been trimmed down to a simple buzz cut, his blonde hair spikey and maybe an inch in length.
"There is a communal shower down the hall," the dark skinned man mentioned, changing the subject. "You will be expected to shave and shower every morning. There are also makeup tables in the shower room, and the next room down the hall has the wardrobe, but you will not be permitted either just yet."
Tripper glanced at him, and with a stern expression said, "And if I don't?"
Cinnamon moaned quietly. "Oh, please, my friend. You have to."
"Tripper," he answered softly. "My name is Tripper."
Cinnamon shook his head. "Not anymore, I'm sorry. I can't call you that. You don't have a name until Mistress gives you one."
"Well, Cinn," Tripper answered, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "I ain't going nowhere."
"Please," Cinnamon hissed. "You have to meet with Madame Lucinda for breakfast. Please, you have to shower."
Cinnamon sighed. "I don't understand why you have to be so difficult. It's not so bad here, really. You will come to love it. The Mistress will take care of you, make sure you have everything you need." He glanced away, his eyes down. "I'm sorry. Sewer Rat, you will go to the shower room, take a shower and have a shave. When you are dried off, I will escort you to Madame Lucinda's chambers."
"Crap," Tripper muttered. Entirely against his will, he had stood and was moving towards the door. As he passed the other slave, he again heard a whispered apology. "Crap crap crap," he muttered like a mantra as he briskly strolled down the hallway, relishing the fact that his brain washing did not register the word as a curse. "Crap!" he shouted, and laughed as he heard Cinnamon scampering along behind him, hissing orders that he be quiet. "Crap!" he called again, even louder. "Crap crap crap!"
"Quiet, Sewer Rat!" Cinnamon snapped at last, as they turned into the showers. Trippers jaw snapped shut with an audible click, and he glared at the other man silently.
Quietly, Tripper moved through a small room. One entire wall was a floor to ceiling mirror, and in front of that a number of small makeup tables stood unoccupied, a multitude of drawers attesting to a plentiful supply of makeup and hair products. He moved past the tables, and into the next room. Here, the walls and floor where tiled in pale colored stone, and a dozen or so communal shower stalls stood waiting. Without pause, he moved to the closest, and turned on the water.
"You may speak, quietly," Cinnamon said behind him. As Tripper stepped into the stream of warm water, the other man handed him razor. "When you earn it, you will have your own kit. For now, you will not be able to keep this. For your safety. Soap, shampoo and lather are in the dispenser on the wall."
Despite the release offered by Cinnamon, Tripper showered in silence. He lathered himself up, and had to admit he liked the changes to his body. He wondered if he should raise his prices, once he got back to the Sewer. He shaved and washed in sullen silence, and finally rinsed and shut off the water. Cinnamon handed him a towel, and he dried of wordlessly. He marched to the hallway and stopped, awaiting further instruction.
"I hate using that command," Cinnamon admitted as he started forward down the hall. Tripper followed. "I wish you would not make me. It would be easier for both of us. I feel your resentment when I do, and I promise you that I do not wish to hurt you. Your suffering... Pains me."
"Who is Lucinda?" Tripper growled, ignoring the man's attempt at relieving his own guilt, while he was still under the compulsion of his command.
"Madam Lucinda," Tripper corrected. "You will refer to all women, other than Mistress of course, as such. Madam Lucinda was the woman that stood for you at the dinner table, though I'm not sure you would have seen her, from your spot on the floor. She is the first woman to accept you into the household." He paused and glanced at Tripper. "She has a bit of a cruel streak, and will help train you. It will not be easy. She requires you for breakfast service."
"She wants me to cook for her?"
"Not exactly. Please, we are here." They stopped in front of a wooden door, and Cinnamon reached out and knocked timidly, before pushing the door open and stepping in. Tripper followed, still feeling compelled.
Tripper grinned at the woman he found waiting just inside, and he felt Cinnamon's commands fall away, completed. He barely noticed as the other man slipped away, closing the door quietly as he went. The woman grinned back at him, her eyes flashing. He thought he recognized her from his introduction earlier, but could not say for sure.
She was a tall woman, taller than he was. She was wearing a shiny black corset that pushed her already impressive breasts upwards, creating deep cleavage between her pale skinned breasts. Heavy buckles and severe leather straps held the garment shut. Bellow the corset just a thin ribbon of the flesh of her belly was visible, and then a tiny black skirt; Tripper was sure that if she bent over, nothing would be hidden. She was wearing dark stockings that contrasted against her white skin, and high heeled leather boots. Blond hair, nearly white, poured down her back, reaching the curve of her back. She smiled at him with full lips, painted dark red and shining wetly. Emerald green eyes looked down on him from underneath long lashes.
"Hello, boy," she greeted him. "I am Madame Lucinda. Like Mistress Victoria, I enjoy a challenge; I am quite looking forward to your training. Now, before we begin, let us get a few things out of the way."
Trippers eyes widened in surprise as his jaw suddenly locked shut, as if someone had placed his head in a powerful vice. He felt his arms and legs pulled apart, and he murmured a protest as he felt himself lifting from the ground. He was floating about a foot in the air, his arms and legs stretched out as far as he could hold them without pain, spread eagle. He struggled, but he might as well have been pushing against a steel wall; there was no give at all to his bondage.
Lucinda walked slowly around him, her eyes drinking in the sight of him. As she went, she trailed a finger along his flesh; across his now firm chest, circling briefly around one nipple. Along his side, to the small of his back, and down between his cheeks. Back up, and around the other side, tracing the joint where thigh met hip, and then down towards his testicles. He shuddered, and felt himself harden at her sensuous touch.
"I am a telekinetic," she explained. Her fingers were caressing his penis, and he tried to will it back down; his member did not listen, and slowly stood up and away from him. "A powerful one. Do not entertain any notions of escape or of overpowering me. With a thought, I can restrain you. With a bit more effort, I could crush you." Her hand was stroking him, slowly. He growled, inwardly cursing that his body was betraying him.
"But I have no intention of leaving you like this. This teaches you nothing, and you must learn to obey." Her smile deepened, and her stroking increased. Tripper grunted behind his gag, and tried to move his hips. "So I will let you go in a moment; I just wanted you to understand that there is no hope for you. The sooner that you accept that, the sooner you give yourself to me, the easier it will be for you."
"Now, I could just command you to obey, and you know full well you would have to do whatever I ask; you have felt the touch of your compulsion, and you know there is no escape from it. But that would not be obeying, would it? In your mind, you would be rebelling, protesting. Cursing perhaps." She had the head of his cock in her palm, and she was rubbing gently, quickly, using his own precum as lubrication. His balls felt tight, and he moaned at her touch. Her second hand went to his testicles, and caressed his sack slowly, her fingernails gently racking down the loose skin.
"I am going to give you one compulsion, and only one; it will allow you a certain freedom with me, so that I know the moment you become mine." She smiled, and took her hands away from him. He tried to thrust forward, groaning his frustration; he had been very close to cuming, and the sudden lack of sensation was torture. "Sewer Rat," she whispered into his ear, her breath warm, and he felt his skin shudder and break out in goose bumps. "You will not break any promise you make to me of your own free will." She stepped back with a smile.
Tripper frowned. He didn't understand what the point was. There was no way he would promise that bitch anything, so there would be no chance for his brainwashing to enforce anything. His thoughts scattered as he suddenly dropped to the ground, his bonds released, and he struggled to keep his balance.
"You will do as I say, swiftly," Lucinda added, "or you will be punished. But you will not be compelled." She grinned at him, and Tripper's frown deepened. He was beginning to have a bad feeling.
Lucinda turned away, and moved deeper into the residence; they were in a large sitting room, the walls painted with flowers and vines; each corner held a small table with a massive vase of flowers. Lucinda moved to a white sofa in the center of a room, and took a seat; a moment later, and a large view screen on the wall flashed to life. "Come here, bitch-boy," Lucinda ordered.
"How about no?" Tripper snapped. He worked his jaw, glad he could move it freely again. "Ow!" he cried out, as he felt something strike his backside. He spun, searching, but there was nothing behind him. He grunted again as something struck him again, harder, across both cheeks. "What the-" he cut off as something hit him across the shoulder blades.
"Come here, bitch-boy," Lucinda repeated calmly. The frequency of the hits increased, as did their strength. Tripper felt like he was being struck by a dozen whips, each one hitting hard enough to leave a mark. He glanced down; pink marks where appearing everywhere. An invisible blow smacked him in the balls, and he fell to his knees, his vision obscured by tears.
"All right!" he gasped, "I'm coming!"
The blows continued, and he dropped forward on all fours. "Better hurry," Lucinda commented. Under the raining blows, he moved towards her as fast as he could, crawling along the carpeted floor. As he approached, Lucinda pointed at the floor directly in front of her. He reached the indicated spot, and abruptly the attack stopped; he flopped down onto his tummy on the floor, gasping and panting.
"On your hands and knees," Lucinda murmured. Her eyes were glued to something on the screen. Aching and exhausted, Tripper rose up as instructed.
"You see?" Lucinda said, without looking down at him. She lifted her legs, and rested her feet in the small of his back, as if he were an ottoman. "Already you are learning to do as you are told. As you can see, it takes little effort for me to whip you, using my telekinesis. Now shush; I like to watch the Republic news before I start the day."
As the news started on the screen, another man walked into the room from deeper in the suite. "Your coffee, madam," he whispered, his eyes downcast. Like Cinnamon, the man wore a thong, though his was white, and Tripper could quite clearly see the man's member through the material. White leather straps, dozens of them, encircled his body like stripes. His skin was Caucasian but well-tanned, and he was hairless from head to toe. White makeup colored his lips and eyes, and heavy gold earrings hung from both ears. His collar was more of a torc, covering his throat with rings of gold, and more gold encircled his wrists and ankles.
Lucinda took the steaming cup, and patted the man gently on his crotch. "Star, this is the new house slave, bitch-boy. Please say hello."
"Hello, bitch-boy," the new man answered, his voice dripping with malice. His gaze met Trippers, and his eyes darkened.
"Now, Star, that is no way to speak to our newcomer. Your tone is unappreciated. Apologize at once." She sipped her coffee, a faint smile playing on her lips.
Tripper knew envy when he saw it, and wondered. The man was another slave, yet he seemed somehow jealous at the attention he was receiving. Well, he would gladly give it up, if that were an option.
"Sorry, bitch-boy," Star muttered, but his eyes, still locked on Trippers, simmered with hate.
With a wave of her hand, Lucinda dismissed the other slave, and Star slumped away. "He's a jealous one," she commented over her beverage. "my little Star. I will punish him later for that rude display, but I do enjoy how he fawns for me. If you are a good little bitch, maybe I will let you fuck me in front of him, just to remind him of his place. Mmmm," she purred. "I believe I like that idea. And it will make him hate you soooo much."
Tripper swallowed, but remained silent; this place is nuts.
With a sigh, she lifted her feet, and set them down next to him. "Massage my feet, bitch-boy. And make it a good one."
Tripper sat back on his knees, and took one of her feet in his hands; he really had had enough pain for a lifetime, and it didn't seem like such a big thing. He had done far worse in his life. And she did have nice legs. As he started to rub, one hand on the arch of her foot and the other caressing her calve, she moved her other foot to his crotch; her toes started kneading at his flaccid cock, and he slowly started to harden again.
As he worked, she purred her pleasure from the sofa. "From now on," she announced, her foot stroking away at his now hard member, "You will answer me anytime I address you, and you will refer to me as Madam." She paused a moment; when he remained quiet, she pushed her foot down onto his testicles, hard, squashing them against the floor.
"Yes, Madam," he grunted. She released him.
"Now the other foot, bitch-boy," Lucinda commanded. He took her other foot, and her free one moved to continue teasing his cock. He glanced down, and noticed a drop of precum forming on his tip. He massaged her foot as he had the first; working the toes, the arch. Moving up to her ankle, her calf, and behind her knee. Above him, she sighed as his fingers worked; below, her foot rubbed up and down his cock, pushing it back and up against his stomach.
Eventually, her program ended, and the screen flashed off seemingly by itself; Tripper figured if she could whip him from the opposite side of the room, without lifting a finger, turning off the display with a bit of tk would be a simple task. She pulled her foot from his hands, and sat back deeper into the couch, opening her legs as she reclined, pushing the skirt up around her waist. She wasn't wearing panties, and her mound was shaved as smooth as his. Tripper glared at her pussy, knowing what she intended. He had done it plenty of times before, but he resented that he had no choice.
Her eyes met his, and her lips tugged up in a smile. "Well? You know what to do, bitch boy." To reinforce her comment, he felt an invisible strike against his balls. He sighed, knowing he had no choice.
He scooted forward a bit, and leaned towards her waiting pussy. He could not deny that it was an inviting sight, as much as he hated admitting it. Her attentions on his cock had left him hungry for more, and the sight and smell of her did nothing to lessen the swelling of his member.
He traced the outline of her slit with the tip of his tongue; Lucinda sighed at the first touch, and sank a bit deeper into the sofa, her bottom pushing forward towards him, as if seeking more contact. She lifted her legs, and draped them casually over his shoulders, her ankles crossed behind his back. His tongue ran up and down, slipping just a little between her swollen lips, tasting her.
At the twinkling sound of a bell, Tripper paused and glanced up; Lucinda grinned at him, showing him a small silver bell. "I did not tell you to stop, bitch." She said calmly, and then let her eyes drift shut. A moment later, and Tripper heard approaching footsteps. "Watch from the end the sofa," Lucinda ordered, though something in her tone made it clear she wasn't taking to him. "Do not say anything, do not touch anything. This is your punishment for your rudeness; you will watch this new bitch do what you would like to do, little Star."