Stories of Strange Queens

No Man's Land is a term that typically refers to warzones; a zone in which no man can tread, regardless of affiliation. But what if a woman labelled her home with the same title? What, I ask you, if Eliza Julia Roberts, billionaire, genius inventor, womaniser and dominatrix in the extreme, female supremacist and woman of an absolute utter lack of morals, once gave her hidden mega-mansion the title in reference to the activities she undertook there, activities which involved a lot of women and not one man?

Dear reader, I ask you this. If Tony Stark believed man was all-powerful - and spent his money not on ARK reactors and flying suits, but on intense pleasure and bending the will of others to his own - surely he would be the most formidable and divisive male alive. What if, Dear Reader, Tony Stark was out there right now, looking down upon your home, on your everyday goings-on, and wondering how best to turn you into a bliss-bent creature drugged up on pleasure and driven into unending obedience? What if that Tony Stark was a woman? What if they already were doing exactly that to people around you right now?

Can you really be sure no such man -- or woman -- exists out there, somewhere, plotting up a way to get so deep inside you that they can change your very mind?

* * * * *

The Egg

* * * * *

'Sixty-thousand? Pah. Pah! You expect me to sell you something that could add two zeroes to your annual revenuefor less money than it costs to mould just one piece of this premium shell? Mr. Millicent, I'm afraid we're done talking as of this moment.'

The deep, throaty tones of the woman's voice as she spoke reverberated about the empty back room of the dirty and neglected whore house, loud and crisp and tinged with just a slight hint of a foreign accent - perhaps Russian? Maybe middle-eastern? Or perhaps from somewhere more exotic? It was hard to tell. She had no trouble projecting the words clearly around the room, making it impossible for the man sitting across the aluminium outdoor table from her not to hear her. Nor for that matter for the two men standing by the closed door, or the youth standing behind the male bargainee. He visibly bristled at her haughty dismissal of their business meeting, but said nothing, deferring instead to the older man seated across from the woman.

Standing quickly, her back ever taut, the thick overcoat covering her from shoulders to knees, the woman gestured to the two men standing by the door. Nodding, they bent their backs to the large box on the floor beside the battered metal table and lifted, folding the flaps closed over the top of the white plastic form inside. The trio turned to leave without another word, and the woman had taken two steps before she was halted by the man she had up until ten seconds ago been in the process of business dealings with.

'Wait! I'll pay one hundred and fifty. I'll pay. Just don't take that device away!'

The woman froze. Behind her, the two men she'd hired at two hundred dollars an hour to be her personal eye-less, ear-less muscle froze, the washing-machine sized box hoisted between them. It was heavy, but for one day's labour the pair were pulling in more than three grand between them, cash-in-hand, no tax, no paperwork. They weren't even using one of the trucks, just a courier van provided by their mysterious client. They would be content to hold the weighty item above their heads all afternoon for that pay.

Slowly, the female turned, and gazed down her nose at the man, who had come to his feet as he'd made his previous statement, his palms flat on the rickety aluminium table that hadn't seen the outside - or a clean cloth - for years. For several moments all she did was look at him, her face blank and impassive, an almost disgusted look creeping over her features, the look ever so slightly wrinkling her nose and twisting the skin at the corners of her eyes as if she had just caught a whiff of a rotten fish - or perhaps the B.O. off one of the two removalists beside her. Given the state of the back room of this second-rate sex shop, more than likely it had been a bit of both.

'The price is one-hundred and eighty thousand dollars, Hugo. Nothing more, and nothing less, and I assure you, already tailored to fit this... Place's budget. My device is willing to guarantee you more unceasing wealth and feminine respect than any other man possesses. One-hundred and eighty thousand dollars is a comparatively small price to pay for a lifetime supply of the respect of a king.' As she spoke the words, the woman put not too kind an emphasis on the words 'place' and 'king' as if her use of them were purely the most applicable for the sentence rather than titles carrying any particular respect -- or any respect at all.

Shaking his head and fiddling again with his dusty tie, a tie that had once been red, but now more resembled the blotched pink-and-brown of a pet's paw, the woman watched the man visibly weaken. He shook his head again, and didn't seem to be able to leave the tie alone. She knew it was nearly the entire cost of the business, and she didn't much care. She was offering him an untapped supply of income; no once-off sum could off-set that. He just had to be prepared to make that sacrifice. The woman sniffed at him and flicked a finger at her two male lackeys.

'We'll pay it. One-eighty grand. We'll pay.' Once again, the woman turned, this time with a microscopic hint of interest in her eyes. It had been the boy who'd spoken, not the man. A small grin cracked one corner of her thin lips as she looked him over once again - he was clearly not the elder in this relationship, and yet he was committing to a deal his boss, or perhaps father, could not. She smirked internally at the lack of willpower in the male, and not incorrectly linked the boy's eagerness to his penis, which was almost assuredly feeding his mind hormones that conjured up endless images of helpless women submitting to servitude under his will in the hands, or rather leg holsters, of her invention. She didn't care; the words had been spoken, and she was not a woman to let another play down an agreement once it had been made.

A business card flicked from the femae's black-gloved fingertips, darting almost magically away from them as she drew the slip of cardboard from within a pocket inside her coat. It twisted through the air erratically before slicing down towards the metal table, cutting sideways, and scratching to a stop on the floor in front of the young man. He bent, picked it up, and looked it over, flipping it. The details of the private bank account that she owned - entirely, she privately owned the entire bank, an unregulated AI-run bank operating entirely on behalf of all but one client - were on the back.

'There's no deposit limit and all funds are accepted immediately on a non-refundable digital check system. You'll find your bank will approve the transfer immediately. Someone will be in touch with you with your instructions, key and lock code once payment is confirmed received in full. Thank you for your business, gentlemen. Have a...' The woman glanced down the corridor behind her, the dim cutouts of the "back rooms" visible in the walls. There were no sounds coming from them, it was too early in the day for the place to open yet, but she didn't need them to be in use to know what went on in there. '... Fruitful day.'

And with that, the elegant female flicked her coat about her and strode out of the room, passing down the hallway and pushing through the front door of the business, her perfectly tied hair and clear skin shining in the bright light of the day. It was warm and clear and the air was fresh, and she paused for just a second at the car door, breathing in the scent of the world. She didn't smile, but that wasn't unlike her. She rarely smiled outside of her own home. Beside her, the two hired removalists joined her, having returned the package to its place in the back room of the building before exiting behind her. Without waiting, they stepped into their van and started it up, backing out of the car park. They had been hired for the entire day, and they had only had three drop-offs to do with the strange woman. Prior to leaving earlier that morning, uncertainly, one of the pair had mustered up the courage to ask her what they would do if they succeeded in dropping off the packages before the end of the day. She had dismissively told them to leave her alone. Having been given their sealed envelopes before leaving with her hardware, they weren't going to stick around any longer to see what the weird woman wanted them to do next. She didn't care.

Glancing about herself one more time, the woman once again turned her nose at the sight of the dingy building in front of her car. It was a grotty, back-street establishment, as many business that dealt in the sex trade were, as if living the life of semi-lawful trade encouraged these places to disguise themselves amongst the dirt and scum of the street. The insides, she knew, were no cleaner than the outside - and that was just the rooms. She made an effort not to imagine the cleanliness of the females who earned their pay 'working' inside them. It was a far cry from the state they would be in if they were hers. But then... Well. That was what the deliveries were for.

Stepping swiftly into her muscularly sleek power car, Eliza Julia Roberts put the building and its girls out of her mind with finality, and pulled quickly out of the carpark, heading for the highway that led back up into the hills, towards her hidden mega-home. Soon enough, she knew, the weaker of those females would start to find their way towards her doorstep, and she would show them just what worth their bodies held in the eyes of someone who truly valued them for what they were, and not just for helping pathetic little penises fill them with a man's dirty seed. Soon enough, once she had received her payment and had sent one of her girls back down to deliver the security key to the new owner of her latest ultimate sex toy, those girls would come. They always did. And Roberts would offer them a whole new world of bliss, a world where they were exulted and praised and lived a true and valued life at her hand, a world where they didn't have to be used by men to survive. Soon enough, they'd never have to whore themselves ever again.

This time, as Roberts thought over the process that would take place between her enterprise and that dingy little brothel, she did smile. But it was a thin and evil thing, creasing her lips upwards in a smile that somehow didn't seem to extend any further over her face than the sides of her mouth.

Within a few months, the rest of the shipments would arrive for the retail-ready egg, and she would sell them all for two-hundred and fifty grand each. And, thanks to the strategic sale of the first model to a man who would not resist the selling power he could pull away from his competitors with a self-pleasuring sex toy for women, a sex toy that would overpower their bodies with bliss, but would also excite them to the point where their minds would shut down, a point where the subconscious was vulnerable, a point where new ideas and instructions could be injected with ease, instructions that could direct a woman to want to work in the sex industry, instructions that could direct a woman to work for a man, instructions that could direct a woman to pay a large sum of cash to a taxi driver to drop them off on the edge of the 56 highway in a slight dirt cut-out on the side of the road designed to help trucks slow down and walk through the overgrown bushes and trees until they arrived at the subterranean gates to Eliza Roberts' private under-ground mansion...

Well.

Before long, women would flock from dirty, under-appreciated and under-paid jobs in brothels and businesses alike to use this utterly blissful egg, an egg their friends wouldn't stop raving about, an egg that apparently could knock you out with orgasmic ecstasy. They would flock to the egg, and the egg would make them flock to Roberts. And the businesses that lost customers would come for the egg, and Roberts would be there, strategically ready to provide them with one. They would pay, because their back pocket would demand it, as would what sat at their front. They would install their hypnotically orgasmic device as per her instructions. They would advertise their new contraption, and it, like all the others, would begin programming females, intelligently selecting those that would be released back to spread the word about the egg from those that would be bent to the will of the egg's owner, and among them, the best would be obliged irresistibly to seek out their true life at the gates of Roberts' private home. It was unavoidable and it was perfect, and it would soon have the entire city's female population raving about the mysterious egg that could take over their mind with pleasure.

The sleek car powered across two lanes of traffic and kicked effortlessly up to the max road speed in just under a second. Eight minutes later, it rounded a bend and twisted off the road, slipping quickly across a dirty subdivision of the road and disappearing through a thicket of bushes that weren't actually thick at all. Within just over a second, the car was gone.

* * * * *

"The best lies are the ones wrapped in truth, and the best women are the ones wrapped in pleasure."

~ A mind control porn in which a villainess with the ability to give any girl an orgasm at a flick of her wrist gloats over three succumbing 'heroines' on their knees, having failed to defeat her and after falling into her trap.

* * * * *

The House

* * * * *

Modern cities - that is to say, cities in general, since most cities existing today have been around for hundreds of years, and new cities are rarely founded in the western world - like to have particular features. Among them are replenishing fresh water supplies, often including the ocean - once developed enough, the city can built a plant to convert that water into fresh drinking water - and the weather blows cold air over the land from out at sea. Similarly, a good range of hills surrounding the city helps to shield the inhabitants from the wind, heat, dust and fires of the inner land area. The best cities around the world are the ones that feature some or all of these.

And it was a place with just those features that Eliza Julia Roberts chose for her master establishment. Perched high above a wide, sprawling mega-tropolis far below, a population resource perfect for fuel ling her ventures in her chosen professional fields, it was a city wide and vast and wealthy with western money, ringed on two sides by sweeping hills in front of towering mountains, cornered on the other by a wide ocean inlet, and nestled amongst both these natural features like a hanging pendant around the neck of the open land on the fourth and final side of the city, holding the spreading pressure of mankind contained within like a cap on a shaken bottle of soft drink.

It had taken years of planning. A building encased entirely in the shallow side of a mountain, perched on the same level as the external highway that snaked like a toxic snake through the winding hillside until it plunged seemingly unintentionally into the side of the mountains, where it emerged some four hundred metres away on the other side of eighty thousand tons of rock and dirt and dry sediment. It would be a vast, multi-levelled establishment covering some 268,000 square feet, only shaving itself slightly short of the average American hospital, with the entire building's planned footprint exceeding 500,000 square feet.

Four interior levels would each be entirely self-contained with double-redundant electric generators, a self-cleaning, filtered air treatment and conditioning system, and, shared across the entire building, a massive six million litre networked freshwater tank system, a battery reservoir, an explosion-proof gas tank unit and a self-contained water filtration & septic tank unit. A fifth external level would be built underneath that would feature an ultra-wide eighteen-car parking lot, accessed through an eight-hundred metre long underground access tunnel and secured with a fully automatic, network-enabled retracting security gate, segmented on electric rails so that just the right section of the gate could open as required, regardless of whether you wanted to drive a truck through or a hand cart.

Each level of the establishment would be accessed via a primary lift shaft boring directly up the centre of the building -- a quadruple-sided, whisper-quiet electric magna-rail lift capable of hauling 800KG of dead weight and supporting four telescoping concertina doors that would retract wide open seemingly right into thin air, one on each side, potentially forming the world's first no-solid-sided lift.

Additionally, for safety, a common rotary fire stairwell on both sides of the building could be accessed from any level and would open out in the far walls of the carpark below, where exiting would be as simple as crossing the raised lift platform and entering the carpark proper. A powerful AR500 steel ribcage built over the underground space would maintain the integrity of the entire ground floor, even in the event of the entire hillside collapsing, maintaining utter privacy from the public eye -- even when evacuating from an uncontrolled fire.

On the ground floor, sliced clean in half by a bulkhead wall - itself split in its dead centre by the lift shaft - would be what Roberts would eventually turn into her holding cells. Eighteen full-size, ultra-long, entirely self-contained all-in-one live-in rooms would be constructed, each kitted out with all the equipment any person could want in their day-to-day, week-to-week, year-by-year lives. Sporting self-sufficient air conditioners and water purifiers, these rooms would later be put to the purpose of housing Roberts' various experiment subjects for long term storage, keeping them occupied, fit, healthy, safe and quarantined for extended periods of time.

Across from these would be a hydroponics bay, in which the entire range of produce needed for self-sustaining life inside would be grown -- later, this basic food production sector would be entirely automated, and the ability to support small fauna developed and tacked easily into the dynamic area - as well as a fully functional medicall facility within a micro-hospital, and mass storage rooms for produce farmed in the indoor fields and the building's mass chattels. This would also, one day, serve to hold the original flesh-and-blood bodies of several women encased in Roberts' most final and fatal invention.

On this we find the first instance of the second lift -- an ultra-strong, ultra-wide hydraulic elevator powered by the same hardware in underground aircraft hangers. Completely lacking any walls -- using a simple retracting handrail instead, the walls provided instead by the sheer rock on the back and sides and by internal glass walls on the inside -- this lift moves between the first three levels. It is capable of hoisting ten tons of weight without slowing down and features a flush base in a thin elliptical shape, flat on the extreme ends of the ellipse.

In the coming years, this platform would serve as the long term temporary host of Dr. Roberts' greatest waking creation, a device capable of capturing and copying the living organic form of the human body, rebuilding it anew, curing its diseases, healing its wounds, and reforming its neutral pathways -- including ways to alter all of the above. Unlike all the levels above it, the first level sits flush with a gently sloping natural garden on the side lf the hill, perfectly placed by way of the slope of the hill, and built up to the side of the floor to ceiling, triple-glazed windows with dirt expelled from the construction of the sub-mountainous facility.