Dreams of Darkness Pt. 01

Angie's eyes were focused on Emily's window and her gaze never wavered as she gently answered. "Don't you remember? I asked you, and you agreed to help me, you seemed eager then."

My head spun, it was almost as if I had two sets of memories covering our discussion...

Yes, that's it, everything was clear now. I remembered, I had just put the finishing touches to the system and had been about to go to bed when she had pleaded with me to help and naturally I had agreed. I had, hadn't I? I remember agreeing...

-- "For Christ's sake, Angie, it's kidnapping! You can't be serious, it's so wrong." --

I was still doubtful. "Come on; let's go home before someone catches us." I pleaded.

She turned away from the window and looked at me. It was too dark, but I could almost feel her gaze fall on me.

"Why the change of heart, Siobhan?" He voice was calm and gentle. "You were so eager to help Emily when we left home. Don't you remember?"

My head was still spinning. "Help, Emily?" I echoed. Yes, that's it, I remembered, I had been about to go to bed when she asked me for help and I had readily agreed.

-- "No way! I'm not going to help you with this, it's so wrong, it's immoral!" --

Ghostly thoughts seemed to bubble up in my brain... God! Thoughts seemed to flow like treacle. I could remember two distinct versions of things and it was giving me a headache. I could feel my stress levels rising.

Angie saw me press my hand against my forehead. "Don't worry, Shiv, it'll soon be over. Come on, breath slowly, deep breaths..."

I could remember a rising panic attack, just like now. I was light headed and could feel myself beginning to shake. My breathing was becoming/had become rapid and shallow.

"Miri simver vadoo!"

I must have been tired and had dozed off because it was suddenly nearly four o'clock and everything seemed to have a dream-like quality. The nap must have done me good because everything really was okay. I glanced out through the windscreen, Emily's window was dark.

"She went to bed about twenty minutes ago." Angie announced quietly. "She'll be asleep by now."

"Mmm?" My head felt as if it was filled with cotton wool and thoughts came slowly as I asked. "How do you know?"

Angie's teeth flashed white in the dim light from the street lamps. She held up something that looked like her mobile phone. Her tone was almost like the one used to reassure a nervous child. "Because I told her she needed to."

"I -- I don't get it." I admitted and I truly didn't.

"There's no need to worry, Shiv, just do what I say and everything will be fine. We're here to help, Emily remember? She's homophobic and wants us to cure her."

Suddenly I wasn't worried, I was with Angie, we were here to help, everything was fine and I felt myself relax.

A minute or so later, I followed Angie out of the van and in through the front gate of the old vicarage. The garden was overgrown with trees and shrubs making it secluded and hiding it from outside. The gate had squeaked but that was fine, nobody would hear it.

We got to the front door with its row of bell-pushes, each accompanied by a little white card but it was too dark to read the names; too dark to see which one was Emily's. That was fine, it didn't matter: Angie was in charge. Angie knew what to do.

A memory bubbled up from some depth or other; I remembered that I had been shouting:

-- "Jesus Christ and all his Saint's; what's got into you, Angie?" --

I must have hesitated for she turned and reassured me in that same gentle voice. "Everything's okay, Shiv, we're here to help, remember?"

And everything was indeed alright as the bubbles of my doubt burst as soon as they rose to the surface of my mind. Angie gave me a reassuring hug before fishing something out of the backpack that she was carrying. She handed me the bag. I remembered that bag; she'd used it to take her books and her lunch to school when we were kids. Her folks had been like mine: too proud to apply for the free school meals that we were entitled too.

She poked the whatever-it-was into the door's Yale lock and gave it a twist; nothing happened. She pulled it out and fiddled with it, it was like a Swiss-Army knife with masses of blades that flicked in and out... Only they weren't blades, they were like keys. She must have tried half a dozen and muttered twice as many swear words before something went "CLICK". It was a loud click too, or seemed so because the night was quiet.

The door swung open and we stepped inside a large dimly lit and shabby hallway. Suddenly I realised just how she had got us in. "Bloody hell, Angie, were did you get the pick-lock from?"

"Amazon!" She chuckled.

We found the staircase and I followed her up to the first floor, where Emily's room was situated. And there it was, an old fashioned panelled, but grimy, oak door. It had seen better days and seemed as shabby as the rest of the house. But shabby or not, it had a label which announced 'E. Morton': our noble quest was nearly over.

Angie took a good look at the lock, which was another Yale product and worked her magic again. This time the door creaked open on the second try. "You're getting good at this." I praised her as we stepped inside the darkened bed-sit.

Angie chuckled as she pulled the door closed. "The front door had a security lock, they're always a bugger!"

I peered around the dimly lit room, the only light coming from the street lamps outside. I could make out the dim outline of what looked like cupboards, a table and chairs and, yes there was a bed over by the window, a bed with a telltale bulge under the covers.

Angie's grin was just about visible as she dipped into the bag that I was carrying and extracted something or other. There was a pause as she moved purposefully towards Emily. Suddenly I caught a whiff of something that smelled pungent and chemically. There was a muffled cry of "Umph!" and the sound of a brief struggle. Then when Angie flipped the bedside lamp on, I could see that she was holding a cloth over Emily's face.

"Chloroform!" She explained as she placed the cloth on top of the bedside cupboard next to a small vibrator which she picked up and sniffed before chuckling again. "So, she makes her own entertainment."

A small part of me was gob-smacked. We'd broken into a girl's flat and chloroformed her... This can't be right! The rest of me shrugged, Angie knows best. Well she does; doesn't she?

My friend tenderly stroked the girl's hair before looking round. She pointed to the suitcase up on top of the wardrobe. "Right, Shiv, job for you. Lift the case down and pack her stuff into it, we need to make this look like she's gone on holiday.

It was a dreary one-room flat, a typical bed-sit and I saw much more of it than I cared to while I was opening cupboards and draws to find her clothes: I slipped the vibrator in on top of them, what girl would leave her favourite toy at home?

Angie noticed that my searches were becoming more frantic and asked. "What are you looking for?"

"Toothbrush; washing things; shampoo; shower gel."

She thought for a second or two then vanished out of the door. She was back within a minute or two carrying what I'd been seeking. "No, en-suite!" My friend explained. "She had her own little cabinet in the shared bathroom."

When the case was packed, Angie left me in the flat while she carried it down to the van. Suddenly I heard voices in the hallway outside the door. A man seemed to be arguing with my friend and I began to shake -- we'd been rumbled -- we were going to gaol! But the door didn't burst open and the voices went quiet once more, everything was okay, after all. Well it was, wasn't it?

By the time Angie returned I'd got everything under control using the breathing exercises that she had taught me.

"It's okay." She smiled, reassuringly. "Looks like one of her neighbours is a light sleeper; the nosy git wanted to know who I was and what was going on. I told him that Emily's off on her holidays and that we're running her to Birmingham airport to catch an early flight."

I relaxed, though not by much. "That satisfied him?"

She nodded. "Yeh, he mumbled something about her not telling him anything and went back into his own flat. God, he stank of drink and sweat, no wonder she doesn't talk to him!"

The rest of the escapade went okay and there was no further sign of the 'caring neighbour' when we hustled Emily out and into the van. This was lucky because we had to half carry her and her feet did little more than drag on the floor, although how would we have explained how she was going to catch a flight wearing just a jacket and shortie nightdress I don't know. I shrugged, it wasn't my problem, Angie would have thought of something.

By the time that we got her home she was showing signs of recovering but by now it didn't matter as she was down in our basement where I helped my bff undress her and strap her to one of the 'relaxation' couches. Funny, I had worked down here for a fortnight and hadn't noticed that each couch had a row of stout metal slots attached to the frame on each side through which the supple padded straps could be threaded.

I was confused and sat down hard on the edge of one of the other couches: nothing made sense any more! "What's going on?" I demanded. "This can't be happening. We need to stop all of it!"

Suddenly Angie was behind me. "It's alright, Shiv, trust me." She said as she began gently massaging my neck and shoulders,

Emily suddenly came too, screamed and began to struggle against her bonds. "Where am I?" She shouted. "Let me go, you perverts!"

It felt as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over my head and the world came crashing down around me. Things were far from alright, what had I done? I shrugged my bff's hands off me. "Angie, stop it!" I snapped as I looked around, everything was in clear focus. "Oh my God, what are we doing to that poor girl?"

"Miri simver vadoo!" It wasn't an answer it was...

Realisation crashed in on me. "Angie? Have you been hypnotising me?"

From somewhere behind me I heard her sigh. "Oh, Siobhan!"

Suddenly she grabbed hold of me and her full weight folded me onto the couch. She pressed something soft over my nose and mouth and I gasped in surprise causing the sweet, sickly stench of chloroform vapour to be drawn into my lungs. I struggled. I'm bigger and stronger than Anjika but it was no good, I was taken by surprise and she used her weight to press me down against the couch.

As my struggles grew weaker I heard her voice: it seemed to come from far, far away and was heavy with regret. "Oh Siobhan, my darling, please forgive me! I know you want me as much as I do you but I didn't want it to happen this way but you forced my hand. I'm going to make it possible for you to be my girl. That's what you really want, isn't it?"

My head spun and I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness. She was right; it was what I wanted more than anything else in the world. I stopped struggling; why was I fighting the thing that I most desired? The last thing that I remember before the darkness closed in was thinking that Angie always knows best!

And this is when everything changed...

5. Converting the converted.

A mind-fuck by any other name.

The next four days had a dream-like quality. Here I was, strapped to a couch with one of my lower holes filled with a large vibrating silver sausage while the other was butt-plugged, and yes, it buzzed and vibrated too. That wasn't all for my nipples and clitty were covered by silver cups which were held in place by some sort of goo. They also vibrated from time-to-time. It was surreal, that was the only word for it. There were other things attached... Little tabs to measure my heart rate and blood pressure were stuck to my skin in various places while my head had been anointed with a silver crown: the circlet, with its mesh cap, that monitored my brainwaves and reactions to pictures and recorded my levels of stimulation.

At a more basic level, personal comfort and relief was provided by way of a catheter while nutrition and water were fed intravenously which meant that I was producing very little solid waste although I do vaguely recall getting an enema at some time. The procedure began predictably with me being given a dose of some drug or other, no doubt to relax me and make sure that I was susceptible to whatever Angie had in store fore me. If I forced my head to the left, not that I had a whole lot of movement, I could see that Emily was strapped onto the next couch. Like me, she was gagged but I could still hear her whimpering. When the show began I forgot about her.

And begin it did: first of all there was the relaxing, almost spiritual music. This went on for some time and I really began to feel good about myself and my situation. The music was accompanied by gentle patterns in pastel colours that flowed and spiralled across the screen in front of me. Eventually a proper slide show began with a series of neutral images: idyllic rural scenes, seascapes, furry animals that sort of thing. I soon I lost count, probably because there were hundreds of them. These were followed by pictures of women, some young, some older but all quite attractive and all tastefully dressed. The women were followed by men who were not so enjoyable to look at. Suddenly it dawned on me: the machine was plotting the parts of my brain that were reacting to the pictures and no doubt the strength of my reactions too.

The slide show continued with the women, and men, becoming more scantily dressed and more provocative in their poses. Provocative became sexual and sexual became pornographic. Individuals were replaced by couples holding each other, couples kissing, couples fucking. The couples could be one of each or same-sex while the actions became more explicit as time went on. Then as the music faded, the experience became more dreamlike and the mind-fuck began in earnest.

As dreams go, it was rather nightmarish or would have been had it not been for the headset and the monitor screen. The former bathed me in a sea of relaxing sounds while it supplied me with helpful suggestions as to my future life style and sexuality.

• "Girls are wonderful!" -- Hell I already know that!

• "You like kissing girls!" -- Tell me about it!

• "Boys make you feel sick!" -- Well I wouldn't quite go that far!

• "It's normal to fancy girls!" -- Yeh, well I can't argue with that one.

• "Boys are dirty!" -- Well they do smell different to girls!

• "It's normal to be a lesbian!" -- Yeah!!

-- And on and on and on and on. That wonderful sexy voice was my constant companion day and night, whispering to me, advising me, comforting me, filling my mind and becoming my universe. The words and phrases altered with time but the message was always the same.

• "Girls are really sexy!" -- Like I said: I already know that.

• "You need to make love to girls!!" -- I do! I do!

• "Boys disgust you!" -- They do! They do!

• "Boys just want to use you for sex! -- Ugh! Gross!

• "All girls should be lesbians!" -- You speak my language!

While this was happening, the vibrators in my pussy and arse whirred as did the little silver caps on my nipples and clitty. The sensations rose and fell in time to the voice and so did the timing of soothing and beautiful patterns and swirling spirals that were displayed on my screen. These were interspaced with rapidly changing images and video sequences, mostly women and girls of all ages, some sexual, some not but all beautiful. There was however, the occasional shot of a male which triggered a set of unpleasant sensations that were a lot like an electric shock, these were delivered by all of the vibrating thingies simultaneously. As time wore on, I began to dread seeing men with their rough, ugly, hairy bodies and their malign, threatening penises. Women brought pleasure while men brought discomfort; I hadn't thought of it quite like that before but I did now. Previously, I just did not fancy them but afterwards I knew that I would hate to be near them!

• "You don't want men in your life!" -- What's new?

• "You will only make love to women!" -- No change there then!

• "You are proud to be a lesbian!" -- I am proud to be a lesbian.

Lesbian conversion 101 didn't last long: no doubt the computer software that was interpreting my readings identified that I was gay already and only needed to reinforce the existing state of affairs and distance me from men.

It soon moved on to 'Phase Two':

• "Girls are gentle." -- Yes, tell me about it.

• "Girls just want to be loved." -- Who doesn't?

• "Girls are submissive." -- This one isn't!

• "You are a girl, you love to submit." -- Run that one past me again?

Submission 101 lasted longer than the first phase did and seemed to go on forever. The pictures and videos that accompanied the sounds and patterns and suggestions began to alter: the women and girls were still intimate but there were now two distinct types: submissive femmes and dykey dommes.

• "You want to be feminine." -- Do I?

• "You love being feminine." -- I do?

• "You are a girlie girl." -- Oh!

• "You are a submissive lesbian." -- Oooh!

It seemed to take forever but slowly I became convinced that I would be happier as a submissive and that I could only be happy if I submitted: but who to?

Phase three embedded that information:

• "You love Angie." -- Yes, well haven't I always?

• "You will do anything for Angie." -- Well that goes without saying.

• "Angie is your Goddess." -- Well that's taking it a bit far!

• "You belong to Angie." -- Oh, God! Yes! Yes! Yes!

• "Anjika is your Mistress!" -- YES! OH YES!! SHE IS!!

On and on and on it went as truth after truth after truth tsunami-ed into my poor brain. The pictures and videos of beautiful, submissive, sexy girls were subtly replaced by pictures and videos of my beautiful and sexy Angie. Angie: who I now lived for. Angie: who I served. Anjika: my raven-haired Indian Goddess. Anjika: who I worshipped.

Why hadn't I seen this side of my beloved before? What had been wrong with me? Thank you for helping me, Anjika. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!

Life would now be much better because I had purpose. Previously I had just been a vague set of drifting unfulfilled needs coupled to a set of stimulation-seeking holes. Anjika had shown me just how empty my life was and by taking charge she would provide me with the fulfilment that I craved and she would fill my holes for me in a much more pleasurable way than anyone had ever managed before.

As I lay strapped to that couch I knew that the old, empty Siobhan O'Rourke had ceased to exist. But more than that, she had undergone a drug-assisted psycho-electronic rebirth. I could see the light of a new endless day that was illuminated by a glowing sun. And that sun was named Anjika Gupta. Waves of realisation broke over me like a warm, tropical sea. I had a new catechism:

Anjika is my Goddess.

I will do anything for Anjika.

I love Anjika.

Anjika can fuck me whenever she wants and however she wants.

I am Anjika's submissive sex-slave.

On Tuesday I was ready to begin my new life. I knew exactly what had been done to me; I knew how my mind had been altered, how my personality had been re-written. It was a shock, but not as big a shock as the realisation that it didn't matter. I was still me, I was still Siobhan, I had all of her memories, but none of her old hang-ups. For the first time ever, things made real sense and I knew that I was a very lucky girl.