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Chelsea was listening with intense fascination. Far from disbelief - she was, after all, running about in her ninth body, thanks to Dr. Roberts - she was intrigued. Something told her she was about to hear what his family's powers were.
'It was that son of the son of Jonathan who recorded what we could do and how we could do it, and it was I, with today's access to ancestry records, who discovered the history. Eleutherios was the God of love, procreation and sexual desire. The playboy of the gods, he bedded many fine women, but only one fell pregnant to his spawn, the half-blood nymph from the human world. When she became charged with his seed, he fell from the heavens, struck down for sinfully bedding an impure breed. Before he died, his final wish was so;
"By my death I leave a spell,
a power for all my spawn.
To all that are born upon my bloodline,
great power will bestow thee.
For should one willingly claim the sacred three,
That of spirit, of mind and of body,
that charge shall be theirs, a slave to the death
or until that spell be broken by willful bloodshed.
May the silky tones of any of my children
entrance and ensnare any prey they choose,
but may they forever be bound upon claiming their reward
to love, to live and to tend their slave, till death or dishonor part them."
Chelsea's eyes were wide. She had heard it all, but didn't want to let her mind finish comprehending what it meant. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he was not done.
'What this means, my dear girl, is that, if a small ritual is properly performed, any of his descendants, as long as they are of his blood, will bind that child and whoever they perform the ritual on, to each other. In layman's terms, it means this. You are enslaved to me, and, as long as I look after you, unless either you or I shed the other's blood willingly, intentionally, you will forever be so. It's our eternal reward for the humiliating death of our godly ancestor, and by his wish it is law. I have performed the ritual on you, Chelsea, because my voice, as his wish decreed, put you in a trance. The only way out was by claiming you as mine. Now, forever, until either of us desire nothing but the damage of the other, or until death of either of us, your body, mind and spirit are tied to mine and will do my bidding.
Chelsea looked at him in bewilderment.
She didn't even know his fucking name.
'I know it is much to take in, Chelsea. Rest now. I will call Albert back and get him to drive us home. There you can make yourself at home. At least I can still sell your car, though it will not be as much money as you would have been. Porn star or prostitute, someone out there makes a lot of money from your wares. I could have made some nice progress. But you will never be able to leave my side now.' He said, his eyes not looking at her. He appeared to have resigned himself to his fate, as though her being bound in slavery to him was a burden. Chelsea suddenly found herself getting very hot.
'Excuse me,' she said roughly, sitting up, 'But don't you think it's a tad more of an inconvenience to me to be stuck eternally with you?' She blustered, but already by the time she was finishing the words, they were hollow. Her anger had drained as fast as it had collected, and she was left looking at him with admiration. She couldn't be angry at him, she just... Couldn't.
He merely signed and gestured towards the back. Silently, she began to climb between the seats and positioned herself on the back seat. He leaned over and opened the driver's door, shouting out at Albert to come back. As he watched, she spoke up.
'I don't even know your name.' She said huffily.
He smiled slightly. 'My name is Christophe. Christophe Crete.' Chelsea didn't reply.
CC. Christophe Crete. What a name.
Idly, Chelsea began to imagine how "Chelsea Crete" would sound, but stopped herself after several moments. How fucking insane was it that she was imagining herself with his name, as though they were married?
And what was worse, was that just her, or was her tie to him by God's Word taking it's eternal effect on her?
Chelsea didn't know, but she didn't want to know what she would be doing for him when they got home. She had the feeling nothing he'd said was bullshit, and there was no way to undo it. She'd probably be fawning at his feet before long.
* * * * *
Jordan was out in the garden picking vegetables for their dinner that night when she looked at the clock suspended above the door into the house from their private fenced garden. It was twenty past three already and Chelsea had left at ten. She should have been back for lunch. Standing and stretching her back, Jordan went over to the troughs and ran some warm water, grabbing a towel and using it to wash the cool soil off her hands, knees, butt and feet. When she was clean, the door swooshed open for her and she passed into the small air-lock like room that was a contamination bay, just in case any disasters had occurred either in, or out, of the building. Roberts had been a mad scientist indeed.
Jordan padded lightly back into the lab level and took the lift up to habitation, the level their bedroom and the kitchens were on. Under her arm she carried a cardboard box filled with fresh carrots, beets, zucchini and lettuce, tomatoes and onions and cauliflower. A few golden eggs rolled about in the corner too, from the chicken house, and a pluck of grapes dangled from her other hand. As she walked she held it up to her lips and picked a fresh plump grape off with them. She reached their kitchens and dumped the box on the clean counter, popping over to the fridge and extracting some of last night's home made pizza and a carton of milk. She poured a mug of milk and sipped two-handed at it while the pizza rotated in the microwave. Jordan had insisted on getting a microwave, reasoning that, with all the healthy things they did, they could afford the small lazy device.
Idly Jordan wondered about Chelsea. She should be home but being out late wasn't a crime and Chelsea was free to do what she liked, as long as it didn't mean violating her, Jordan, or their home. As long as they remained secret, she could live as she saw fit. However, it was a little alarming. She'd never been this long.
Jordan made a note mentally. If Chelsea was still gone at five, Jordan would have to do something.
What that "something" was, she didn't really know. Despite Roberts, the previous owner of the place and, until recently, part occupant of Chelsea's head, having a stock of tiny rice-sized tracking capsules that could be "inserted" anywhere and would have a lifetime of twenty years, neither girl had wanted to use them. If they did, it would be a violation of the freedom they promised each other. But now Jordan was beginning to wish Chelsea had taken one, or that she had been sneaky and evil enough to slip one in her food. Curse her and her saintly ways.
Eventually the oven beeped and Jordan took steaming pizza slices out. She padded back down the stark clinical white corridors to their bedroom and entered. Inside, she had taken the liberty of combining the beds to form one huge sleeping thing, and adapted the new space into a dining area. Now there was a lovely wooden table with six chairs in the area, and one of the TVs was sitting on a cabinet by the wall. Hola, all-in-one apartment complete. Jordan scooted a chair out with her foot, plonked her butt down and began to eat her piping hot slices.
* * * * *
The sun was beginning to list low on the horizon by the time Chelsea turned off the country highway and down a winding dirt road towards a low hill range quite nearby. Within ten minutes she rounded one of the foremost hills and found an attractive little place was nestled in the valley like clearing between two grassy peaks and kept out of sight by the incline of the hill before it. A cute two story place with a pleasant front porch and garage looked back at her and the driveway continued past the garage and around the building. She was instructed to park the vehicle in one of three small sheds nestled behind the house here. Parking in the darkness of the tin shed, Chelsea sat back and waited for her next orders. She made no attempt to hide from her own mind the fact that she was calling them orders, or that she was quite clearly waiting for them. She didn't want to admit it, or even consciously realize it, but she was increasingly becoming aware of the man in the passenger seat as her owner, her master. Whether it was just in the back of her mind, or how she thought about him when she wasn't concentrating, it was there nonetheless.
'Get out, Chelsea, come, follow me. We have much to talk about.' He said cheerily. Albert was striding around to the boot of the car where he searched for anything of value before finally, grumpily, settling for the groceries Chelsea had bought that day. Chelsea obediently got out, shut the door and walked around the car to the side that had a small exit door in it. Albert kicked it open and went first, lumping her bags along a small path to the house. Her new owner was much more leisurely, waiting for her to emerge into the daylight before closing the door behind her.
'You must forgive Albert, he is young and impulsive and does not like the solitary life he lives being cooped up here with his father. Often he does not come home at nights. I fear he is... Seeing people.' He said, a touch of sadness tingling his voice. He looked at the tall blonde girl, standing quietly beside him.
'Ach, my lady! I have been remiss, haven't I? I haven't even told you my name! Paulo, Paulo Crete, son to the great Fabian Crete and father the Alberto Crete, and a practicing demi-god.' He said the last bit with a flourish and a bow, and Chelsea found his friendly humor rather cute. She smiled and he grinned widely when he saw her do so.
'Ah, please, my dear, do smile some more! I feel like the whole land lights up when you do.' He said, proffering his hand for her. She took it with a smile and he led her gentlemanly towards the house, where Albert was already opening the door.
'T'is a nice place, no? An old farmer's house my father purchased not long before his death. He favored it for it's secrecy. The old famer apparently liked it for the same reasons, although he believed the government was trying to control his mind by radio waves and the like. How ironic it is that the one person who truly could control his mind was the one person he became friends with.' Paulo said, realizing a little too late that this might not have entirely been the best thing to say to a girl grappling with the idea of being controlled against her will. But he went on.
'It is small, by millionaire standards, but homely. Plenty of space for my son and I, and for the occasional visitor.' He said, seemingly implying herself. 'And of course, it is perfect to run a business that isn't, one hundred percent, above board.' Chelsea looked around the place. It was cute, with white panels and beams, tin roof and solid brick painted walls. Inside the back was a sort of laundry room, with sinks, washing machine, dryer, a table and cupboards. They took off their shoes and Paulo hung his hat and jacket up. Chelsea, despite herself, couldn't help but watch him with hitched breathing as he undressed. Christ, and that was just his jacket, she thought. What the fuck am I turning into? With a shiver she realized it wasn't much different than what she'd become when she'd been brainwashed by Roberts, or how she'd turned that into love for Jordan. And to think she used to call herself the dominant one.
They strode through to the kitchen, Chelsea's skin still itching crazily. She tried not to think that her itching to get out of the clothes might be more intense because her Master was around. She caught herself at the natural way she'd called him her master. He took her through the kitchen and past the pantry, where Albert was unpacking her bags. They went into the hallway and down a little way to a room with the door closed. He opened it and threw it wide with a small flourish. Chelsea realized this was her room. She looked in. It was small, at least, much smaller than their room in their hilltop home. Spacious, with a single bed, a nice wide window, desk with paper, pens and pencils, cupboards and shelves and an old fashioned but beautifully ornate dressing table. She stepped in and took it all in.
'I hope you take to your new room happily,' Paulo said. 'It is our spare room, and detached from my own and Albert's. You will find peace here.' He said, simply. Chelsea did find the room peaceful, and somehow attractive. She liked it. Turning, she made to thank him, but why she was thanking him clashed in her mind with why any of this was deserving of thanks at all. The least he could do for her after kidnapping her is give her a nice room, she thought. But then again, he was just doing his best for his father, she shouldn't be so harsh. Her heart was already softening for him. Seeing her look at him but not say anything, he realized she was caught in some conflict and bid her some privacy, closing the door behind him.
And like that, Chelsea was alone. For a while she just looked around, her hands clasped in her lap. She sat on the bed, slowly began to feel the sheets and take it all in. About half an hour passed of quiet contemplation before she realized with almost shocking suddenness that she was basically feeling exactly how Jordan had when she had first arrived back home. Roughly extracted from her home, she had been kidnapped and found herself all alone in a foreign place. But then, Chelsea thought, Jordan had had her there. Now, Chelsea was truly alone.
Strangely, this was not like the first time she'd been kidnapped, the time that had been her arrival at the mountain home then run by the living Dr. Roberts. Then, her life had been in ruins. She was the living embodiment of the sexually suicidal girl, the girls that became hookers because they were so lost in life that they were, or were nearly, suicidal. She had been lost, had nowhere to go. The only thing that kept her going each day was the cock she would find herself gorging on that night in a drunken, drugged up stupor. Those ecstatic moments, tiny orgasmic feelings of pure joy were what she chased each day, and were what kept her from ever moving on.
That was why, then, she hadn't minded the solitude so much. Like a teenager maturing, she had spent time sleeping and hiding from the world, before realizing that there was more in her room for her than just her bed. It was thanks to her kidnapping that she had pulled herself out of the rut her life was in. But now, she didn't have such a huge lesson to take from her solitude. She was Chelsea. Confident, sexy, and totally at peace with herself. She knew where she was, knew what she had to do each day, month and year. Her life was clear and set, a life with Jordan at home in their hill-
Wait. Chelsea had stumbled upon an important note. Her life with Jordan. Her, life with Jordan. Her, life, with, Jordan. Her girlfriend. Her partner. Her lover. Her slave. Chelsea gripped mentally onto this. The fact that she had chosen Jordan over Paulo without realizing it, subconsciously, gave her huge inspiration. It set her heart at peace and calmed her nerves.
She could fight this, she thought. I thought of her as my life partner, not him. I can fight this. I will fight this.
With her newfound clarity, Chelsea began to examine the room for anything that would help her.
* * * * *
Jordan threw the backpack into the back seat of the car and checked she had everything. In her backpack was a collection of supplies she had prepared for any eventuality that could face her when rescuing Chelsea. Handcuffs, a torch, a packet of matches, a pocket knife and bush knife, water, phone, some food, some overnight supplies, money, and even a powerful looking revolver she'd found in Roberts' quarters. She was dressed in black tight pants, a tight black top tucked in, with a backpack-like strap over her shoulders. The strap, exactly as though she had a backpack on except without the pack, was pulled in tightly and had various clips and attachments on it. She looked quite a bit like Trinity from the Matrix, but with a lot less shiny and even more incredible tits.
Jordan was worried, and when it came to saving her partner, lover, sex toy and Mistress, she would leave nothing to chance. She wouldn't stop until she had Chelsea safely in the car with her. Outside, the sun was just dipping past the horizon. By the time she reached the city below, it would be dark. Jordan would blend in best then. Checking she was set, she went back to the lift, punched the lockdown code into the keypad by the twin metal doors, and their secluded mountain home shut down, lights, heating and power going to minimal and doors locking. Then, Jordan swung herself into her chosen vehicle, a stylish yet simple speedy sedan, keyed the ignition and swung herself out of their parking lot, shooting up the tunnel and over the hidden road and onto the highway.
* * * * *
Chelsea had searched the whole room and found no bugs, cameras or microphones. Nor had she found any peep holes or secret doors. The carpet seemed uncut and the floor, if it was boards, which was most likely, was solid and impenetrable. The door had been locked from the outside, so she was locked inside, but apart from that she was in privacy. Satisfied that the only way she could be seen would be if the door opened, she threw her woolen jumper off. It was warm and it suited her fine body, but the deep red designer item had been making her skin irritated and her nipples sore all day. She threw it on the bed and sighed happily as she ran her hands over her chest and stomach, massaging each part tenderly and affectionately. She didn't remove the pants just yet, as the soft leather wasn't as irritating after settling into it, and she didn't want to be caught totally naked by either Paulo or Albert should they come in. Even though she clung to Jordan in her mind, she wasn't sure she could resist Paulo if he tried to make a move on her, and she didn't know how her faith would hold up if they did make love. She realized with a shiver that she had been moistening as she thought about making sweet love to the man, and shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts.
Peering out the window, Chelsea saw that it was nearing dark. As kind as they had been, or at least as kind as Paulo had been, it didn't seem they would be returning tonight. If they did, and she hoped that they did not, she would have to deal with it when it came. Taking a seat at the desk, Chelsea drew a sheet of paper from the holster and a stylish pen from the cup. Pondering for a few moments, she began to write. She didn't really know why she was writing, but she knew her body clock and knew that she didn't sleep this early. Trying to now would throw her out of sync. So she simply began to recount the day's events, starting with how incredible she'd felt that morning, how she'd shown her body off to so many people, and how she'd come back to her car to find the two sitting inside waiting for her. She recounted the things he'd said to her as best she could, taking careful time to write each detail that Paulo had told her when he was explaining his godly inheritance to her.
By the time she was done, it was dark. She finished up her narrative and folded it up small, tucking it snugly into the money pocket of her black pants. She hoped that it was thin enough and the money pocket out of the way enough that, should the pants be, Chelsea tried not to think it, touched, by either of them, they wouldn't find it.
Chelsea did her best not to think of the multiple ways those tight black pants could be touched, and whether or not she preferred they were touched with her in them, or out of them.
