Keyholder Demoness Ch. 12

"Hope?" No sound actually left Charity's mouth, she only had the energy to move her lips now.

It had been several hours since Charity had been bound and stretched on the rack. Her body was riddled with pain and she continued to have trouble breathing. Still, there was no sign of Hope. Charity knew that it was only a matter of time before she succumbed to dislocated joints, torn muscles, torn nerves - too long and she might lose the ability to control her arms and legs. She'd be a quadriplegic for the rest of her life.

"I'm going to die here..."

<>--+-

Journal Entry 8:

Subject: Ash Adams - p-FEAR Installation

The Orb

QM: Rainbow

A black orb has been hanging from the ceiling of Isolation Theater 3 since the subject, Ash Adams, has been interred there. From her perspective below, she is unable to see the opening into the orb. She only sees its smooth, perfect, spherical surface. A knob with a universal mounting ring extends from the bottom of the orb - the only anomaly in an otherwise perfect sphere. Perhaps she thinks this is an unused mounting point for the Isolation Theater. She is about to discover that this featureless orb will soon be installed over her head and sealed. It will be her identity from this point forward.

The subject awakes from a sleep period to find she is graced by the presence of the Dea Dammasch. Familiarity has tempered the once visceral reaction the subject experienced in proximity with the Dea. All components have been prepared and the subject is fully alert for the final installation of the orb.

First a set of speakers are implanted in the subject's ear canals. An expanding foam is squeezed in behind the electronics which completely fills the space. The foam will harden over the next few days. The cured foam settles at a value of 4.2 on Moh's Hardness Scale - about the same hardness as fluorite crystal. From now on, that which the subject is allowed to hear will be controlled by her handlers.

Next the Dea spreads a thick, sticky, conductive gel over the entirety of the subject's head. Two state of the art individually controlled high pixel density, deep color video screens are pressed into place over each eye. From now on, once again, that which the subject is allowed to see will be controlled by the handlers. Her vision is activated and connected to a feed from cameras mounted in the Isolation Theater so she may continue to observe her evolution.

The inner shell, made of a flexible metal micro matrix individually manufactured for the curvature and topology of the subject's head, is installed. There are holes for wiring and air tubes and food tubes. Flat sound proof cups press around the ears. The front and back halves of the inner shell are pressed together and an electrical current of specific frequency and amplitude is applied to a collection of leads which seal and meld the parts together as one.

A tall posture collar of metal and foam is wrapped around the subject's neck. Slots on the upper back of the collar mate with fixtures on the inner shell. Neck flexibility is not a necessity going forward. Turning her head from side to side is no longer possible or even necessary.

The orb's outer surface is then fitted around the subject's head. It has been manufactured in two parts. Life support connections are secured in an internal mount under the subject's chin. Generally there is a gap of about one inch give or take between the inner and outer shell. When the two halves have been mounted on the posture collar and tightly mated together. A mechanical knob is turned which controls connecting screws to pull the two parts of the orb's outer shell together to form the perfect sphere.

After a final round of life support tests are performed, the expanding foam is systematically injected into the space between the inner and outer shell of the helmet orb. The inner shell has some degree of flexibility and so absorbs the brunt of the foam's expansion. This results in a persistent and constant pressure over the entire surface of the subject's head. The foam also leaches through a series of pinhole slots filling the inside of the ear cups. Due to the pressure of the foam inside the orb, it will harden to a crystal with a hardness of about 7.4, slightly higher than quartz.

The orb is not designed to be removed. The subject would most likely not survive any attempt to do so. Never, has it been attempted.

A panty shaped framework of metal is built around the subject's crotch. This framework houses the pumps for food and waste and the machinery for the ventilator which pushes and pulls air into the subject's lungs. Also, there is a mount for the feeding tube. Two ultra quality cameras are mounted on each side of the subject's mons as are high bandwidth microphones.

Flexible metal insulated tubes are run from the panty framework to the connection interface on the "chin" of the orb. The feed from the cameras is connected to the subject's video screens.

From now on liquid nourishment will be injected directly through a mechanical port into the subject's vagina where it will be held. A pump will transport the nourishment through the tubes up to the orb, and down the esophageal tube into the stomach at a static rate. The subject will never again feel the wax and wane of hunger. It has no purpose for the subject anymore. Additionally this system will act as a douche to keep all internal organic spaces healthy. The process of food injection and the constant buzz of the pump will also contribute to a substantial arousal baseline.

Now, the subject sees, hears, tastes, and smells through interfaces at her crotch. In effect, her center of perception, once perceived to align with her head, now has been colocated with her center of arousal. It is a testament to the fluidity of the human brain that the two systems become intricately and eternally linked. Descartes's First Principle has effectively been permanently replaced for our subject. Henceforth it shall be, "I'm aroused, therefore I am."

The Dea crouches between the subject's thighs and looks deeply into her new mechanical eyes. "Ah(click)oh lee(tock)oh," she says in the language of the Dea. She thanks the subject for her sacrifice and wishes her a long and productive period of service. Finally, raking the surface of her finger across a sensor centered between the subject's mechanical eyes and interfaced with a stimulator swathing the subject's clitoris inside the metal panty framework, the Dea sends the new acolyte, into the first of an eternal regimen of cycles of arousal and orgasmic ecstasy.

Ash Adam's permanent Focus Equipment And Restraints (p-FEAR) installation is now complete.

Dea Dammasch, aeternum amorem et obsequium meum spondeo.

<>--+-

"Charity! Charity! Holy shit! I'll get you down! Hold on, baby!"

Faith ran across the cellar to the rack. She released the brake and quickly lowered the chains. Too quickly perhaps. Charity's feet landed on the platform, but her legs were too weak to hold up her body and quickly buckled.

"Uhhh!" Charity said somewhat delirious with pain. "Hope..."

Faith supported Charity's body against the bed of the rack as she released the wrist shackles. Eventually, she was able to undo the ankle cuffs as well and she helped Charity lay down on the floor.

"Hope did this to you?" Faith asked in a surprised voice.

"Check the cage under the bed," Charity whispered in a hoarse voice.

"I already looked there when I was trying to find you," Faith said. "Hope's not in the house."

Slowly Faith helped Charity up the stairs to the bathroom and then she helped her lay in her bed.

"Did the police take her?" Charity asked.

"I don't know, baby," Faith said. "The prisoner transport shackles and her asylum hoodie and sweats are on the kitchen table. You lie and rest. I'll call Detective Tumalo and figure out what is going on."

Charity shook her head and watched her sister walk out of the room.

Her phone beeped. A text message had arrived. Charity picked her phone up. It was from Keyholder - a link to another voice message from Blue... Slowly Charity made her way to her computer and typed the link into the address bar. She pressed the play button and Blue's trembling, sad voice began to whisper out of the speakers...

An hour later Charity staggered stiffly from her bedroom to the kitchen where Faith was finishing up a call. Charity's eyes were red from crying.

"Tumalo says the police did not take Hope," Faith reported. "And I called Perit too. Hope is not at the asylum. Are you going to be ok, baby?"

"Yeah... I need some water... Physically, I'm feeling better..." Charity staggered to the sink.

"Baby? What is that green paint you have all over you?"

"Oh... uh... can we talk about that later?" Charity said, absently looking at her green forefinger. "I'm really worried about Hope. We need to find Blue..."

"Yeah, Baby," Faith said. "Um... I was thinking I'd go drive around. How difficult can it be to find a naked, decorated woman? Tumalo has posted an APB for her. I'd rather that we find her, than Tumalo. You stay here and rest. She most likely will come back here, don't you think? I mean has she ever navigated around the city?"

"No. She would probably be lost, but I don't understand...," Charity said, dazedly.

"Don't worry, babe," Faith said. "We'll find her."

Faith had only been gone five minutes when Charity received another text from Keyholder: "Follow my instructions or you will never see Blue again."

"Fuck!" Charity screamed at the phone. "What about Hope?!"

Another text came in. "Put on that little red party dress. Wear your Bottega Veneta's. Nothing else. Call a uhsd. Further instructions to come."

Charity blinked rapidly, rereading the text again and again. "Uhsd? What the fuck is a 'uhsd'?" She looked up towards the ceiling. "What the fuck is a 'uhsd'?!?" she screamed. She tapped the same thing into her phone and sent the message, which, as always, returned straight back to her own phone.

Another message: "You need to get moving. Have you forgotten what a uhxd is? Go get dressed now."

Charity went to her room and found the red dress. She stepped into the bathroom and took off the t-shirt she had been wearing. "Oh, fuck..." She had three bold green lines on her forehead and her entire chest was painted green. It was quite obvious how the paint had been applied to her chest by the five fingered hand prints radiating around the perimeter.

Charity took a washcloth and soap and began scrubbing her face. Five minutes later when the next text message from Keyholder arrived, the paint was only slightly faded. "This is your first warning to get moving. I will not give you very many warnings," the text message read.

She gave up on her face paint, and pulled on the red dress. It was low cut in the front with spaghetti straps. The dress was designed to show a little skin. Unfortunately, some area of the visible skin on her chest was stained green.

Charity strapped the Bottega Venetas on her feet and went to her computer. "Now, what the hell is a 'uhxd'?" She typed it in her search engine but came up with no logical results. "What is a uhxd?" she yelled at the ceiling.

"Do I need to send a definition of a thxd to you?" the next text message read.

"What the fuck? You can't keep changing the word!" she screamed. Searching for 'thxd' brought up a Thai food photo account. Maybe she was supposed to order some Thai food?

"A thxi is something you hire to take you from one place to another," the next text read.

Charity's nerves were racing. Her anxiety was extremely high. Maybe a 'thxi' is some moving company?

"A car licensed to transport passengers in return for payment of a fare. A taxi," the next message from Keyholder read.

"A what?" Charity thought, then screamed towards the ceiling. "You mean like a rideshare service like Ovrr or Riide? A cab!"

"A taxi, 541-555-1212," the next message said.

Charity called the number. As she was waiting for the cab to arrive, she flipped back through the messages with Keyholder. They read as follows:

"Put on that little red party dress. Wear your Bottega Veneta's. Nothing else. Call a taxi. Further instructions to come."

"You need to get moving. Have you forgotten what a taxi is? Go get dressed now."

"Do I need to send a definition of a taxi to you?"

"A taxi is something you hire to take you from one place to another."

"A car licensed to transport passengers in return for payment of a fare. A taxi."

Every message said 'taxi' now. How did Keyholder change the content of a previously sent message? How did 'uhsd' get switched to 'taxi'? Why didn't Keyholder just call it a cab? This had to be some kind of purposeful brainfuck. Charity knew exactly what a cab was.

Keyholder directed Charity and her cab to the city's restaurant district. She had to go into a bar where a pint of lager was waiting for her.

"I'm not supposed to drink alcohol with the medication I am taking," thought Charity as she sat down at the bar.

"Alcohol negates the benefits of the medication you have been taking. This will give us a preview of what may come as the belt transforms you," the next text message read. "Drink the pint!"

Charity sat at the bar and began to drink. The bar was about half full. She wondered if Keyholder was here at the bar watching her. No one seemed too suspicious, but she began to realize that people were staring at her. "The green paint!" she thought. "Keyholder is just trying to embarrass me. Just own it!"

"Is that a tattoo on your face or just makeup?" a woman asked.

"It's body paint," Charity responded, taking another large gulp from her drink.

The woman kept staring. "I was performing a ritual," Charity explained, "because I'm a witch."

"Hey babe," a guy further down the bar said. "You can use your magic on me!"

"I'm also a lesbian," Charity responded.

"No problem. I can straighten you up," the guy laughed, apparently thinking he was either funny or original.

"It's too late for me," Charity said. "I was indoctri... I was corrup.. I was ruined as a middle school girl. I read banned books."

As soon as Charity finished the pint, a text message directed her to go to a bar three doors down the street. "Drimk!" Another pint was awaiting her...

Once that beer had been drained, a text message directed her to the next bar down the street. "Drfmk!"

"Holy shit, I feel like a bloated wh... a bloated... large fish thing...," Charity thought as she was directed from the fourth stop on her forced pub crawl, down a set of stairs into a dingy basement bar. This time a shot was waiting for her - something with Kahlua. "Djfmg!" She threw the drink back and stumbled to the bathroom door. "Beer, then liquor. Never... never... shic...," she mumbled to herself. "Pee!"

As she sat, relieving herself, she noticed that the bathroom stall was spinning. "Widdershi... Counter clockwise," she mumbled. Charity remembered that she never had more than two drinks in public. Now, she had had five.

When she stood up from the toilet she twisted her ankle but caught herself on the wall of the stall. Why do women hobble themselves with their choice in shoes? Such a ridiculous thing to do. She took off her Bottega Venetas. "Well, they are pr... hot..." She tossed the heels against the wall and staggered out of the bathroom barefoot.

When she returned to the bar another shot was waiting for her. She tried to drink it but half of it ran down her chin. She picked up a napkin and was dabbing at her chest.

A group of three extremely pretty women were sitting nearby staring at her. Charity smiled at them. She could feel her libido beginning to rise. Her sex was on fire under the chastity belt. One of the women said something about Charity's war paint(?) She was pointing to Charity's face.

"Oh yeah," Charity said. "I... all over?" She pushed the spaghetti strap off her shoulder and let the front slide down to reveal her right breast.

A second woman stepped up to Charity laughing and helped pull the strap back up to cover Charity again. She said something, but Charity was too mesmerized by the movement of her lips to understand. She kissed the woman passionately. At first the woman's response was reluctant, but then she seemed to return Charity's passion.

The first woman from the group pulled Charity away from her friend. She was extremely attractive too, so Charity started kissing her instead. "So... pret... so..." The three women were laughing with one another talking about something. One put her arm around Charity, which was good because Charity felt like she might fall down. "I... shoes."

Charity kissed another one of the women, she couldn't remember which one, but it felt really good. She opened her eyes and recognized a face across the room.

Police detective Tumalo, currently off duty, had just sat down at the bar.

Suddenly, Charity felt a surge of anger and she pulled away from the woman she had been kissing. She wanted to say something really cruel to Tumalo. She wanted to scream at her to do her job and find Blue. Couldn't she understand that this is what Charity would become if Tumalo didn't do her fucking job?

Charity growled.

Charity's new friends were laughing and they tried to keep her from advancing on Tumalo. Charity shook off their hands. She felt enclosed suddenly. Trapped by the walls and noise. Even her dress, flimsy as it was, felt constricting and itchy. She violently tugged on it, ripping the straps. The remains of the dress slipped over her hips and settled at her feet on the floor.

"Ms McKenzie," Tumalo said calmly from her seat. "I... " A series of words left Tumalo's mouth. "...djfmg..." Perhaps the bar was too loud to hear. "...call you a uhsd."

Except the bar was quiet.

"OK," Charity thought, "say something witty and cruel." But she couldn't think of anything and staring at Tumalo made her more and more angry. "Aaaarghhhh!" Charity lunged at Tumalo with her fists raised.

Of the two women, Tumalo had vastly greater combat skills. And despite Charity's feral, drunken rage, it was only a matter of seconds before Charity's head was flat against the bar and her hands locked in cuffs behind her back.

<>--+-

Charity awoke in some strange bed. She had a splitting headache. Her dreams had been very unsettling. Her sheets were very scratchy.

Charity's eyes popped open. She wasn't lying underneath any sheets. She was wearing orange pajamas. She sat up in bed and looked around, slowly placing her bare feet on the cool, hard floor next to her bed. The room was gray concrete and the door was a wall of bars.

"Oh..." Charity felt like she was going to throw up. She remembered being in a bar... throwing a punch at Detective Tumalo. What happened to her dress? "Oh, shit. I'm in jail?"

Charity looked down. She was wearing a baggy, orange, short sleeve shirt made of a thick stiff material. She wasn't wearing a bra. She was wearing baggy, long pants held up by an itchy elastic band.

Charity let her hand slide over her crotch. Who dressed her in this prison garb? She rapped a knuckle against the hard metal faceplate covering her sex. Of course the chastity belt was still locked around her hips. No one could ever take it off.

That's what Blue had said in that voice message that Charity received the day before.

"Without me... without the key, no one will ever touch your pussy again."

That was Blue's voice message sent the previous day. However, Keyholder must have cruelly edited the message, cutting and copying the last part of the sentence so it repeated over and over again. "No one will ever touch your pussy again. No one will ever touch your pussy again..." For fourteen minutes.

And now the memory of the message was playing in her head again like an earworm... nonstop...