Nefarious Stepmom Pt. 02

Heather knew something was wrong with her sister.

She didn't notice it at first. Having just started her freshman year at Cornell, she was too focused on school to think about anything else. But Heather couldn't deny it anymore. Her sister's texts had become...unusual.

Natasha normally texted several times a day. And that was even before Heather had moved across the country and to the college dorms of Ithaca, New York. Despite their 10-year age gap, Heather and Natasha were as close as sisters could be. They rarely fought, and they shared everything with each other. Their hopes, their fears, even their own crushes and guy troubles (not that shy Heather had much of a dating life to speak of). And since their mom passed away when Heather was only three, Natasha was not just a big sister, but a mother to her too.

Yet now, Natasha's texts had become less and less frequent. And whenever she did reach out, she always focused on the same thing--

Olivia: their father's new girlfriend.

It was common for Heather to get a text like--"Sorry I didn't pick up. Spent the day in Venice with Olivia. I love her so much. Can't WAIT for you to meet her!" And as the days wore on, Natasha started to refer to Olivia as "our stepmom".

"Jeez, Tasha, they're just dating," Heather had said during one of their rare phone calls.

"I know. But you should get used to calling her 'stepmom'. I know she's going to marry Dad. I guarantee it..."

Heather didn't know what that meant, and she didn't like the sound of it.

Before Olivia stepped into the picture, Natasha had been the family protector, sniffing out the many women who were only after their father for his money. And they always were. It was the inevitable price of fame, one that even Heather had to deal with now.

From the past few, lonely weeks alone, it had become achingly clear that no student thought of her as "Heather", only as "Cliff Emmerich's daughter". And finding a friend who truly liked her for her, and not her rich actor-father, had become a hard task indeed.

So what made Olivia Jarilo so special? Why was Natasha so convinced that Olivia would be the perfect wife and stepmother? And why were they spending so much time together?...

Natasha's vague answers only scratched the surface. Heather didn't even know what Olivia looked like, and trying to search for "Olivia Jarilo" on the internet got her nowhere. The only exception was when she had searched simply for "Jarilo"--which led her down a rabbit hole of results about a deity (sometimes called "Jarylo", or "Yarilo", or "Juraj"), a Slavic god of fertility, springtime, and erotic sexuality.

She should have stopped there. Most people would. But having spent the last two months in "school research mode", Heather knew how to navigate the most obscure avenues of the internet.

So, she continued on.

And as she looked deeper into the Jarilo's history, she found her way to a shocking and strange headline:

"DERANGED DAUGHTER MURDERS FATHER, CLAIMS A 'JARYLO' MADE HER DO IT."

The article was from a Texas newspaper, dated April 15^th, 1972. Heather scanned through it quickly, skimming the highlights: A 20-year-old woman shot and killed her father (Irving Howard, a wealthy oil tycoon) in Amarillo, Texas. At first, the woman gave no motive for the heinous crime. But after a few days behind bars, her story changed drastically. She claimed that she had been under the spell of her father's 30-year-old wife and now widow, Octavia Howard (née, Jarylo), a half-human, half-goddess descendant of a Slavic god, born with magical powers of seduction. According to the deranged daughter, Octavia had seduced her to fulfill her own sexual perversions, and ultimately, to marry into the Howard family and gain Irving's wealth.

Of course, Heather didn't believe a word of it.

She skipped to the bottom of the article where she saw a closeup picture of the supposed seductress. "Hmm, she's not even that pretty," Heather commented.

After she clicked away, she found a follow-up item dated one week later: Irving's daughter had escaped from police custody in the middle of the night and vanished without a trace.

Searching further still, Heather learned that Irving's widow was declared innocent of the crime and faded into obscurity. His daughter--Iris--was never seen again.

Despite Heather's fortuitous find, the true revelation came two days later, as Ithaca's autumn leaves reached their late October peak. Being a native of southern California, Heather was awestruck by the orange and yellow foliage and decided to photograph the beautiful colors. While reviewing the images on her phone, she remembered that the photos would inevitably wind up in "the cloud"--specifically, in their family shared, iCloud storage.

And that gave Heather an idea.

Back in her dorm room, she logged into the cloud--but not through her account--through her sister's account. After all, the sisters shared everything. Including passwords.

At first, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would tip her off as to what Natasha and Olivia did during their time together. But amidst the usual photos of business lunches and California sunsets, Heather noticed a closeup of a woman's face. The image was strangely low-quality and far too close to the camera, angled all wrong to look anything but unflattering.

Is this Olivia? Heather wondered. Why does she look so familiar?...

And then Heather knew.

It seemed crazy, too crazy to be possible. But nevertheless, she returned down the rabbit hole until she retrieved the article from April 15^th, 1972 and zoomed in on the photo of "Octavia Howard".

Even though the photograph was from over 50 years ago, there was no question about it.

"Octavia Howard" and "Olivia Jarilo" not only looked the same age--they were one and the same.

Heather stared at the computer in shock. Then she uttered the only three words she could muster:

"WHAT THE FUCK?"

***********************

Heather paced around her dorm room, pleading into the phone. "Listen to me, Tasha. Stay away from her!"

"Come on, sis," Natasha said between laughs. "Are you high? Did college corrupt you that quickly?"

Heather sighed. "Look, I know how this sounds. But it's not just the case in Texas. There's a trail of murders. I found cases going as far back as the seventeen hundreds in France, and I'm sure it goes even farther. The details are all different, but the plan remains the same. Every few decades, the Jarilo seduces a woman, then marries her father or her brother or her uncle or whatever. Before long, the husband dies, either by murder or some 'mysterious circumstance'. And every time, the Jarilo gets away scot-free."

"That doesn't even make any sense," Natasha retorted. "If this goddess thing is after the guy's money, why doesn't she seduce the guy each time?"

"I don't think she can." Heather sat back down at her desk to review the pages of printouts. "She's able to produce pheromones to seduce men, but they're not nearly as powerful as her eyes, which only work on women. Plus, I think that she--or it--prefers women."

"Her eyes?" Natasha repeated.

"Yes. Don't look in her eyes!" Heather practically screamed into the phone. "That's the most important thing. As long as you don't look into her eyes, her spell will wear off. Eventually. Just promise me, please."

"Did you tell all this to Dad?" Natasha asked suddenly.

"That's just it. I can't get a hold of him. I've tried calling, texting, emailing, but he won't respond. What's going on?!"

"Well, he's...."

Natasha's voice trailed off before going quiet.

"Tasha? Can you hear me? TASHA?!"

"I'm here," she answered, a distressing air of secrecy in her voice. "He's home. But I think he got a new phone."

"He did? And no one told me? Then what's the number?"

Once again, a strange silence filled the air before Natasha answered. "I'm heading into a meeting. I gotta go, but I'll text you later, okay?"

"Dammit, Natasha, tell me how to reach him now or I'm flying home tonight!"

"No!" she yelled. "You're getting crazy paranoid and you're overreacting. Honestly, you're scaring me."

"You're scaring me," Heather shot back. "Why are you evading the question? Where's Dad and why won't he answer me?"

Still evading the question, Natasha only said, "I'll tell him you called, okay?"

With that, Heather's mind was set.

She cradled the phone between her neck and shoulder and furiously typed on her laptop, searching for flights to Los Angeles. "I know she's got you under her spell. But I'm coming home as soon as I can. And I'm going to save you."

"Heather, you're delusional!" Natasha herself sounded hysterical and unusually condescending to boot. "Stop talking crazy and get these wild theories out of your head."

But Heather wasn't buying it. She knew she might be crazy--hell, this most definitely was a wild theory. But the woman on the other end of the phone sure as hell didn't sound like the sister she knew.

In that moment, Heather's eyes fell on a framed photo at the corner of her desk. It was a photo from the night of Heather's high school graduation back in May. In it, the sisters were arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder. Heather was wearing her gown, the mortarboard clutched in her right hand. And there was Natasha--conservatively dressed, turned not toward the camera, but toward Heather herself--an undeniable expression of pride on her face. It was a look that said, "Way to go, kid. You did it."

That was the Natasha she knew.

"I love you," Heather said before hanging up the phone and booking a 10-hour connecting flight for Friday morning.

***********************

As the dial tone went dead, Natasha turned to the Jarilo.

She stood in her father's living room, topless, next to her clothed but forever gorgeous Master. Just a few minutes ago, Natasha had felt euphoric--as she always did--when she was alone with Olivia. But after Heather's call, it seemed that all hope was lost.

"She figured out everything!" Natasha whined. "I know she's been suspicious, but this is too much! What if she foils our plan and takes you away from me? I can't live without you."

"It's okay, my love. We'll come up with something." Olivia took Natasha in her arms, consoling her and running her fingers through her slave's raven black hair.

"I should have lied to her better," Natasha said. "But she saw right through me."

"It's okay. You've been a very good girl. You're still erasing her emails, right?"

Natasha nodded obediently.

"And she still doesn't know he's in London, right?"

She nodded again.

Indeed, Cliff was not home, but was away for the London re-shoots that he and Natasha and had spoken about weeks ago. And the reason for Cliff's radio silence (apart from Natasha logging into her father's email and deleting Heather's messages) was that he genuinely didn't have his cell phone.

Given Heather's rising suspicion, Natasha had thought it prudent to hide Cliff's phone before he left on his business trip. It wasn't even a big issue. As usual, Cliff was given a new phone for the trip (a temporary, production-supplied, UK mobile). And as usual, he had shared the number with Natasha to give to Heather in case of emergency.

But Natasha did no such thing.

That, at least, solved half their problems. Cliff was temporarily out of the picture, and Heather couldn't reach him.

But it also caused another issue entirely--because Olivia was scheduled to fly to London for the remainder of the re-shoots.

And her flight left in eight hours.

"Why can't you stay another day?" Natasha pleaded. "Just wait for Heather to come home and hypnotize her like you hypnotized me?"

Olivia genuinely considered it, but she shook her head. "I can't. I need everything with your father to go smoothly. He wants me there, and if I miss that flight, or ask him to reschedule again, he'll get suspicious. Or pissed. I already made him delay it once so I could spend more time with you."

"Then why don't you call her? Hypnotize her over video?"

Again, Olivia shook her head. "I told you, sweetheart, that won't work. The magic won't stick. The first session always has to be in-person. Afterward is different. Then, I'm just reigniting what's already there. But that first time, the woman needs to be kissed, to be fondled. Otherwise, the affection and obedience will fade almost instantly....unless..."

"Unless what, Master?" Natasha asked eagerly.

A smile crept across Olivia's face. "I haven't done anything quite like it in decades. Sometimes, I forget the scope of my powers...but there may be a solution."

"I'm listening."

"The whole reason a video won't work is because I can't be there to kiss her when it's done...but you can."

"But how would that help?" Natasha asked. "I'm not you."

"Exactly. I won't hypnotize your sister to fall in love with me..."

Natasha pulled back from the hug to better stare into her Master's eyes. "So...you want me to kiss my sister?"

Olivia smirked. "I want you to do more than that. I want you to kiss her, and fuck her, and turn her into your sex slave, just like I've turned you into mine. I'll lay the groundwork, record a video and implant her with an incest fetish. But it'll be you who commands her, who tells her to follow our plan, to love me, and to see me as the wonderful future stepmom I am. And she'll have no choice but to obey, because she'll be dying to please you...Will you do that for me, slave?"

"Of course," Natasha answered. And she meant it. But for once, there was a look of resistance in her eyes. "I would gladly fuck my sister if it made you happy. It's just that, if I may be honest...I won't enjoy it. I only love fucking you. Obeying you. Having sex with her and commanding her won't bring me any pleasure. Not directly."

Olivia reached up with her right hand and caressed her slave's cheek. "Don't worry, my love. Another hit of The Spiral will fix that for you."

At that, Natasha smiled eagerly. "Why didn't I think of that? Hypnotize me. Make me want my sister. Turn me into her Master!"

Olivia shook her head slowly. "Not quite. I am the Master. But you, Natasha...you can be the Mistress....Now listen very carefully. We have a lot to do before I leave..."

As she spoke, Olivia's eyes glowed their magical, neon green. And soon, Natasha lost herself in the hypnotic, emerald spiral that swirled around and around her own pupils...

***********************

"This is a terrible idea." Heather knew it the second she stepped out of the Lyft.

The trip back home had been a nightmare (a delay to Newark, followed by a delay to LAX, and a cacophony of crying babies on both flights). But finally, at two in the afternoon, she had landed safe and sound in the sunny, season-less city.

And now, she stood at the end of the gated driveway, looking up at the mansion that had been her home. It was the home she grew up in. The home where she and Natasha used to play "Marco Polo" in the pool. But today, it felt like enemy territory. Like the lair of a beast.

Once the Lyft departed down Mulholland, Heather typed the entry code into the gate, which swung open to welcome her. Cautiously, she walked up the inclined concrete, wheeling her blue suitcase behind her. She hadn't planned to make this a long trip. But she knew that bringing a checked bag had been necessary. Some of her supplies weren't exactly carry-on friendly...

She already had the first item (the one given to her by her dad before she left for college) clutched in her left hand. And although she knew she looked ridiculous in the California heat, she wore a blue, silk scarf around her neck.

Heather fervently hoped that when she rang the doorbell, her father would be the one to answer. But if he wasn't, if that monster opened the door instead, she'd be ready.

She just hoped to God that she was right.

At last, Heather reached the front step, took a deep breath, and pressed the bell.

DIIIING DONNNNGGGG.....

Peering through the front door's opaque glass, Heather couldn't see much. But she could tell that someone was approaching--a female figure, blonde, perhaps brunette--getting closer and closer.

Most definitely, not her father.

Heather raised the scarf to shield her eyes and tightened the silk around her head. Then, as she heard the locks turn and the front door open, she went for it.

Heather aimed the pepper spray just above her eyeline and FIRED.

The spray can hissed, and the woman--or thing--wailed in agony.

YES! Heather screamed internally. With the Jarilo blinded, it would be powerless to hypnotize her. Now was Heather's chance, to subdue her, to rescue her father, to--

"WHAT THE HELL, HEATHER?!"

Oh shit...

Heather removed the blindfold to find her father's 22 year-old assistant, Samantha, crying tears of pepper spray.

"I CAN'T SEE!" Sam shouted, backing away from the door and trying to rub the oil from her irritated eyes.

Heather didn't know Sam well. She had only met her in-person a handful of times. But she knew that Sam had been her father's loyal personal assistant for the last five months, ever since graduating from UCLA. She seemed like a sweet person, a somewhat nerdy cinephile, a hard-worker who ran errands for Cliff night and day--and most definitely, not someone who deserved to be pepper sprayed.

Heather couldn't have felt worse. "My God, Sam, I'm so sorry! I thought you were someone else!"

"WHO?!" she screamed back, her eyelids already red and swollen.

"It's a long story." Heather rushed into the house, leaving her suitcase and its contents on the front step.

She walked Sam to the kitchen sink where she helped rinse the spray from her eyes and learned some shocking information--namely, that Cliff wasn't even home. Sam was here to house sit during his trip to London. And his new girlfriend, Olivia, was with him.

"Seriously?!" Heather said while Sam held her own head under the running faucet. "Natasha didn't say anything about this."

....But of course she didn't, Heather realized. She doesn't want me to contact him.

Although Heather still had her doubts, Natasha's omission of her father's whereabouts proved what she already suspected.

She really is under the Jarilo's spell...

Time for Plan B.

Coming home may have been a bust, but Heather still had her suitcase of supplies. And if necessary, she was prepared to use them on Natasha. Anything to keep her away from Olivia until the spell wore off.

"God, this hurts like hell," Sam groaned over the running water, snapping Heather from her thoughts.

"I brought some baby shampoo. Apparently that helps. Hold on." She ran back to the front door to get her things.

But the bag wasn't there.

The front door was open, but the step was empty.

In that moment, only two words came to mind: Oh shit...

Then she felt the agonizing jolt of the stun gun on her neck.

***********************

Natasha stared down at her little sister who spasmed and seized on the marble floor. She felt sorry to see Heather writhing in pain. But she knew that it would be worth it in the end. If anything, Heather would probably be on her knees soon, thanking her.

"It's so good to see you, sis," Natasha said with genuine zeal. "You brought exactly what I wanted." She examined the items in her hands: her sister's stun gun (gifted by Natasha herself, for self-defense) and eight feet of rope.

Natasha yelled toward the kitchen. "Get over here! I need help tying up Heather."

"Right away, Mistress," Sam called back.