A Mind to Forget

I can feel it. It's like its right here, in my head. It's close. It's calling me, calling me back, pulling me to where I belong.

*

Zarah made a conscious effort to ignore the thought, shoving it back down in her head, as deeply as it could go. She tried not to think about how that same set of words could apply to other things she wanted. She tried not to think at all. Perhaps that was the best way to ignore the unwanted thoughts - not thinking anything at all.

Despite the ravaged landscape and shredded civilisation covering the vast majority of the world, a landscape bearing the scars and side effects of war in its fullest and most evil force, some fairly normal civilisations still remained. Those in natural safe areas, such as in valleys or behind hills. Those small enough to not be targets, or to be missing completely from maps. And, those with the strongholds and sheer manpower to rebuild after the devastation.

Town Moch, or Moch-City, often simply referred to as Mocha by its inhabitants, was one such place. It fell in to the latter of the three formats - a sprawling, bloated metropolis of several hundred million human beings living alongside the evolutionary peak of the planet's organic life in chaotic harmony. A world of glistening silver, full of technology and cutting edge mechanics, with streets that glowed warm shades of yellow and white at all hours and buildings lit from both inside and out like multi-coloured Christmas trees, hanging vines like electric creepers and speeding cars rushing about with places to be and people to connect. Mocha had been an industrial powerhouse, a lavish world of even modestly luxurious living, and a world of thriving intellect. Although like any human city it was plagued by the poverty line, corrupt politics and crime, Mocha's standards were high and its bar even higher. Poverty meant a small single-story house, plain organic meals and no personal delivery services. Subscriptions to the more feature rich entertainment systems were a want, not a need. Classes went to Level 18, where the more expensive, and now optional, advanced learning on offer was often traded out for work. On the other end of the spectrum, living rich meant an apartment with personal lift access, private rooftops, and secluded personal garage-sized lockers anywhere in the city, and home-pay employment in sought-after roles in media and the ever revered Advancement. Although poorness was present, the word "homeless" meant little here.

But that had all been before the war. A war not started by the city, but a war felt by it nonetheless. Mocha was torn to shreds by explosions, devastated by armies, ensnared in chaos by fighting. The chaos of invasions sewed doom and destruction down every street. Lavish apartments with their electric attendants and private access turned to the scenes of horrific slaughter and vicious rape. Many died. Homes were razed, businesses drained and destroyed. Lives were ruined. The city lost its spark in a tornado of death and destruction that few saw coming, and fewer still would live through.

But live they did. Bunkers miles below ground were used. The strong fought and small pockets of rebellion were formed. When the oppressive wave of evil washed over them, people banded together and took the war to the enemy on their own streets. Eventually, after much suffering, the waves passed, and the waters receded, to reveal the destruction they had sought.

That had been long ago now, and since it had happened, the people of Moch-City had rebuilt and re-banded. New families began in the emptiness of old homes, new business began in the shells of old, new lives started where old ones had ended. It was, slowly but surely, becoming a home again.

Zarah was young. She couldn't remember the war, it was from a time before her birth. But she could see its wake, experience its pain. In one way or another, she was a part of the disaster that it was. Some said it was fought between countries in turmoil, neighbours without room left in their hearts for compassion. Many others told her that it was a war between man, and a version of it that had - somehow, no one seemed clear on it - had lost its humanity. Whatever had caused it, Zarah knew she wanted nothing more than for it never to return. She wasn't sure she could handle fighting as a pawn-like soldier in someone else's army, unable to think or act, ordered to fight, ordered to kill... Ordered to die.

Being ordered feels so nice... Thoughtlessly obeying feels good.

Tall and curvaceous, Zarah was a buxom woman of the energetic age of 21. She bore a boastful but modestly hidden away bosom and wide, accentually curvaceous hips, which she also kept stowed in smart work pants, lengthy, attractive skirts, or when at home, shorts and track pants. A bouncing bob of clean brown hair flowed from her head, flowing over her womanly shoulders and reaching towards her lower extremities, playfully falling about her chest, down her back, and over her arms. She frequently brushed it away, but left it long - she liked the vain sensation of power the uniquely long length of hair gave her as a girl facing the world. Plus, as long as it was, she could always do new things with it - plat it into a lush rope she could wrap three times around her arm, or pull it into twin tails that would hang over her breasts. Or, as she usually did, pull it tightly back and let it flow until the blonding tips of it swung across her butt.

It calls me. It wants me back. I want it back. I want the pleasure it gave me... Can give me...

Zarah shook her head once more. She was on her way to work. It was early, and she carried a binder of papers clutched in her chest. She had worn a conservative black, long-sleeved shirt and pants and elegant but efficient black shoes, and her glasses sat as always on her nose, enhancing her bright, wide brown eyes. She bumped shoulders with a man, who apologised as she rushed past, but the space in Zarah's head that had been reserved for apologising to men she bumped in the street had been taken over by the effort she was putting into suppressing these abnormal but unshakable thoughts. The man took his apology in the form of a look at Zarah's swinging backside, and went on his way. Zarah was unusually flustered today, her brain all sorts of scattered, which hadn't helped her normally peaceful morning preparations for work. She had woken up late and horny, forgotten to brush her teeth, left the soap out of the shower, put sugar into her flask and used coffee as sweetener, and fully left the property before she realised she still had her slippers on. Luckily, the return to the house had helped her realise her pants were on backwards, which was why her zipper was neither up nor present at her pants front. Things hadn't gone much better once she was on her way on the short walk to work.

Bursting through the front doors, Zarah quickly went to her desk in the back of the floor, dumping her binder down and sitting quickly in the chair her ass had become quite familiar with in the past two years working here. She took a breath, exhaled through her expertly lipsticked lips, and collected herself, trying to still her beating heart. What the hell has gotten into me? She wondered, as she turned in her chair and started up her PC. Something in her mind replied to the question before she could stop it, but it wasn't words she imagined. Again, shaking away the lewd image her mind had cooked up without request, Zarah felt her face flushing. This was ridiculous! She wasn't even into that stuff! Was she?

'Zarah?'

'Huh?' Zarah looked up with a rude mumble. Kristina was looking back at her through her ultra-thick glasses, her paper-white skin almost shining from inside the ring of pitch black curled hair that flowed from her head in all downward directions. 'Oh, Hey Kristie.'

'I said how was your night?' The perfectly-skinned dark hair repeated, leaning on the desk. She lowered the clipboard in her arm, and the shadows of her bosom were revealed past it. Although she wasn't either gay or bisexual, Zarah had to make an effort to ignore it - something she only succeeded in after a good two seconds of staring.

'It was great, really great. And yours?' she stammered a little. Why great? She's going to ask you why it was so great, you idiot. Why the hell did you say great?

'Why so great? I don't suppose you spent it with company, hmm?' Kristina intoned, a coy smile seeping into her features as she caught onto the hint Zarah hadn't been implying. 'Who? Darren from upstairs? Audrey?' Kristina hunted deeper. 'No! Not Tyler. Miss Tyler? He's more of a woman than I am!' Kristina giggled. Her chest bounced when she giggled, and Zarah only noticed that she had noticed that after the vibrations in it had ceased.

'I... Uh...' Zarah was struggling. Her mind had too much going on in it right now, and Zarah just wanted Kristina to leave so she could have a moment to herself. Or, for everyone else to leave...

'Oh alright, keep your secrets then. But if I find out it was one of those boys upstairs, Missy you and I are going to have words. You don't sleep with the Booking Boys and think you can get away with it. I know they're all knights with large swords, but they're all freaks. Once you go there you spend the next year trying to leave. I'd be surprised if you didn't already have twenty messages on your phone. Anyway, later, Lover Girl!' Kristina said, already starting to move away before she had finished her sentence.

Zarah turned back to her corner desk and sighed. There was an uncomfortable heat in her that made her feel very out of place, and she found her heart rate had ticked up a few notches and was pushing her breathing up as it went. What is wrong with me? Zarah asked herself. She popped a button on her shirt and allowed her legs to relax a little, releasing some of the heat. She sighed slightly as she settled back into her chair, catching her breath and slowing her pounding heart. Perhaps the walk in had made her hotter than usual, she mused. She had rushed, not wanting to be late. That could do it. Yes, that must have been it.

Turning to her work, Zarah began her day's duties, pleased to have an excuse to explain her unusually pent up body, and something to forget it in.

- - - - -

'Coming?'

'Huh?'

It was a re-run of earlier. Only, now Zarah had been working, and Kristina had ruined her flow.

'Lunch. It's twelve-thirty. Coming?'

'Oh, uh, I'll see you up there. I need to finish this.'

'Fine, text your clingy psycho boy toy and then come up stairs. I wanna know more about him!' Kristina's hips swayed hypnotically as she left Zarah's desk. Zarah shook herself from staring, and made to tidy up her area for lunch. As she did so, she realised with surprise that her shirt was four buttons un-done, and she had unknowingly fiddled at her pants so much that she had somehow managed to undo her own belt. It hung open, her fly down. An odour she knew well floated up from her body and she quickly re-did her zip, belt and buttons in disgust at herself. How had she gotten so complacent as to practically get her tit right out? Her bra was fully visible from her PC screen, and she was thankful for her position facing into two back walls at a corner desk. Her pants too had been creased, and if undoing her shirt had been a surprise, then she was mortified at herself for nearly stripping in her seat.

She was lucky that Lucy and Rose were sick, the two girls who had the desks to her left and right. They were the only other two likely to notice her appearance. There was a walkway that split the space between her desk and Rose's, and Lucy's faced away from her so that she could look out over the open floor space. Sliding her paperwork into their folders and putting her screen to sleep, Zarah stood up and made to leave her desk. In an afterthought, she bent over and pulled her deodorant out of a drawer, spraying herself, the air, and her chair cushion, just to be safe.

She replaced the aerosol, brushed herself down, exhaled, and left her desk.

The USB she had plugged in at some point during the morning stayed connected to her PC, ignored.

It needs you, Zarah. You know you need it too. You can feel it calling you home. You can't resist. Stop trying.

- - - - -

'I swear, just piss and let me leave. It never takes this long!' Zarah said in an angry hush to herself. She was sat on the toilet, trying to relieve herself so she could get her lunch. She'd realised she needed to go when she'd started walking, and it was an urge she couldn't resist. Now, though, she sat on the bowl and nothing would come. Un-be-fucking-leavable.

You're incomplete without it Zarah. You're not you. You must come. You must let yourself be filled once more. You need it. You want it. Let it take over once more. It feels so good to let it take control.

'Come on!' She hissed. 'Just fucking-'

A cubicle flushed a few doors down, and Zarah blanched.

'It's okay,' another voice sounded out. 'Happens to the best of us, darl.' The woman turned the tap on high, and in her frozen shock, Zarah went. She didn't move a muscle until the door banged closed behind the other unknown woman. The second she did, she sucked in air, feeling like she was going to hyperventilate.

There is no fear here, Zarah. No pain. No embarrassment or self-consciousness. Only safety. Only pleasure. Only obedience. Obey.

Zarah tore her pants up, half looped her belt, and then re-thought herself and stuffed a few sheets of paper down her front to absorb any extra her lady parts might decide to release without her knowing. As she pushed the squares in against the dull wetness on her panties, however, Zarah's fingers brushed her slit, and a cold, tingling rush shook her, bodily. She had had no idea she had become so sensitive there. Even that tiniest of touches sent waves of arousal bursting into her body, changing her stance, altering her breathing, dulling her mind. God, she thought to herself. I could really use a fuck right now...

Settling back down onto her seat, releasing her pants once more to drop down around her legs, Zarah let her back arch into the upturned lid and her legs part, feeling like it was the most natural thing she had done since getting up that morning. Gingerly, her fingers slid over her lips, feeling the pulsing, electrifying jolts of bliss that burst out from every fold and crease in her love cave's entrance. Almost with a mind of its own, her hand began to swirl about on her pussy, spinning around and around, making her melt, propelling her into a blissful pool of warmth and pleasure. The sound, the sight, the sensation of the cubicle melted away, leaving Zarah sitting by herself in eternal emptiness, alone with the blissful arousal her fingers were coaxing from her own pussy, that feeling alone more than enough to satisfy her forever.

Yes, Zarah. Let go. Let yourself sink into bliss. Let it take over.

Zarah's fingers sped up, spinning, twisting, turning, around and around, circling her into ecstasy, twisting her body with pleasure, bending her mind to bliss. She felt like the whole world was spinning, felt like her entire mind was caught in a whirlpool. She could feel it, feel the waves of the water on her skin, feel the soothing warmth of the spiralling wetness sucking her down. She let it take her, let herself fall into the depths, where the water got darker, but closed in on her more and more, keeping her safe, keeping her warm, touching her more and more in more and more places. It overflowed on her, layer after layer, swallowing her in blackness, sucking into her, seeping into her skin, the speeding wetness rushing across her tender nipples, under her bosom, through her arms and legs, inside her body, inside her pussy. She felt it fill her up, felt it take her over, felt it wash away her insides, making her nothing more than a woman shaped husk full of the dark swirling whirlpool of water, water that encased her like the wetness in her snatch encased her helpless fingers, fingers that sawed in and out of her body, fingers that coaxed orgasm from deep inside her, from the blackness of the water that filled her heart, her mind.

Let go, Zarah. Give into the pleasure. Empty yourself. Let it reward you...

The water faded, darker and darker. It turned black, but still she felt it. She felt it on her skin, felt it in her body, in her mind, soothing her very pores, encompassing her brain. Blackness got blacker, but still she felt it deep in her, filling every crevice, inside every corner, in the deepest places of her being. Slowly, light returned, but it was light with purpose, light with the spirals, light that had the soothing wetness in it. It looked vaguely like the outside world, the cubicle, her cubicle, but different now. Better. A world with purpose, a cubicle with meaning, a light with spiralling warmth. She was pleased to see that her blissful world of safety and spirals and wetness and pussy was here with her still. As long as the warmth and bliss stayed, she was content to relax back into it, no matter how the spirals chose to soothe her. They continued to massage her into submission as she stood, pulling her pants up around her waist, clinching her belt. The warmth continued to relax her muscles and fill her up as she clipped her bra over her chest, and buttoned her top. The sensations of the spirals continued to rush through her skin, inside her body, through her mind and her pussy as she unlocked and left the cubicle, still teasing bliss from her unearthly tender love cave, caressing pulses of pleasure from her throbbing clit that pulsed in perfect rhythm with the spirals that encompassed everything around her.

Come to us, Zarah...

Time passed. Not for Zarah. Nothing passed for her, save for the arousal which kept her on the edge and subdued in her safe, warm place of bliss. She ignored the world, didn't bother to take note of it. She wasn't in it, she was in the depths of her safe, empty world. Outside, Zarah turned a corner, walking down a thin, dirty alley. Piss and litter seemed to share smells and textures here, and save for the bins and the locked back doors, nothing else resided here. There was a dead end, with a tiny square of light blazing down in the centre of the pathway, shining from a coincidental light path high above in the damaged buildings still standing as they were when the war hit them. Zarah stood on the patch. Her hand knocked on the door to her left. Although it led into a broken building and had no handles, it opened. Zarah was guided inside.

Come to us, slave...

There were stairs. Some light. A corridor. Still Zarah dreamed in blissful emptiness. She could feel the tender tickle of the watery tendrils deep in her pussy, deeper than any finger, penis or dildo could possibly reach, so deep it reached right up her cervix, through her womb, and into her very brain where it warmed her soul. More steps passed her by. A door moved around her. Then another door. This one closed itself behind her. Even her heart seemed to beat in time with the pulsing arousal that teased her with an orgasm that barely held back from exploding through her system. The floor rose up around her, and she took her knees to keep her body centred in her little private world. It was all so natural, so disconnected from Zarah. None of what the world outside did mattered, when she had her own world right here, one she could stay in forever.

With a blinding, blasting brightness, Zarah's world was filled with light, but the spirals remained. Only now they were stronger, more real, like they weren't just embedded in the world she saw, but part of it. Zarah's pussy pulsed. The orgasm that had been right around the bend at the back of her vagina surged, ready to burst forward. It yearned to be released. Zarah yearned to release it. The spirals sucked her deeper, and she could almost feel it, almost like she was right up in there with her own orgasm, wanting to burst out with it, wanting to become the pleasure it could be so that she could really, truly, release herself. If only she could let go so she could cum.